In the quiet, I can hear my effort. As I peddle, I can hear the sound of my lungs forcing air out before taking new air in. I hear the wind rushing past my face with each turn of my head. I can hear the sound of my breath as I drive my legs uphill… hard…shallow… steady. I hear the whirring of the wind as it tugs at my wheel and helmet. I notice the rhythmic stroke of my feet beneath me. My heart pounds… I can almost hear it.
These are the sounds I can hear in the quiet. They remind me that I am alive, vital and strong. These are the sounds of my effort. I welcome them. They are respite from the noise of everyday life…from the demands of everyday living.
With the effort spent, the ride over, I reluctantly return to the world of noise… a world of voice mail, e-mail, snail mail, telephone calls, requests, complaints and commotion. I am again swallowed up in tasks outside of me, unaware of my breath, unaware of effort. The momentum of the noise around me takes me further and further away from the cocoon of hard physical effort. The stillness within is gone, the sense of oneness with my body vanishing…until the next ride …until the quiet again welcomes me.
These are the sounds I can hear in the quiet. They remind me that I am alive, vital and strong. These are the sounds of my effort. I welcome them. They are respite from the noise of everyday life…from the demands of everyday living.
With the effort spent, the ride over, I reluctantly return to the world of noise… a world of voice mail, e-mail, snail mail, telephone calls, requests, complaints and commotion. I am again swallowed up in tasks outside of me, unaware of my breath, unaware of effort. The momentum of the noise around me takes me further and further away from the cocoon of hard physical effort. The stillness within is gone, the sense of oneness with my body vanishing…until the next ride …until the quiet again welcomes me.
-Adapted from a poem by Allison Colavecchia
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