Ill - Part 2.
I don't miss riding a bike.
I do miss it's emotional release though, I miss starting out laden with self-loathing and doubt, pedalling ever stronger through belief and finishing with smug satisfaction, I miss the thoughts, and the lack of them, I miss the joy of my body working well, or even just working horribly badly, and knowing the myriad of distinctions between the two, I miss feeling lungs and muscles, I miss The Hurt, I miss the wind, I miss the seasons on my skin, I miss the dressing-up, I miss the hollow hunger of the last few miles and the ability to eat anything with a need and a passion, I miss getting back home with better mood happy chemicals flooding the brain, I miss the gentle ache and feeling things repair, I miss being asleep before I hit the pillow, or being rocked to sleep by the deep rhythmic thrub of blood, I miss feeling clean, I miss being a tight functioning human being rather than a mess of fleshy parts wrapped in baggy greasy skin.
But I don't miss the riding at all.
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