tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72555721657741042422024-03-14T11:09:10.761-03:00The Type 1 GameFrom Type 1 Diabetes to riding bikes...Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.comBlogger348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-76703371506719490872023-12-21T13:39:00.001-04:002023-12-21T13:39:32.572-04:00Winter Solstice<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNsabhZpVAnvs2q5eQnO8IdzMhbhaZxvEGzWqCFzzcmgO5ScorePpR8FqAuDqr6Z5m5egD3lC2tvS_K0UkVG7CsUFg8yjr1pZpf4ZAHCGKQSBwlZO8ok5Ij2JLGaB8yaPnjx25TWA8-7wx3J_GGkJRyy_iAPr286i8EEThQKMczf7ce3KwuqyGEqAfvtr/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNsabhZpVAnvs2q5eQnO8IdzMhbhaZxvEGzWqCFzzcmgO5ScorePpR8FqAuDqr6Z5m5egD3lC2tvS_K0UkVG7CsUFg8yjr1pZpf4ZAHCGKQSBwlZO8ok5Ij2JLGaB8yaPnjx25TWA8-7wx3J_GGkJRyy_iAPr286i8EEThQKMczf7ce3KwuqyGEqAfvtr/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGseo859D-Wc2MLTirNASOKRLaKJ2PvOeGxAMxcUbBuwZ8DbHWreF6Q8Gcp_jpKSnrIeiNJp9vG0Itz_IISg0IVx4lxq9ZHs3Idm5dXMdKDMmnwUXQRU5NVkpi0j4rbizaXdwC6cQn_jas-OB5aKd9bJsVxAehnR8o_ebkIFP2ZhChHh9kC5IAzndYlqpS/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGseo859D-Wc2MLTirNASOKRLaKJ2PvOeGxAMxcUbBuwZ8DbHWreF6Q8Gcp_jpKSnrIeiNJp9vG0Itz_IISg0IVx4lxq9ZHs3Idm5dXMdKDMmnwUXQRU5NVkpi0j4rbizaXdwC6cQn_jas-OB5aKd9bJsVxAehnR8o_ebkIFP2ZhChHh9kC5IAzndYlqpS/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4SHvLPfaqpfxfL20jjkJYx5H0IMOqELDWCUyapMy16krSmwkaitotOY8x3IUJ0apG2HAjM9sB8VlRqDIdMl0eiDRAdndULH-nIW78RCo9Yp6_SZE6Suiyq4Yqk6sKIJTVZCucv_CHYCWqNZioDbKCTeptCDYEDmSRXPD0ZVnoAp_Y-cWFaqOT5o9v1Lz/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4SHvLPfaqpfxfL20jjkJYx5H0IMOqELDWCUyapMy16krSmwkaitotOY8x3IUJ0apG2HAjM9sB8VlRqDIdMl0eiDRAdndULH-nIW78RCo9Yp6_SZE6Suiyq4Yqk6sKIJTVZCucv_CHYCWqNZioDbKCTeptCDYEDmSRXPD0ZVnoAp_Y-cWFaqOT5o9v1Lz/w400-h301/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZW_cM1nyiBXgrE3GfFoZ6YnlXcHbDQA6WKd4MU0bF36zs6u9ebHEviVZ6AXTpdO8PclZ6goaBzBLD8ZbF5yYXTgBkOscqoAoHeLbe4-NcNeEoCdUW3qr0uEpJ-Eoq-TYehedj8tUD5hZBCAQaSkH80ichyphenhyphenCP01sgWrbIsIIqpPUJTqNneD2tLT9rvwW_m/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZW_cM1nyiBXgrE3GfFoZ6YnlXcHbDQA6WKd4MU0bF36zs6u9ebHEviVZ6AXTpdO8PclZ6goaBzBLD8ZbF5yYXTgBkOscqoAoHeLbe4-NcNeEoCdUW3qr0uEpJ-Eoq-TYehedj8tUD5hZBCAQaSkH80ichyphenhyphenCP01sgWrbIsIIqpPUJTqNneD2tLT9rvwW_m/w400-h300/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866667px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Wide awake. Still half asleep. Feeling completely submerged in it. This darkness that sneaks in at night. Where does it come from? Was it there all along? Hiding in the forgotten corners of my unenlightened egoic narrative? Or did it creep in from the dead of this lightless night? This shadow that has been by my side for so long now. Is there a way to stop it from seeking me? If I were to name it, I would describe it simply as a deep sense of sadness. Not depression or unbearable despair. Full body sadness. Motionlessly laying here. I focus on my breath. Surrendering to this sudden melancholy. Meditating with it. Over an hour goes by before I finally drift off again into a deep sleep. As the morning light peeks through my bedroom window, I wake up feeling much lighter. The sadness has left me. December 21<sup>st</sup>. Winter solstice. The shortest day of this year. The longest night. Being of this world, a living part of it really, I cannot help but to also feel what it is feeling. More darkness outside also means more darkness inside. All other living beings laying low right now. Resting. Recovering. Healing. Maybe every season has its purpose? Even this dark season. Maybe its reason is that certain truths can only be seen and understood in the dark? This sadness is only unbearable when I resist it. Instead of searching for artificial light, I am learning that it’s best to just sit with it. Eyes open. Or eyes closed. It’s all the same in the dark. Let go. Soft pedal. And wait for the reemerging light. The shift is here. The shift is now. As the seasonal pendulum switches directions. Momentarily pausing at the top. The magic ingredient is patience. The light is coming. I can feel it. It's just a matter of time now. Happy Winter Solstice everyone.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-18938936340392046752023-11-17T21:27:00.003-04:002023-11-17T21:27:43.414-04:00November Night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqvL7kAHMp6OnIwxusPEwgT0D9e6XuRx6-gM0AtSUgFKuv8RPqbXmy8SsYTSchvTVFgyWO8d-mzezyZL1w_P1DcKP5XVyCvP29n2pRBCvcMEJ8y9KxwDUzcl1FUdh3d_y4UuY4uWUAevOTxypHlChMnDLQofjAe6uLHQnmJFlTKU-y30Fah3o_AcPUQgf/s1440/399836155_10161116756322349_3357059589764164727_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqvL7kAHMp6OnIwxusPEwgT0D9e6XuRx6-gM0AtSUgFKuv8RPqbXmy8SsYTSchvTVFgyWO8d-mzezyZL1w_P1DcKP5XVyCvP29n2pRBCvcMEJ8y9KxwDUzcl1FUdh3d_y4UuY4uWUAevOTxypHlChMnDLQofjAe6uLHQnmJFlTKU-y30Fah3o_AcPUQgf/w400-h300/399836155_10161116756322349_3357059589764164727_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqbznU2Y2B_G6egEUASL3wykYBInA98ZSEgw7O7t58D5OHKTuFVWdTRjzlfQIPJxxWgychdI7XBOic1IA-aoZL7Kc4SQY2NlmsBeZxhuJ9UTfAmwNWTDMsnC5fMrX-Wso1OcirRa43WqerxlplQOyfpssvw2yKOKnJR6A15D64t9DVLrSCEO32QVbd8K9/s1440/399862602_10161116756352349_5839700201484796161_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqbznU2Y2B_G6egEUASL3wykYBInA98ZSEgw7O7t58D5OHKTuFVWdTRjzlfQIPJxxWgychdI7XBOic1IA-aoZL7Kc4SQY2NlmsBeZxhuJ9UTfAmwNWTDMsnC5fMrX-Wso1OcirRa43WqerxlplQOyfpssvw2yKOKnJR6A15D64t9DVLrSCEO32QVbd8K9/w400-h300/399862602_10161116756352349_5839700201484796161_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIIPM9xsD2Ar4kPndOz3Hahlm0Rhz6NZRZHesFfw7z7xs4K6Vzo-cS_crymvz1mpy542lyVLPNN9Zn0pL8ygy_IicmIePYC2DiS1xZKUnps3-e3RdCd3L8jKz19vD1q_l3D_hgM1d3rIeY_fS72g4pJVLpiNdxcsZcQAj2AfUzUQdHGtJ9_wA4cEM1H4y/s1440/401100136_10161116756302349_6682160605432742176_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIIPM9xsD2Ar4kPndOz3Hahlm0Rhz6NZRZHesFfw7z7xs4K6Vzo-cS_crymvz1mpy542lyVLPNN9Zn0pL8ygy_IicmIePYC2DiS1xZKUnps3-e3RdCd3L8jKz19vD1q_l3D_hgM1d3rIeY_fS72g4pJVLpiNdxcsZcQAj2AfUzUQdHGtJ9_wA4cEM1H4y/w400-h300/401100136_10161116756302349_6682160605432742176_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">November night.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Tumbling temperatures.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fading colors.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Diming lights.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This underlying darkness re-surfacing as this sun sets.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Welcome to the gloomy and grey season.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There’s a reason why Remembrance Day is this time of the year.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After Halloween treats.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Before Christmas lights.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The time of the year that smells and tastes like grief.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe it has a purpose other than simply making me feel sad?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I mean, sadness isn’t necessarily a bad thing even if it can be very uncomfortable.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Is sadness the cause of depression?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Or is repressed sadness the cause of depression?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For me, I feel like holding back my tears makes my sadness grow roots.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And with time, this sadness becomes harder and harder to uproot.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve always been a very sensitive human.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For as long as I can remember.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m pretty sure I was born this way.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Growing up, I learned to hide this part of me very early on.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Crybabies got bullied and ridiculed.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Cool and controlled was how you fit in.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I did what I had to do.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I became a master at social automation.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">An emotion-repressing champion.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hiding behind this hollow happy-faced mask.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But at this point in my life, I just can’t seem to do it anymore.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been trying to honor this time of the year by letting myself be sad when I feel sad.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Giving myself space.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">More time alone.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">More long solo rides.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">More yoga and meditation.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Activities and places that allow me to feel safest feeling.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And listening to emotional music.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Embodying the energy of these sounds and these words.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Breathing into these lyrics speaking to my soul.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">As I get older, I have come to realize, that like the bare trees this time of the year, I feel most alive when my heart is naked.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It doesn’t make any sense at all and I’m not sure why it’s this way.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But giving myself permission to feel sad is when I feel most happy.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe our sadness is simply meant to flow?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe November is our invitation to follow nature’s rhythm and rest into letting things go?</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866667px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-79005923733295895132023-11-04T11:07:00.005-03:002023-11-04T11:07:56.799-03:00Who am I?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUe8ld3t_psrIosWLm6tO_MU2AqFhkiofCBW6izEevLxUMo7LojxaAdFQyEGYIOT311R-H609PSRk7UOhyge3tUD1VB0W86upkpGbzLD54k2q7bEok8xRSpmpLxKh2ZrlTnw-8yxSdSqmItZ2xYMClbmhtg3RWnOUXcOjNQbyqANg8FJUxMf6MjVeuHEvc/s1800/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUe8ld3t_psrIosWLm6tO_MU2AqFhkiofCBW6izEevLxUMo7LojxaAdFQyEGYIOT311R-H609PSRk7UOhyge3tUD1VB0W86upkpGbzLD54k2q7bEok8xRSpmpLxKh2ZrlTnw-8yxSdSqmItZ2xYMClbmhtg3RWnOUXcOjNQbyqANg8FJUxMf6MjVeuHEvc/w320-h400/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX4cFTYsm0onnOyTmaaGeUR_3d57vidFfG8eN69x45D6xbPyxaWAqup4kJuOgWpvdRRBtekZgVUOuw6b85MMpufO6eRiZ5hE6yWKRPnu8vnufyS9kFj59BtS3I9F6vLZjsH-p01Jt2eutgAMlHqrEFKHwudyXgItwAENOu-FdMh3g_Ht76Uthhx0F0KKw/s1794/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX4cFTYsm0onnOyTmaaGeUR_3d57vidFfG8eN69x45D6xbPyxaWAqup4kJuOgWpvdRRBtekZgVUOuw6b85MMpufO6eRiZ5hE6yWKRPnu8vnufyS9kFj59BtS3I9F6vLZjsH-p01Jt2eutgAMlHqrEFKHwudyXgItwAENOu-FdMh3g_Ht76Uthhx0F0KKw/w321-h400/2.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwo71M5OAr-qaKbhzIv4F3iJoKSbsWSkyKDbZzXiqOfHHFCAVmsGUyfIFx7WHQBMqtadE8lbahon_X6pfR4XWpIr6kRV6k9V1ogVfeIJiipa9ODAVN0U8dxXF5N49Stt6my9ZTgaEKT3lBGybKbnUrVFELZaKLxREiFGKnEg7xofenQA3mPBLeZRbnqfxF/s1794/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwo71M5OAr-qaKbhzIv4F3iJoKSbsWSkyKDbZzXiqOfHHFCAVmsGUyfIFx7WHQBMqtadE8lbahon_X6pfR4XWpIr6kRV6k9V1ogVfeIJiipa9ODAVN0U8dxXF5N49Stt6my9ZTgaEKT3lBGybKbnUrVFELZaKLxREiFGKnEg7xofenQA3mPBLeZRbnqfxF/w321-h400/3.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt-wM9aIZ_LlZeKpeZlW8eiSuwa1KTtHVqAtFph7v1dIn5U7w2eMf4TCJTKHR8JZUyTiznxdKmX28IpvWDX0i9mXcglhuKrTZI6fio8OSxUWU-TpFulgWgcQ0lhrTzs18dnkGgdvsn2skrxx590dAS68BgXRfnyutJ-VjCW2-QHVg5ds5utWhDCCFO7rz/s1800/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt-wM9aIZ_LlZeKpeZlW8eiSuwa1KTtHVqAtFph7v1dIn5U7w2eMf4TCJTKHR8JZUyTiznxdKmX28IpvWDX0i9mXcglhuKrTZI6fio8OSxUWU-TpFulgWgcQ0lhrTzs18dnkGgdvsn2skrxx590dAS68BgXRfnyutJ-VjCW2-QHVg5ds5utWhDCCFO7rz/w320-h400/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TV0jmL2ggFnTEr74jjwcJ3DxchbKqIpobXf7ZIIWx9meRtcvrf98wxzub4cBYn7n0Wx-7xAe-c2sPJR8_imzEF9lODpzLjJATG8aStcNT4SDO98pOJVSx4RQFL1olc7_L44ucRYEO4yGR9UA7vsNdJuOMdtac7fc1NrdjYkaK_ZOkKizi5m-_srnQZhz/s1794/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TV0jmL2ggFnTEr74jjwcJ3DxchbKqIpobXf7ZIIWx9meRtcvrf98wxzub4cBYn7n0Wx-7xAe-c2sPJR8_imzEF9lODpzLjJATG8aStcNT4SDO98pOJVSx4RQFL1olc7_L44ucRYEO4yGR9UA7vsNdJuOMdtac7fc1NrdjYkaK_ZOkKizi5m-_srnQZhz/w321-h400/5.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866667px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;">Three seasons in three days. Summer on Saturday. Fall on Sunday. And Winter on Monday. Nature is never at rest. This ever-changing flow of life. This stillness in motion. This seasonal shift. Coinciding with the seasonal metamorphosis also happening inside of me. What happens next? Over five and a half decades on this earth and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to be when I grow up. Who am I? What am I? Questions that I was invited to answer in my personal journal during the first weekend of the 200 hour Yoga Teacher Training course that I am currently enrolled in at @puravidadieppe. So very basic. Elementary really. But I’m still not sure how to even begin formulating an answer. Where do I start? All that comes to mind are concepts that are not me. I am not my name. I am not my work. I am not my age. I am not my body. I am not my likes. I am not my dislikes. I am not my thoughts. I am not my feelings. I am not my failures, losses or mistakes. I am not my victories, triumphs or accomplishments. I am not my roles. I am not my titles or accolades. I am not my accumulated belongings. I am not my bank account balance. I am not the stories that you tell yourself about me. I am not the stories that I tell myself about me. I am not my ego. All just temporary illusions. Forever fleeting. Maybe the real me lives under all these things? Maybe who I am is what’s left after they have all been stripped away? Life itself. The entire universe. One with existence. Pure consciousness. Creation expressing itself as itself. Boundless peace and love. The here and now. This present moment. Maybe that’s who you are too?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.4px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><p><br /> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-75180815110997768292023-10-23T11:35:00.006-03:002023-10-23T11:35:42.925-03:00Breathe<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZ0CsS90Stq1EK4vHCbVUhRN5A8Gv0VRvJxjPTJ2PJJ9PLQiXipjPYHgYqvPi_QVdVEDcfqSzQcMVjkosJHRUXUh2vOps6JMOaMtQYvyaqvQ8RQXMcfiHKbCEgTdStCl2p-g2odfr6Sn_NU5i3pOiNNXHQUwFForyFHbUAVVmVsuD6SQOgyDfzPUwcfzp/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZ0CsS90Stq1EK4vHCbVUhRN5A8Gv0VRvJxjPTJ2PJJ9PLQiXipjPYHgYqvPi_QVdVEDcfqSzQcMVjkosJHRUXUh2vOps6JMOaMtQYvyaqvQ8RQXMcfiHKbCEgTdStCl2p-g2odfr6Sn_NU5i3pOiNNXHQUwFForyFHbUAVVmVsuD6SQOgyDfzPUwcfzp/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtq1YOfBRLOjVXJ2RI4YgkSu-fs9FiO8j9gp0YrQExGicV30reETkLek99kWvVFBiMiuBoPw2eRrIc-qydBsryodJYdXgtqWKjQq4x3YQG_foQvoja0Xr2mXny5GORb6CwcGElTe9jwhmi6jsnS5lYVqNdOq9XMAQhglj6ZDq2SXZ3tEGRqc7n4f9FLJNm/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtq1YOfBRLOjVXJ2RI4YgkSu-fs9FiO8j9gp0YrQExGicV30reETkLek99kWvVFBiMiuBoPw2eRrIc-qydBsryodJYdXgtqWKjQq4x3YQG_foQvoja0Xr2mXny5GORb6CwcGElTe9jwhmi6jsnS5lYVqNdOq9XMAQhglj6ZDq2SXZ3tEGRqc7n4f9FLJNm/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPey38mLaCOwILsO610Ci_-ELQ23szhwkY5XXmNPEevM-dCXZNDTf7OZo5Bng-EX1vEMqOU13prM0Z_KH0a2N-52QkFTji338vY7dlJGfVFMfCOca0rJPN5e1QET7xEX_dAgC7hERcdm9-HwjDfLyM3fHz-c40jxAe4gR7ncdVgIfJ56TOAE54dKZlAsdU/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPey38mLaCOwILsO610Ci_-ELQ23szhwkY5XXmNPEevM-dCXZNDTf7OZo5Bng-EX1vEMqOU13prM0Z_KH0a2N-52QkFTji338vY7dlJGfVFMfCOca0rJPN5e1QET7xEX_dAgC7hERcdm9-HwjDfLyM3fHz-c40jxAe4gR7ncdVgIfJ56TOAE54dKZlAsdU/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNN7I4oz0lLxUDMuQEyUwccPeUBNgStIYjlMedVC6jt8tJQzNqWpqXpxpFVp4-V1T9RHSH8QosCiVxFiDw1FllGYC8pLBDAEwhnCJvPb1QQ7OF3h_FpSiUGwm1P1kremm0vbXlV86SvBNJdeMGL942z0CfvMWRu1-IeirajmsKAtgMy7dfqHHQYvztLCm9/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNN7I4oz0lLxUDMuQEyUwccPeUBNgStIYjlMedVC6jt8tJQzNqWpqXpxpFVp4-V1T9RHSH8QosCiVxFiDw1FllGYC8pLBDAEwhnCJvPb1QQ7OF3h_FpSiUGwm1P1kremm0vbXlV86SvBNJdeMGL942z0CfvMWRu1-IeirajmsKAtgMy7dfqHHQYvztLCm9/w400-h300/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Breathe. So very deeply. With every single cell in your body. Relax into the wave. Follow it. Move inside of it. Stretch it. Let yourself be carried by its swell. The breath. The flywheel of these pedaling legs. The regulator of this preoccupied mind. Guiding my bike by guiding my breath. Riding into my center. Inspiring steady circles. Expanding. Contracting. Spinning. Listening to what my breath is trying to tell me. Learning what my breath is trying to teach me. Life itself can only flow from the breath. Rolling through the autumn of my life. Getting closer to fall’s peak in my part of the world. Maybe on its cusp. Maybe just past its prime. A vibrant color explosion. This faint musty aroma. Pleasantly enhanced by this merciful cool breeze. These trees. Dressing up for the occasion. Before disrobing again as they prepare for the approaching winter. These leaves. Their final expiration after a long summer. Showing us how magnificently liberating dying can be when we don’t resist it. Stunning surrender. Nature’s rhythm. Each breath cycle a life of its own. Birth at the very beginning of the inhale. Death at the very end of the exhale. With a subtle silent pause in between. The path is right there. This web of life. Truthfully all interconnected. Breath. Mind. Body. Nature. Life. Existence. All that is. We just have to pay attention. Follow the breath. It’ll always lead you back home.</span><br /> <p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-51564504019183973792023-08-11T12:36:00.002-03:002023-08-11T12:36:09.052-03:00These Bridges<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBAajsm5OM7TzxmWXM30vZtoSEekIprsPyMUM7JEjo-A6mkW9pn8ss0WF8zM8dblmNYX9CdVX2z2VbxS3aNOO4t5-lkB-kHleeBCzDaQpe73Mb3-mVlHyUHDQfeKB4XB317V2t_MuDmlpKCz2lVcLkwBAalB9t1vKfLxWHCdNDMnqnUoMApjhzl8Q6Eh1/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBAajsm5OM7TzxmWXM30vZtoSEekIprsPyMUM7JEjo-A6mkW9pn8ss0WF8zM8dblmNYX9CdVX2z2VbxS3aNOO4t5-lkB-kHleeBCzDaQpe73Mb3-mVlHyUHDQfeKB4XB317V2t_MuDmlpKCz2lVcLkwBAalB9t1vKfLxWHCdNDMnqnUoMApjhzl8Q6Eh1/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdO59C06NmMbMbpOr1DaAdPiWUBAuW447NYcpW_M41l8lwSZMvOH7P0_SQGIK8gYpeKIq7DCu0U9X8ufqamV2aFTYPkB7hDWQI8o018Xgjej3icoISukUf60R42sb3rfOl-ZPyilx-v0bZXjhHN-OMzFkaeJh898foou1U9HnLC3LA7lFt-4YXLuwbtvya/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdO59C06NmMbMbpOr1DaAdPiWUBAuW447NYcpW_M41l8lwSZMvOH7P0_SQGIK8gYpeKIq7DCu0U9X8ufqamV2aFTYPkB7hDWQI8o018Xgjej3icoISukUf60R42sb3rfOl-ZPyilx-v0bZXjhHN-OMzFkaeJh898foou1U9HnLC3LA7lFt-4YXLuwbtvya/w400-h301/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZs1n2iNtwA_VbSySfBqPGrUGKvzavJU3jM-fBEWODRkFdJdSeQM_VPVfqtPD4yZURowNr5irOG5PL2lhtu4la_k8ZIYDQIpjnpmabIRK5j-LaY0eroa_HINR_uv2aUAegvmS3VrHSoVsSNhxBP-1T08q7FOGhF9tp-fdAvSUAqPAmqa1dlgQhLjf4mqQ/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZs1n2iNtwA_VbSySfBqPGrUGKvzavJU3jM-fBEWODRkFdJdSeQM_VPVfqtPD4yZURowNr5irOG5PL2lhtu4la_k8ZIYDQIpjnpmabIRK5j-LaY0eroa_HINR_uv2aUAegvmS3VrHSoVsSNhxBP-1T08q7FOGhF9tp-fdAvSUAqPAmqa1dlgQhLjf4mqQ/w400-h301/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdxqCnZE9dIcP-lCkmhkMWaw203jfRTIkZk8ltwsdmUYUcSfxsmwcTGQHl1kMmCSzy8CWSMYwxBx_KRWGU9OcplOG6b0ASj1OSlkgqs6I3ydj3XkTNBQhJ6Klyz0_wCMq5_SUIJUQ5nwOsN7J9iqgwBdInL59rMQez7Ns0rf72bBsNKnE8qAkGfHWsu_E/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdxqCnZE9dIcP-lCkmhkMWaw203jfRTIkZk8ltwsdmUYUcSfxsmwcTGQHl1kMmCSzy8CWSMYwxBx_KRWGU9OcplOG6b0ASj1OSlkgqs6I3ydj3XkTNBQhJ6Klyz0_wCMq5_SUIJUQ5nwOsN7J9iqgwBdInL59rMQez7Ns0rf72bBsNKnE8qAkGfHWsu_E/w400-h301/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These
bridges.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That I like to go to.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In the woods.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Made out of wood.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One at the back
corner of Centennial park.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And a newer one
erected last year in Mill Creek park.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There are many other bridges in both parks.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But I am drawn to these two for some
reason.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Last Sunday.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After a brief sojourn at the pavilion, I pedal
my way out to Mill Creek.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I had fat
biked to this bridge on a very cold day last January.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m not sure if it was the warm forest tea,
the simple wooden bench beside it, the freshly fallen dusty snow or the restful
solitude in that moment but I fell in love with this spot then and there.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Centennial park bridge has been on my
best-loved local whereabouts list for three or four years now.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A go-to spot that I have visited numerous
times, mostly in autumn.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Such an optimized
standpoint from which the fall foliage really pops in all directions at that
magical time of the year.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Falling leaves
swaying and dancing to the soothing sounds of the streaming waterway.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Many cups of forest tea have been savored in
this here location.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And then there was
the time that I made a new friend with a squirrel when we shared my homemade
cookie.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Alone.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I meditate on the gentle flowing sound of the
water below.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I feel alive.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Recentered.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">More human.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Riding these bikes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yoga.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Meditation.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And visiting these
sacred bridges.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Pursuits that I need to keep
practicing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not as an attempt to become
faster, fitter, awakened or better in any way.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But simply to bring me back to a certain baseline of normalcy.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These proven physical rituals.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The daily medicine that I need in order to be
able to function like the so called sane people in this world.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My edge dulling therapy.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A few days without and my mind and body remind
me that not practicing simply isn’t an option anymore.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At this point in my life. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It
really is that simple.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These
bridges.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Reconnecting the parts of me
that have slipped apart from me.</span><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-35481287303441450072023-06-02T13:50:00.004-03:002023-06-02T13:50:27.180-03:00Bike Yoga<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKusHmfa-MMG-rGjAgvvyTMmjNE7RhVjGFdZltoRLtSzT8zHOlsjS2V4EGIEcYdW1r-5OaKcblHL1xYpbflJN1GoWg8qIeMD-i5laWEEyeJi87ofTwlbta7kiIn-EkU7E2ZuBgWHR3BO7Gqv855XZ8h1H1gHQxkNlv0_R7wV4E-FIYijZKsmhS93yWww/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKusHmfa-MMG-rGjAgvvyTMmjNE7RhVjGFdZltoRLtSzT8zHOlsjS2V4EGIEcYdW1r-5OaKcblHL1xYpbflJN1GoWg8qIeMD-i5laWEEyeJi87ofTwlbta7kiIn-EkU7E2ZuBgWHR3BO7Gqv855XZ8h1H1gHQxkNlv0_R7wV4E-FIYijZKsmhS93yWww/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuJR7qDk2zS1_eTB2u_vCHe3KZUqAl5TC2tgU23yInH3zI5fNslTFSI62iFzihrjI4ROcTyeucYnk8JHaRqX8vM3DOobPyxQRZVtVUSy_w5oY0-d5gg25RwHn8kuzMbnVga6kSJzbtsT6GFYkHjG3tfi9wdKuWIAdmOyJiQsaBnlOE_omG8bMUizQQg/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuJR7qDk2zS1_eTB2u_vCHe3KZUqAl5TC2tgU23yInH3zI5fNslTFSI62iFzihrjI4ROcTyeucYnk8JHaRqX8vM3DOobPyxQRZVtVUSy_w5oY0-d5gg25RwHn8kuzMbnVga6kSJzbtsT6GFYkHjG3tfi9wdKuWIAdmOyJiQsaBnlOE_omG8bMUizQQg/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzd2KemHkXHKq7DqNWz232ghG1Xrs5knO2wbTCR2xWBNWRt-aqvuVOMSo6q0ujdC0u_57XvP0go8fOzygQh2GDNibPRrrNib8JadLExQgR4sEqJLyluHh36E8efpwZET8Wjo6_4y_JYY2QOC8iahnvjS5XHqz_86MDUCj9lOP4ZFH57qsEraHTU_C_Mg/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzd2KemHkXHKq7DqNWz232ghG1Xrs5knO2wbTCR2xWBNWRt-aqvuVOMSo6q0ujdC0u_57XvP0go8fOzygQh2GDNibPRrrNib8JadLExQgR4sEqJLyluHh36E8efpwZET8Wjo6_4y_JYY2QOC8iahnvjS5XHqz_86MDUCj9lOP4ZFH57qsEraHTU_C_Mg/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This subdued
underlying ache.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This longing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It has lived inside me for so long that I had
completely ceased to notice it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This hunger.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This unease.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With an undertone of grief.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And a
hint of shame.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This subtle yearning for
something.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Redemption maybe.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It tastes more like melancholy than
depression even if I have definitely been swept into that dark place from time
to time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do other people also feel
it?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve often wondered.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Younger me actually assumed that everyone
did.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As every life phase passes, I
convince myself that this too shall pass.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That it will eventually leave me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Future salvation.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">After I pay my dues.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Peace and happiness just around the next
corner.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That’s what everyone keeps
telling me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of my initial
motivations to ride was to numb this discomfort.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My best escape attempt. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Giving me much needed temporary relief.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But eventually always leading me back to what
I was running away from.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yoga is teaching
me how to stay put.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sitting with what is.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Especially the things that make me feel uncomfortable.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Leaning into what I have been trying so hard
to avoid for so long.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Slowly but surely
making me feel more comfortable in this body.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mindful movement.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mindful breath.
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Guiding me to feel safe enough to let go
of what I have been holding onto that is making me ill.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Turns out that mindfulness added to my riding
also has the same healing effect.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Helping
me fully feel to finally heal.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My happy
place.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The place where I feel more
present.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Here.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Am
I a cyclist who practices yoga?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or am I
becoming a yogi who practices cycling?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
guess it doesn’t really matter does it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Either
way I always win.</span><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-60009220555843269892023-04-25T11:37:00.006-03:002023-04-25T11:37:45.583-03:0084 days<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol8ASP01XX_UHr7Ng-NKUWriacoPJxCBDHrFVKe7dORabh0kSWgC284flur9m7tynH120ohTKLbBZrj1lq617N7AX_dM7vx8CI6771dG4AQ9XmbrRYfwNI-4q04WtWLYcQt-z5pwSwNfxu4c8ZVIp-E-s1BSPquflE9dcb8LAz8dDGedOdLutxWRaKg/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiol8ASP01XX_UHr7Ng-NKUWriacoPJxCBDHrFVKe7dORabh0kSWgC284flur9m7tynH120ohTKLbBZrj1lq617N7AX_dM7vx8CI6771dG4AQ9XmbrRYfwNI-4q04WtWLYcQt-z5pwSwNfxu4c8ZVIp-E-s1BSPquflE9dcb8LAz8dDGedOdLutxWRaKg/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5en4YJZvGNx8U4s9ntnSPhtwb0pfNf_B8BqSozblfdommMk2xkJQM983fBiLR4-K_iek7HfmX2dwhhFqh2NSe5uV9sR-8nJ6nx8DZasvxbJENlOcUpiqXX4FRzhGnyRy2ou-tlmJwOh70GyM9RclZ0oxvoWgqyudauife5HBJC0RAOk-OIZbcE0mKw/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5en4YJZvGNx8U4s9ntnSPhtwb0pfNf_B8BqSozblfdommMk2xkJQM983fBiLR4-K_iek7HfmX2dwhhFqh2NSe5uV9sR-8nJ6nx8DZasvxbJENlOcUpiqXX4FRzhGnyRy2ou-tlmJwOh70GyM9RclZ0oxvoWgqyudauife5HBJC0RAOk-OIZbcE0mKw/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNGZRxAzMOAsqhZ1-v_1-hfNnmqnlq8ei7YhAnTCnSTEVZmPtMxTdwpRflqy3qTtoxngHtI4Y1GVPd88eULIMCfyYDQMLzDC8CZfhsRbdKKu5uXhLaXp0_7pN3HDaS5pq9wyJx1y8Nv7JSX8MYchCMUgT7H7qAh70RChH0-zHEex9anhkl7hF3tO0fjw/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNGZRxAzMOAsqhZ1-v_1-hfNnmqnlq8ei7YhAnTCnSTEVZmPtMxTdwpRflqy3qTtoxngHtI4Y1GVPd88eULIMCfyYDQMLzDC8CZfhsRbdKKu5uXhLaXp0_7pN3HDaS5pq9wyJx1y8Nv7JSX8MYchCMUgT7H7qAh70RChH0-zHEex9anhkl7hF3tO0fjw/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">84 days. The current tally of my ongoing daily yoga
streak. I may just have to take a day
off. Or stop counting. To avoid turning this into some type of
personal competition which defeats the purpose of why I committed to a regular
practice in the first place. I have a
habit of overdoing things like that.
Something good doesn’t seem like it’s enough unless I make it
excessive. One of the unconscious
strategies that I use to distract myself from this underlying torment. Yoga seems to be the compassionate antidote
for my unrestrained striving. Simply
showing up. Day after day. Gently flowing from where I am in this
moment. Nothing forced. No keeping score. No tracking numbers. No values to indicate progress or forward
movement. Simply practicing breath-coordinated
mindful movement to guide me to feeling more deeply. In complete harmony with life itself. Working with what my body can give me on this
day which is always enough. Yoga doesn’t
end when I get off the mat. So much to
teach me about myself. So much to teach me
about this life. Noticing how my yoga
practice gently overflows into my bike practice. Old habits of setting ride objectives or
following a written program replaced by a healthier organic approach. Asking myself each and every time I swing my
leg over my bike what I have to give today. What do my body and soul need here and now. My brain seems to have a mind of its
own. Especially since hitting my
head. It calls the shots. Reminding me over and over again that all I
can do is play by its own unpredictable rules.
There is this bridge inside of me that yoga has started building. A connection.
From doing to being. Mindfully
guiding me towards what we all really need most. Healing. </span></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-69224786403538775822023-03-30T10:21:00.006-03:002023-03-30T10:21:44.668-03:00unCanadian<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo63lIg2q0vdhLoJaiUIn4p-9_7cYkUzjTo3ST8JxgZyGITGb3WmBodUjM5NFf0haKlkYffK5DEJIkNczupCLktr3cIGGtSwth3XJ49N_LX8VZNBGuBHDy-qsrGz42I55qM_i58MPDXpRCuVNbzzVu-tXZcVxOmry6RFaI5rDbXBuT5nCLFCXTgoorw/s1800/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo63lIg2q0vdhLoJaiUIn4p-9_7cYkUzjTo3ST8JxgZyGITGb3WmBodUjM5NFf0haKlkYffK5DEJIkNczupCLktr3cIGGtSwth3XJ49N_LX8VZNBGuBHDy-qsrGz42I55qM_i58MPDXpRCuVNbzzVu-tXZcVxOmry6RFaI5rDbXBuT5nCLFCXTgoorw/w320-h400/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXovul9eQUecFEzwnXYjUO24skviGprTvKGmphVhB-3d2-3DAd0NXcRex4eKEkSq7UHtuceRgxPnvPM2Uix87k-PL1OVUxFKSwkHBDXytOLZFwE6AmVaJhCSwRrXjSdEkPKPZ_-p6UJYvGr960oV5bsCNfcuCQuEgFsDc8Y5vDPy-1HTPNj21moUVtrw/s1794/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXovul9eQUecFEzwnXYjUO24skviGprTvKGmphVhB-3d2-3DAd0NXcRex4eKEkSq7UHtuceRgxPnvPM2Uix87k-PL1OVUxFKSwkHBDXytOLZFwE6AmVaJhCSwRrXjSdEkPKPZ_-p6UJYvGr960oV5bsCNfcuCQuEgFsDc8Y5vDPy-1HTPNj21moUVtrw/w321-h400/2.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7gSwtwoa86uz4TWaElrtuJ0uVV8mU5tkAaIXwg6TwMyUabRBydT0Ao6GpnXdRzs32Qry2U-sva3zha-IBsdY1G-q1TvNks7hXKuSxDR-DebunlzJGaxH1zVLpPtFIxamN-dwFyJpwuEdGvuvLA-3c53UMmIiaTnrJtJgbImeTgER6D_SdV68zrD4-g/s1800/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7gSwtwoa86uz4TWaElrtuJ0uVV8mU5tkAaIXwg6TwMyUabRBydT0Ao6GpnXdRzs32Qry2U-sva3zha-IBsdY1G-q1TvNks7hXKuSxDR-DebunlzJGaxH1zVLpPtFIxamN-dwFyJpwuEdGvuvLA-3c53UMmIiaTnrJtJgbImeTgER6D_SdV68zrD4-g/w320-h400/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cyKNJvPSrN53JRNknCYkyA9eNhyl5ttqkYIko5Fh64DQ6DbtIbpQIFvP0v95aKSkeAOVWcO__KtCZ0LzIkHBB4JzKS5vWI-3uMbPHU-WFTOk5tTy_m5noM-0FCazpoIIxsEPwIVlPY-X8vG1OehWk_JoP_zKLJgFej69PMpCl45ZknaIDVJ9-qPaPg/s1794/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cyKNJvPSrN53JRNknCYkyA9eNhyl5ttqkYIko5Fh64DQ6DbtIbpQIFvP0v95aKSkeAOVWcO__KtCZ0LzIkHBB4JzKS5vWI-3uMbPHU-WFTOk5tTy_m5noM-0FCazpoIIxsEPwIVlPY-X8vG1OehWk_JoP_zKLJgFej69PMpCl45ZknaIDVJ9-qPaPg/w321-h400/4.jpg" width="321" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In so many
ways, I’m very much an unCanadian Canadian.
I don’t really care for hockey. I
never watch it on TV. Skating was my
favorite part when I used to play. But to
be honest, I mostly only kept signing up because I couldn’t ride my bike during
the winter. In 2010. Tired of the indoor trainer, I tried x-country
skiing. I loved the being outdoors part
of the sport. But my skate technique
sucked. And because of this I never
seemed to be able to ski comfortably. Then. In 2016.
After my concussion. I bought a
fat bike. I had resisted for years. They just seemed too damn slow. But at that point in my life, slow was
exactly what I needed. My fat bike saved
me during that first winter after hitting my head. Unhurried easy solo rides were my
therapy. They still are really. Growing up, I remember spending countless
hours ogling over pics in my BMX magazines, dreaming of living in California where
I could ride my bike year round. I have
always been and will always be a summer soul, but I have come to appreciate
that there is something very special about riding a bike in the depths of
winter. Something about the arctic snow
cover that slows everything down including my thoughts. Something about the wintry stillness that
enhances the taste of my forest-tea. In
so many ways, my fat bike has literally changed my relationship with our Canadian
winters from something to suffer through and endure to something to cherish and
enjoy. Bikes are simply authentically
me. An unCanadian Canadian. Madly in love. With pedaling outdoors.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-49356273766578406812023-02-16T09:22:00.004-04:002023-02-16T09:22:22.069-04:0036 days<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yEemqm-ZI0Vj3FTuBjTbGhjChqOnPPhphu4Iv3mTPGKLQgIxHkmPK4eiO9BwyNGUpJN1yzGpGjPya9jjXrA1Gl8J6pG_qIRVFw7sDK8ZYRF34OfDc9oitSabMs26w4o2_8S2dfDCbftq-BvS-rIhfFSTMA0LOAZrEeCBLbCAGDvgYtVqGMJSeHzM7A/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yEemqm-ZI0Vj3FTuBjTbGhjChqOnPPhphu4Iv3mTPGKLQgIxHkmPK4eiO9BwyNGUpJN1yzGpGjPya9jjXrA1Gl8J6pG_qIRVFw7sDK8ZYRF34OfDc9oitSabMs26w4o2_8S2dfDCbftq-BvS-rIhfFSTMA0LOAZrEeCBLbCAGDvgYtVqGMJSeHzM7A/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmWTasUrEB5DCDfbX5Z1H82WMZxCQ2-pKNxBo6V1fbQutS5CRoGUrxQWA27VXYlpQDASOesTfA2p9XmOKgLAJX49doK6dxtU7eQGJu4tFRiIrhW_9VkZXuPMWpvG5AHvNzYKJOKxh8c3SmqQwC1IAPUFRL7IgaV8s6a-3v7GLyClHJyoIYDK0blo1UQ/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmWTasUrEB5DCDfbX5Z1H82WMZxCQ2-pKNxBo6V1fbQutS5CRoGUrxQWA27VXYlpQDASOesTfA2p9XmOKgLAJX49doK6dxtU7eQGJu4tFRiIrhW_9VkZXuPMWpvG5AHvNzYKJOKxh8c3SmqQwC1IAPUFRL7IgaV8s6a-3v7GLyClHJyoIYDK0blo1UQ/w400-h301/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This bike my
bolster. This horizon my mantel. This nature my alter. Sunday mornings. They are for riding. It’s just how it’s been for the longest time
now. Drawing circles with my legs in
this ruminative serenity. Everything
slows down. That’s one thing that I love
most about deep winter rides in the woods.
The unhurried quiet and tranquility.
Cresting a short incline, I come face to face with a deer practicing his
yoga mountain pose in the center of the trail ahead. I too gently halt. Maybe I should try to get a picture. Naw… That
would just ruin this moment. I simply
relish in our mutual presence. After a
few minutes, another deer joins the party and they both gracefully hop off the
trail and disappear into the forest. I
start pedaling again. Glancing out into
the vast woodland that just swallowed my new friends as I ride by. They’re long gone. I’m on a 36 day meditation streak. Motivated by just finishing a 6 week
meditation program at @puravidadieppe. I
have been meditating for about 8 years now.
Off and on. Mostly off at the end
of last year. This course gave me the
nudge that I needed to set me back on track.
15 minutes each day. Like
brushing my teeth, I wanted to make sitting in silence compulsory. In his book, journalist Dan Harris estimates
that daily meditation makes him 10% happier.
After my 6 week trial, I can also confidently agree that sitting on my
mediation bench daily improves my solo rides by at least the same margin. Not faster.
Slower. And stronger. Enhanced presence is one of my favorite meditation
presents.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-72290873386902324912023-01-24T11:21:00.004-04:002023-01-24T11:21:45.884-04:00Cry<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkm4LXfQmv3WkBgZLQS10OMrq6_-7VpR8Shhsh5RnTJyDNO3q6ZnY8fCArHpFHKQcpdXcuT57473EnkKqoqaEF8MApyKLHQP2eu0zipIVQQ6rOTNwPSD7wss6fLxzgwMCbwYX-KumQ5dOld5yM-mVbN5jncaYdzsT1ERw6MggYHtdfW0aixblsYG3Huw/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkm4LXfQmv3WkBgZLQS10OMrq6_-7VpR8Shhsh5RnTJyDNO3q6ZnY8fCArHpFHKQcpdXcuT57473EnkKqoqaEF8MApyKLHQP2eu0zipIVQQ6rOTNwPSD7wss6fLxzgwMCbwYX-KumQ5dOld5yM-mVbN5jncaYdzsT1ERw6MggYHtdfW0aixblsYG3Huw/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIDbWlPV3cfYsRVe_NCfRxsVenygc7gREG0O0lqjDjrh3RmbCpWItvuBRoq2FMBspyTKzb-yHydalLqRX17vbOILjj_xLXAjd89nFTOwmbMlRNz6UZWoCm2Mk-t7ngFSwiUdmNEKYhvjpGff-R_mHkj0STcJ8F2jzk9Zhy_43YgzTfwIaC994wQjfDA/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIDbWlPV3cfYsRVe_NCfRxsVenygc7gREG0O0lqjDjrh3RmbCpWItvuBRoq2FMBspyTKzb-yHydalLqRX17vbOILjj_xLXAjd89nFTOwmbMlRNz6UZWoCm2Mk-t7ngFSwiUdmNEKYhvjpGff-R_mHkj0STcJ8F2jzk9Zhy_43YgzTfwIaC994wQjfDA/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Healing. Part 2.
Crying into my first breath. How we
all emerge into this world. The most
natural thing. Our innate ability to
embody all emotion. But what happens when
we get older? Do our eyes dry up? Why is it so difficult for the adult me to
shed tears? I have always been an
emotional human. But, growing up I
quickly learned that it wasn’t safe to express painful emotions in most
situations. It would get you ridiculed. Bullied even.
Big boys don’t cry. So in order
to fit in, I learned to stiffen my upper lip. To push it all back in. Resourcefully doing what I needed to do in
order to gain acceptance. The most
common survival mechanism. The problem
is that most of us get so good at concealing and burying these emotions that we
completely lose contact with them. So
very out of touch with how we really feel.
Especially men. Maybe that’s why
our life expectancy is less than women?
All these stuffed, stale and toxic emotions eventually making us
physically ill. I really miss that
soothing feeling that I used to experience as a young boy after crying it
out. The release of this pain through
these tears. Blissful exhaustion. Alone in this forest. I feel safe.
Nature’s embrace inviting me to fully embody all that I am feeling. No one to judge. No one to fool. Just me and my shit. Stuck emotions coming up as I pedal amongst
these meditating snow covered trees. Just step out of the way and let them
flow. Maybe that’s the whole purpose of my
solo rides in the woods at this point in my life. To gently teach me how to cry again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-31642383489244177942023-01-13T08:43:00.005-04:002023-01-13T08:43:40.456-04:00Cyclotherapy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVuX8AwSl-RY1h-yyD8Y60Dx31jyN9cUBRRfOwZ4LVxBXbvMqniYhqIZLqR0VOfkFC0a2k_t6e5dPwWToqLPRt6ypXRS_nBjXYb5fNigNy7SmjoGQvHTAGZTOzhBgxSLsgw2wlED2nkDRCMQZp8kya-gx6gCzhZaUgDd-IzL_hksPCABSSALt8mU_Ug/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="1440" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVuX8AwSl-RY1h-yyD8Y60Dx31jyN9cUBRRfOwZ4LVxBXbvMqniYhqIZLqR0VOfkFC0a2k_t6e5dPwWToqLPRt6ypXRS_nBjXYb5fNigNy7SmjoGQvHTAGZTOzhBgxSLsgw2wlED2nkDRCMQZp8kya-gx6gCzhZaUgDd-IzL_hksPCABSSALt8mU_Ug/w400-h310/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzxmXDt15aDkRG9jtWuRI4XR1RBDCMGJrHPoAODoBIHKAQYR9q_5QapHWiifb_EMw7Db8-cdMw8c9meA0mpA_GYFAt4qP-hecD7jaAtItrmo6REUntbxERGCAZNa1Wq_JlDQsYVgfSMLst6Fg6dG_9E3gk7caBlKIibricEbr5DE1aPVRWCjQrQgh1A/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="1440" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijzxmXDt15aDkRG9jtWuRI4XR1RBDCMGJrHPoAODoBIHKAQYR9q_5QapHWiifb_EMw7Db8-cdMw8c9meA0mpA_GYFAt4qP-hecD7jaAtItrmo6REUntbxERGCAZNa1Wq_JlDQsYVgfSMLst6Fg6dG_9E3gk7caBlKIibricEbr5DE1aPVRWCjQrQgh1A/w400-h310/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Healing.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Part 1.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Being alive means facing certain situations
or events that cause unpleasant, painful feelings to arise inside of us.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There is no escaping it.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It is simply part of what it means to be human
and alive.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">If we were to touch a burning
stove with our bare hand, the pain receptors in </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">our skin would very quickly communicate to our
brain to remove our hand from the dangerous scorching heat source.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s the purpose of pain. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Protection.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">With emotional pain, our inclination is similar in that we instinctively
want to distance ourselves from what hurts.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Because of this, our tendency is most often to push down unpleasant emotions.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Repression.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Our best attempt at protection at that moment.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It kind of works.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">But only temporarily.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The pain never gets released.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">It remains inside of us.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Eventually buried under layers and layers of
suppressed painful feelings.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Until we
reach a certain breaking point.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For some
it’s middle age.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">For some it could be much
sooner. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">These unbearable accumulated emotional
anchors immobilizing us.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Disguised as anxiety
and depression.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Can we free ourselves
from these shackles?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">How do we begin to
heal back into happiness?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe it all starts
with locating, identifying and releasing these difficult and painful stuck
feelings?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Maybe this is why I love my
solo rides so much?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">These pedals.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Drawing circles.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In nature.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Pointing out these emotional anchors.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lifting them up to the surface.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Giving
me the opportunity to allow them to move through me.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Something about the meditative aspect of these
rides that just seems to give me the courage that I need.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Something about spinning these legs that
makes the pain of the release a bit more bearable.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Long before psychotherapy. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I was unknowingly working on healing my trauma
using what I call cyclotherapy.</span><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-39010709243366265722023-01-01T14:23:00.006-04:002023-01-03T14:25:58.212-04:002023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2aR5z6qh7ygOtrWH1_fZFFgvgbbtf5ZLwwrP-ChubI30NWzSJcUVWxHQudgssX9IY8SRnvCvdckAIE5X5DnGhg1E9BUghUH0S5dik9qlQZUZHsAkyZiZ-QjR8IhaiW9fwCjeDXFemLYJZG3Drf0Meyr_qNxybN5qoNDXWQEe_FAecUHoTtujxJIg2g/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2aR5z6qh7ygOtrWH1_fZFFgvgbbtf5ZLwwrP-ChubI30NWzSJcUVWxHQudgssX9IY8SRnvCvdckAIE5X5DnGhg1E9BUghUH0S5dik9qlQZUZHsAkyZiZ-QjR8IhaiW9fwCjeDXFemLYJZG3Drf0Meyr_qNxybN5qoNDXWQEe_FAecUHoTtujxJIg2g/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXJ5Mx_lQ9Uv6rvZ-N8E6jy3ze7sNBeYfTZCYH53ARz0X2Nat82cnp3pnZcgpkKzdCqUwSDlyqoxB588rDIXYXdkr8dpUfBUDlpI1C_NBuQaAO1Bqv0PYdHh8PitG1apSGwxorxHNacHp0d0Du_-uF1hG_AMaKZRLChYL2K8eAKCv2-oHOQ_gH2NPHA/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXJ5Mx_lQ9Uv6rvZ-N8E6jy3ze7sNBeYfTZCYH53ARz0X2Nat82cnp3pnZcgpkKzdCqUwSDlyqoxB588rDIXYXdkr8dpUfBUDlpI1C_NBuQaAO1Bqv0PYdHh8PitG1apSGwxorxHNacHp0d0Du_-uF1hG_AMaKZRLChYL2K8eAKCv2-oHOQ_gH2NPHA/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhfJryess3X4yrbBHdSUaTAo04FBG-wBIrb1s6JGaIiB0nMt3B4MWoxPnIXhzsfJb4L4nQRQ--68RjSgh8gX5gno3hXU1MhfTRJ5dYOs5lYrip-Y_HZ4DRMoUZjyljYMsIJVHz43oykJypeQLLXAn0xLbyXQcs5i73UQfCNe2vm5lJmhCd113m-ySow/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhfJryess3X4yrbBHdSUaTAo04FBG-wBIrb1s6JGaIiB0nMt3B4MWoxPnIXhzsfJb4L4nQRQ--68RjSgh8gX5gno3hXU1MhfTRJ5dYOs5lYrip-Y_HZ4DRMoUZjyljYMsIJVHz43oykJypeQLLXAn0xLbyXQcs5i73UQfCNe2vm5lJmhCd113m-ySow/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2023. A new
year. Or maybe it’s really just another
meaningless number. Humans are the only
living beings on this planet who are counting.
I have come to despise numbers. Infinite
yet irrelevant. Precise yet
deceiving. Chasing them always ends up weighing
me down. I much prefer words. Honest.
Truthful. Even if we can’t really
use them to accurately quantify anything.
Focusing onto the infinite potential of these next twelve months. No measurable goals to pursue. No check lists to go through. No set resolutions to follow. Just a simple list of nine words. Themes or intentions that I am putting out
there. Seeds that I am planting. Authenticity.
Compassion. Forgiveness. Curiosity.
Presence. Flow. Meditation.
Yoga. And of course, Bicycles. I really feel like I am at a pivotal point in
my life right now. Much more comfortable
with where I’ve been. Both excited and
terrified facing what happens next. The
final act before the epilogue. How will
the rest of my narrative be written. No
one knows for sure. One thing that I do
know for sure is that all nine words in my list lead me to a single word. Healing.
As 2022 comes to an end, may we all find the courage to finally stop
betraying ourselves and either begin or continue our own personal healing journey. Healing into happiness. Everything else will fall into place from
there. Happy New Year friends !!</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-60503772122237470862022-12-13T11:13:00.007-04:002022-12-13T11:13:52.149-04:00The Darkest Month<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPio5qmCtF5QxHyWmo6KHzdh2FFViBHhcbQ2OBqMToPCSzWj-1_ZNc_QTauk5EIYz4L9pttz6W0KWtyAnrsAY1YRRz4pLqjxbE1KhVistzwm-C9GEl0KYc0hFctOLlp1W9TLTwgfSksuZ4qtiIm8Bk9bfkNJo89meqE5QNetAn15d48DLYuCQE8sfBg/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPio5qmCtF5QxHyWmo6KHzdh2FFViBHhcbQ2OBqMToPCSzWj-1_ZNc_QTauk5EIYz4L9pttz6W0KWtyAnrsAY1YRRz4pLqjxbE1KhVistzwm-C9GEl0KYc0hFctOLlp1W9TLTwgfSksuZ4qtiIm8Bk9bfkNJo89meqE5QNetAn15d48DLYuCQE8sfBg/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizj0MAj3v5Qs91a2sNQI4IYx8itpySlx7mwPNm270mXIQu7ATa6sWFkHcnIi36ooPobZ4DCkbAX-Bn34zeNwPhqvbM_DwXAxWpqm1SJ4S8gpdxh8vPpl32LCg_ST1tvu98TNdRHRCJUUYdHTpkA-wv_84mX1r9IU2HENgnLiGBfeVSB2pUXOONwwV77A/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizj0MAj3v5Qs91a2sNQI4IYx8itpySlx7mwPNm270mXIQu7ATa6sWFkHcnIi36ooPobZ4DCkbAX-Bn34zeNwPhqvbM_DwXAxWpqm1SJ4S8gpdxh8vPpl32LCg_ST1tvu98TNdRHRCJUUYdHTpkA-wv_84mX1r9IU2HENgnLiGBfeVSB2pUXOONwwV77A/w400-h301/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AyVpdU3qiqcS4bwPo_XgXNCbddPCpBK5Va9Pivwt7e7y8mrLfG8KmjlvLgYLlS1VjBxKpGJ8GV2nMGA72pryL4r2awnLOlK5FntyqE0bYQ1u_5djrGZ74bf9PN7y0ultXntbDns17VcCB-LNUIPLrRJ2qhnTyA1acdEcjxFL0LD4z_c6xx-1EbmZjg/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0AyVpdU3qiqcS4bwPo_XgXNCbddPCpBK5Va9Pivwt7e7y8mrLfG8KmjlvLgYLlS1VjBxKpGJ8GV2nMGA72pryL4r2awnLOlK5FntyqE0bYQ1u_5djrGZ74bf9PN7y0ultXntbDns17VcCB-LNUIPLrRJ2qhnTyA1acdEcjxFL0LD4z_c6xx-1EbmZjg/w400-h301/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_BDAbbbfxFEkvRFt5Nz7ZiSc_sGfKdkWCXXbHy7aggfALlh2Og05P7qzOT1wgcRuRd2E1YnsI4fLuplJZI5Gia1pmXV_8O9b985ZVJiRR_q9jJAI-rHnclmF5NocJPh6NF-vHDr4deNhZojFPJYqnZifEveLshFZ-4HO7dYemC40-YYKn7Qmq5OSrQ/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_BDAbbbfxFEkvRFt5Nz7ZiSc_sGfKdkWCXXbHy7aggfALlh2Og05P7qzOT1wgcRuRd2E1YnsI4fLuplJZI5Gia1pmXV_8O9b985ZVJiRR_q9jJAI-rHnclmF5NocJPh6NF-vHDr4deNhZojFPJYqnZifEveLshFZ-4HO7dYemC40-YYKn7Qmq5OSrQ/w400-h301/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQmh-FQ1Uuu_Y98dYn9ewH4lDvBJtm_Pwbaf4xsv5lNePmS5mC-Vz6q1ni7wWFnH7JbJkiNgyISj7I-swVCTbFFtaoeNuKn65cXAdTT7ZTID9Z1HnY309FDfu9EJCTFZUgDWOJ7iKMIzKDskhkbyG4w81Oeti8_er5PNytEhSzTkyxLyBxWRINeefpw/s1440/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQmh-FQ1Uuu_Y98dYn9ewH4lDvBJtm_Pwbaf4xsv5lNePmS5mC-Vz6q1ni7wWFnH7JbJkiNgyISj7I-swVCTbFFtaoeNuKn65cXAdTT7ZTID9Z1HnY309FDfu9EJCTFZUgDWOJ7iKMIzKDskhkbyG4w81Oeti8_er5PNytEhSzTkyxLyBxWRINeefpw/w400-h301/5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">December. The darkest month. A reminder of the darkness inside all of
us. Everyone around me putting up all
these decorative shining lights. Trying
to brighten things up I guess. So much
hustle and bustle. So much rushing
around. So much planning and getting
ready. This year-end sprint. Society’s remedy to this dark season. I just find it all so very noisy and loud. If I’m completely honest, I don’t really care
for the Christmas holiday season. Don’t
get me wrong, I enjoy spending time with family and friends, but so much of it
just seems forced and insincere. All
meaning lost. Ruined by
consumerism. Another capitalist
casualty. Disconnected. Nature isn’t really bothered by it all. Forests.
Laying low. Animals. Cuddled up in their comfortable nests. Understanding that the dark season is really
meant for rest. For slowing down. For recovery and healing. Sunday morning. Steady north wind blowing. Temps hovering around minus six Celsius. The wet and muddy ground from a few days ago
now frozen solid. I roll down my
driveway shortly after nine. And slowly work
my way over to the other side of the river.
Abandoning myself into this crisp tranquility. A mid-ride snack. Some warm forestea. Life is good.
Really good actually. In so many
ways, I feel better this time this year than I have past years. Maybe it’s the daily 8000 IU of Vitamin D
that I’ve been supplementing with. Or all
these years of therapy and working on myself that are finally bearing fruit. It isn’t about my life finally being
perfect. I guess it’s simply about being
less scared of the dark. Out here. In nature.
Reconnected. Comfortably sitting
in the silence of my own darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-64997832115136126672022-11-10T11:08:00.001-04:002022-12-13T11:11:18.140-04:00Timekeepers<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ta7N8xaS6lUvnS6m_8OTtTsCowNkUwFEgcJOYcTQz8FYDfo4h9tmq5ZFA1lQmwGBqbHGxaFzd3GKGcCjstm4_q2nsL_WCe8RS_eV-Mu68FJXIFJajOBpuuSeIYlPxLL_1DbQnVev-CAGh_UZQrYiPvRiS8GuP7FnWdiTOICaFGM7K5SABgTxUzxgEg/s1800/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ta7N8xaS6lUvnS6m_8OTtTsCowNkUwFEgcJOYcTQz8FYDfo4h9tmq5ZFA1lQmwGBqbHGxaFzd3GKGcCjstm4_q2nsL_WCe8RS_eV-Mu68FJXIFJajOBpuuSeIYlPxLL_1DbQnVev-CAGh_UZQrYiPvRiS8GuP7FnWdiTOICaFGM7K5SABgTxUzxgEg/w320-h400/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDOeT-kiVhfQUq3YIje4dR1iwaHvkL-aiUZikW9dJSahErz4GVYrtJfCgQB13cz6Smey5Qf5BskEoREX2NzfIX9GiW6MXiT1pf_5xdDE2gG9_utPkG-EvkEUvheWH3X136fR6CZxLK2Qlsl5gwHpQZ5aGTRGCDl_ge60gU8i7QRVX42Xrksk4gGioDw/s1800/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDOeT-kiVhfQUq3YIje4dR1iwaHvkL-aiUZikW9dJSahErz4GVYrtJfCgQB13cz6Smey5Qf5BskEoREX2NzfIX9GiW6MXiT1pf_5xdDE2gG9_utPkG-EvkEUvheWH3X136fR6CZxLK2Qlsl5gwHpQZ5aGTRGCDl_ge60gU8i7QRVX42Xrksk4gGioDw/w320-h400/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5_XXSgDVQKiBKZEE0bIylCl9XoQp3p32vISmoZwqP3IBHx8p_Lxz2z8KAZkGB6qakQCZy1QCBk79mC7p0C0ACEg5Nrbt-Ueeo09sTvTAQNu96GCc-_XKrDKPgu6QLixlZpNRRBrd11C1f4gbFUNAvxuUQTUvz2zGqFJ3eQSk0bN2TzabWTuwNMnVTQ/s1800/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5_XXSgDVQKiBKZEE0bIylCl9XoQp3p32vISmoZwqP3IBHx8p_Lxz2z8KAZkGB6qakQCZy1QCBk79mC7p0C0ACEg5Nrbt-Ueeo09sTvTAQNu96GCc-_XKrDKPgu6QLixlZpNRRBrd11C1f4gbFUNAvxuUQTUvz2zGqFJ3eQSk0bN2TzabWTuwNMnVTQ/w320-h400/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Timekeepers. Last weekend was the end of daylight
savings. Clocks turned back one
hour. The one and only 25 hour day of
the year. Before clocks and calendars,
foregone human civilizations used the position of the sun to measure days, the
lunar cycle to measure months and the seasons to measure years. When we were babies, time as we now know it
didn’t exist. We slept when tired. Ate when hungry. And cried when physically uncomfortable. Animals also have no concept of time. Unconcerned by how old they are. Simply always in the now. Humans are the only beings on this planet who
measure and worry about time. By the
time we’re young adults, teenagers even, we’ve pretty much become slaves to
it. Constantly looking at our clocks and
calendars. Rushing around to meetings
and appointments. Setting alarms to make
sure we stay on track. Deadlines. Expiry dates.
Such a crazy way to live. No
wonder so many are exhausted and unhappy.
If only I had more time. It
always seems to be the answer to so many questions. I’m not sure what time I left the house. Nothing to be done. Nowhere to be. My route decided as I was pedaling. A temporary taste of timelessness. One of the things that I cherish most as I
get older are days without timekeeping. Even if we need clocks in order to be able to
function in this world, happiness is definitely enhanced whenever we give
ourselves even mini vacations from being timekeepers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-72711214929217056982022-11-01T08:46:00.002-03:002022-11-01T08:46:13.421-03:00Two Decades<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSPm0-7y_8mobgKKQ9jTFm9GBkwebkRKFD0xut7XnZoNWKkZGdLaX6SM2wxN_xrT9-7S-BLGEWocZDZww2Qy0QN-juo-LieKQWApbbT_gaIL8mqkDBqA1TU76q366lHvyH4W43NKFoc-F0OHE8TNNv2iGR5ZmLX-LZqWTy3dOE3kD29ASlvJ1r1oa_A/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSPm0-7y_8mobgKKQ9jTFm9GBkwebkRKFD0xut7XnZoNWKkZGdLaX6SM2wxN_xrT9-7S-BLGEWocZDZww2Qy0QN-juo-LieKQWApbbT_gaIL8mqkDBqA1TU76q366lHvyH4W43NKFoc-F0OHE8TNNv2iGR5ZmLX-LZqWTy3dOE3kD29ASlvJ1r1oa_A/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuFmyxZXsV7fDKxpR1s0sP3EMldzRsyP54WoESFNrgvwNzv8Sk5tjR5CYh3_hhqMtF2qByHqGc9mgL0xzCNBxFubVWfOfIosNOTI2TU0LcIk_7M2AMcvnu7DkP5bk_P8ThRR_8YCHGqgC1VovhzdWUuTLzsfXlUQSRtEZkZxqdNTNmp8DimHPBwAeww/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuFmyxZXsV7fDKxpR1s0sP3EMldzRsyP54WoESFNrgvwNzv8Sk5tjR5CYh3_hhqMtF2qByHqGc9mgL0xzCNBxFubVWfOfIosNOTI2TU0LcIk_7M2AMcvnu7DkP5bk_P8ThRR_8YCHGqgC1VovhzdWUuTLzsfXlUQSRtEZkZxqdNTNmp8DimHPBwAeww/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOj6NYk_oYecYS9ODW5Grjcr1b_lR1xR4-vKlnJA8hORi9EKDHbvaIx0AwZS5DeF2cNsbPAikNTCjOloPW2wb9rKb59zOniE-m8amGRD7tnO5vHRoBTI_VH76H9znoNv-48uNPieQQCRZf4JXgo6pJDHcNN2Gr5k8AVB3Y2L4I58OQfw880g62bEFWg/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOj6NYk_oYecYS9ODW5Grjcr1b_lR1xR4-vKlnJA8hORi9EKDHbvaIx0AwZS5DeF2cNsbPAikNTCjOloPW2wb9rKb59zOniE-m8amGRD7tnO5vHRoBTI_VH76H9znoNv-48uNPieQQCRZf4JXgo6pJDHcNN2Gr5k8AVB3Y2L4I58OQfw880g62bEFWg/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There are moments
in life when time literally stops.
Pivotal points in our timeline where there’s a distinct before and a distinct
after. Unable to go back. Life as we once knew it forever changed. Twenty years ago today, our family clock
paused for what seemed like an eternity.
The words that came out of our pediatrician’s mouth forever etched in my
distraught brain. Crystal clear and so
very blurry all at the same time. Not
unlike a very bad dream. Type 1 Diabetes. Insulin therapy for life. Or until a cure is found. I didn’t take the news very well. Even if on the outside it looked like I did. I didn’t cry.
So many emotions. Frozen solid. Overwhelmed by this groundless feeling. Intense anger over infinite sadness. In this surreal standstill, my fight instinct
immediately kicked in. Flight wasn’t an
option. The father in me desperately
trying to rescue my beloved two year old baby daughter from this imminent
aggressor. The bike racer in me
literally sprinting against this uninvited chronic life-threatening condition. I didn’t sleep. For years.
I just kept stomping on these pedals and attacking relentlessly. Truly believing that I could beat it. My entire existence consumed by these numbers. My sole mission to fix this. During my first breakdown in 2015, my doctor
told me that I’d lasted longer than she thought I would. The endurance athlete in me at the time taking
it as a compliment. Not realizing that
all I had accomplished was bury myself in a much deeper hole. I did some damage. To my body.
To my psyche. No doubt about
it. Maybe twenty years is long enough to
be holding my breath in denial. Inhale. Exhale.
Sit up. Soft pedal. And enjoy the rest of the ride. This will all be over soon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-50847059636217056962022-09-29T09:44:00.004-03:002022-09-29T09:44:23.197-03:00Perfectly Imperfect<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34Gb30VQsV3Uc9s8iwrNQ-WGzNVdKvHPWhdkc8YN4SE5Yvf-W3fx3eIk5-65m-RN8ngc_NYOh3UGY4LiQ__uUSWD0wpCsN8sw2UE6qaU1owZT5OqhtmeGMOtRND04143DBmpLIbrtmT_RCGzz1YA-6SqYP3ed6r1fSAG00KBSNarLjnW3CnuDTD1t9g/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34Gb30VQsV3Uc9s8iwrNQ-WGzNVdKvHPWhdkc8YN4SE5Yvf-W3fx3eIk5-65m-RN8ngc_NYOh3UGY4LiQ__uUSWD0wpCsN8sw2UE6qaU1owZT5OqhtmeGMOtRND04143DBmpLIbrtmT_RCGzz1YA-6SqYP3ed6r1fSAG00KBSNarLjnW3CnuDTD1t9g/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs6imYCqlDy0gAEemBsOxsQBqOf4oAfDCMim2JRks2ba2o7MCi459ZzXxIqEDNovwCgrpabWseDt9kzAc2VK32TgoZNTP6ycUOoC4I-KY-xK8QxeW5PLT9w7H6YsQ9kjJO6vkrxuCOYJxjruYYcIQrlmgu_kTfMsVRWdbnCNSfmTX3IvbIvHRMToWKg/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs6imYCqlDy0gAEemBsOxsQBqOf4oAfDCMim2JRks2ba2o7MCi459ZzXxIqEDNovwCgrpabWseDt9kzAc2VK32TgoZNTP6ycUOoC4I-KY-xK8QxeW5PLT9w7H6YsQ9kjJO6vkrxuCOYJxjruYYcIQrlmgu_kTfMsVRWdbnCNSfmTX3IvbIvHRMToWKg/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of the ways
that my trauma has molded me is that I am somewhat of a control freak.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ok, let’s be honest, the word “somewhat” should
have been omitted.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My relationship with
control is better described as an obsession.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An extreme unconscious belief that if I’m careful enough, vigilant
enough and go over all possible scenarios enough that I can prevent future hurtful
events or trauma from occurring.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My analytical
brain’s best attempt at keeping me safe.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All-consuming. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Utterly exhausting.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And simply impossible.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My control obsession also presents itself as
perfectionism.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A learned behavior fueled
by my anxiety.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An egoic endeavor.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A disease of the mind maybe.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A type of neurosis even.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Constantly looking for faults.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Incessantly terrified of making
mistakes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">An all-consuming, never ending,
impossible effort. And such a hindrance to happiness.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Being alive means being imperfect.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Only dead things can be perfect.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Only when I am no longer breathing will I no
longer make mistakes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Living happily can
only happen when I allow and expect imperfection.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">All in my head.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In this undisciplined brain.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This problem-solving organ.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Its mission to look for problems and find solutions.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My heart on the other hand isn’t as logical.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This feeling organ.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Its eyes able to see beauty hidden in the flaws.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe that’s what true love is all about.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In our ability to cherish the
imperfections.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The blemishes actually
making us love even more.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My traumas
certainly run deep.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Understanding them
is how I heal them.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And in case you needed
to be reminded.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am and you are already
perfectly imperfect.</span>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-62189171019392322122022-09-12T15:18:00.006-03:002022-09-12T15:18:47.104-03:0054<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlD9yBZQ74ukMxoA-JLu1Vaf-oyVlerjOb0IsLKQ10RSp9T3tJcQ4SyTW8KzoS1cTPKXvvDvN4ts2vn7uL7BOECk3bMVrr6BKpuWs91qoXQnTT7d44PH0l_IPHHO-YF_lZN3LSpBEzj4yAWUybXkiAYkxM2pbboZgu5yuvr9OmcJ4Bx0ZXeYGFIQi7g/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlD9yBZQ74ukMxoA-JLu1Vaf-oyVlerjOb0IsLKQ10RSp9T3tJcQ4SyTW8KzoS1cTPKXvvDvN4ts2vn7uL7BOECk3bMVrr6BKpuWs91qoXQnTT7d44PH0l_IPHHO-YF_lZN3LSpBEzj4yAWUybXkiAYkxM2pbboZgu5yuvr9OmcJ4Bx0ZXeYGFIQi7g/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ccoMCZajcJQpHCIWBCbpMCqpk_yZHfurc936ptW65zE0WOgudoqz1MvnlnL0DrhO1drHxv1j0uEWO-dgGjKBkP5KxOG9d_V7K_lZEt3gHzHSWwKyoVjBqzNMtYuMSOP7aJBfEnBlL-RwqfMkPPXoKVVjBnKNke0p5ihmEOoP-A_HB1k6K4A8UOxfTA/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ccoMCZajcJQpHCIWBCbpMCqpk_yZHfurc936ptW65zE0WOgudoqz1MvnlnL0DrhO1drHxv1j0uEWO-dgGjKBkP5KxOG9d_V7K_lZEt3gHzHSWwKyoVjBqzNMtYuMSOP7aJBfEnBlL-RwqfMkPPXoKVVjBnKNke0p5ihmEOoP-A_HB1k6K4A8UOxfTA/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCUAoJsXbMN_f2mLDOlr_owEbnzI4xPkhZ4CLh3b6U5nzcZiXcv2eTGUpCZtcgnAwUFEeoqqU0rHwwg6IZ6nwyWDIeFRYJwcfk9pFp4b3T3MPE8wz1zUkyOKzOE06EImmtCSYxtnzqK9p4rlYfIodpRuz5227mX4a7yeKgesDxXTp-OcyU6mruH1A1A/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLCUAoJsXbMN_f2mLDOlr_owEbnzI4xPkhZ4CLh3b6U5nzcZiXcv2eTGUpCZtcgnAwUFEeoqqU0rHwwg6IZ6nwyWDIeFRYJwcfk9pFp4b3T3MPE8wz1zUkyOKzOE06EImmtCSYxtnzqK9p4rlYfIodpRuz5227mX4a7yeKgesDxXTp-OcyU6mruH1A1A/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nothing’s the
same. Everything’s the same. Outside versus inside. Another lap around the sun. One year older. I can feel it. But only on the outside. That’s what makes aging so weird. The body is constantly changing. Slowly falling apart once we reach a certain
age. But the part within us that moves
through each of these body versions stays the same. My outer form. It definitely has a middle aged feel to
it. Even though I’m not quite sure what
this age should feel like. Sitting
still. Eyes closed. I’m still the young boy in all of my
childhood memories. It’s almost like
this is all just a dream. Maybe that’s
really all it is. Feeling very grateful
to still be breathing and able to feel it all.
So very fortunate to be able to witness me actually becoming more
me. Contemplating my existence on my
birthday, I can’t really explain it any other way. This is simply my truth. My 54 year old truth.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-4035125799845019122022-09-06T08:57:00.006-03:002022-09-06T08:57:42.399-03:00It's time<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbtjp-0miJy39U0k6xKRxS7BxtO3240de1DBOcSYZVJlJ0Win6m8w-X9smKHR1CxKqJc8yi4RmlTVzu-cJiJ5oxSHp1qsJ4BB97oj5Dj4AGFO3FGBZPxDA0iUmeDP_nMjmRQ7mZFbFcbSXfB_nDlZnPyfyVnrCQeHb4-3g-yKYACGG-JPn_CX1SwpeA/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="1440" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBbtjp-0miJy39U0k6xKRxS7BxtO3240de1DBOcSYZVJlJ0Win6m8w-X9smKHR1CxKqJc8yi4RmlTVzu-cJiJ5oxSHp1qsJ4BB97oj5Dj4AGFO3FGBZPxDA0iUmeDP_nMjmRQ7mZFbFcbSXfB_nDlZnPyfyVnrCQeHb4-3g-yKYACGG-JPn_CX1SwpeA/w400-h290/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGFsnjqZCktPT7weqgCXLkK6dy3jy7arX7iQLGl0g9lP98mBMaAiEif46ZByg4QoqMUMCDYng5ow1cnbzMoxLZUbabHjBk8PZTXIxLd-CP1eSozkndF9kZDABXW871Hz9MPV-_L3qtKXbWfdrCzZZl6kwsiMUs_JeQTxeg7yml2WoGvxoTtdPho0KKw/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1440" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGFsnjqZCktPT7weqgCXLkK6dy3jy7arX7iQLGl0g9lP98mBMaAiEif46ZByg4QoqMUMCDYng5ow1cnbzMoxLZUbabHjBk8PZTXIxLd-CP1eSozkndF9kZDABXW871Hz9MPV-_L3qtKXbWfdrCzZZl6kwsiMUs_JeQTxeg7yml2WoGvxoTtdPho0KKw/w400-h291/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJILoxuPD7_GLTj8pp91UHST5qKp7AfM_Cw9xlWRpliZwJz_6NRTsT37iS3vdichP2dyt74w3K7Q95-2zNVXS__8RG8LwcZFh0nAenI2DzpCxRbbty-SET4o8B7NJpY--4WJUWpkXoNvLMlvg2ODJM8kWs100IwQlFvujZnoPp38z5ovW5Euswatkew/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1440" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJILoxuPD7_GLTj8pp91UHST5qKp7AfM_Cw9xlWRpliZwJz_6NRTsT37iS3vdichP2dyt74w3K7Q95-2zNVXS__8RG8LwcZFh0nAenI2DzpCxRbbty-SET4o8B7NJpY--4WJUWpkXoNvLMlvg2ODJM8kWs100IwQlFvujZnoPp38z5ovW5Euswatkew/w400-h291/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>Once you drop
beyond the edge of darkness, even after you pull yourself back up, it leaves a
trench.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And because of this, it’s so
much easier to slip back down.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even if I
felt great on the bike last month, I had been riding too much.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Unconsciously caught up in the numbers.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fueled by a certain sense of desperation.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My pedaling out of balance with being.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When riding is your medicine, the dosage is of
the essence.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not enough surely isn’t
good.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But too much isn’t good
either.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Deep down I knew that I wasn’t
well.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Whenever I hyper focus on bikes it
usually means that my riding has become but a distraction to avoid feeling something
else.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">During my last session with my
psychologist, the term depression comes up numerous times.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The label doesn’t offend or frighten me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In so many ways, I find it rather comforting.
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What I feel is not “I no longer want to live”
depressed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But rather “I really need a
deep rest” depressed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Living in denial
for such a long time can be so very exhausting like that.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The thing with breakdowns is that they’re
invitations that can eventually lead to breakthroughs.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If we’re paying attention. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And if we’re willing to take a deep look at
that which is.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Their purpose to slow everything
down enough to enable us to get even a tiny glimpse of the truth hidden behind
the darkness.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In this silent
standstill.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As this fuzzy dimension
slowly starts to lift.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As this new school
year begins.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My own personal emotional homework
right in front of me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s time.</span><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-27892550597990408662022-08-22T11:40:00.001-03:002022-08-22T11:40:07.378-03:00Speak Up<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMyfBGGdEoGbS8ibX831APLF8W_4Sp2QhtO87yUvppv-qDNw1s_HZuDYmzPgE48EWoXEjKxn2h-fHex3eAQ-Q0ddn13tzv3eTdzOhRriqrALgK7xVQGrLzy2KLJoPiFNM09OmqP3yXaPpZTcA07EgkDIBL2VZ6NWcV1JO4OBG-pEytBEhcsEUmsMlQg/s600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="600" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMyfBGGdEoGbS8ibX831APLF8W_4Sp2QhtO87yUvppv-qDNw1s_HZuDYmzPgE48EWoXEjKxn2h-fHex3eAQ-Q0ddn13tzv3eTdzOhRriqrALgK7xVQGrLzy2KLJoPiFNM09OmqP3yXaPpZTcA07EgkDIBL2VZ6NWcV1JO4OBG-pEytBEhcsEUmsMlQg/w400-h304/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVhp3I8duVTy4-ZMH3pSBuBafVp-9PXqNfL-CFjXFfcpLra-21Zcr9ujo1jnvdKJySLrhfl78OD6LuxTJ33Z95-SMD9z1WJrfxnMUNJ3p-6w854_NkvJvWQ0TMy1Z7gkp5Hi9y90c7Mjw3JxKnd_5YZV4SLygxxeiPpsQEWsXBSJteuRIyBaJXo_wEw/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1440" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVhp3I8duVTy4-ZMH3pSBuBafVp-9PXqNfL-CFjXFfcpLra-21Zcr9ujo1jnvdKJySLrhfl78OD6LuxTJ33Z95-SMD9z1WJrfxnMUNJ3p-6w854_NkvJvWQ0TMy1Z7gkp5Hi9y90c7Mjw3JxKnd_5YZV4SLygxxeiPpsQEWsXBSJteuRIyBaJXo_wEw/w400-h305/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OEdhRYlMqnvfcCceaiJMru8hoo9zn8yRW1BZHlYNYpJ5a6blGtGXO80Z29gksZyYqIvON7IgTLwaMbcboHP0hGTPnQpbRwEDZVVlavGnuDy7zopxEpcXIyAw-vbYNR0TEDGcO2M_Wb9DXrU9DDLTWUf6HE7gXBREZXraqRssZ8YPEllvbWxOMhEsog/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="1440" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0OEdhRYlMqnvfcCceaiJMru8hoo9zn8yRW1BZHlYNYpJ5a6blGtGXO80Z29gksZyYqIvON7IgTLwaMbcboHP0hGTPnQpbRwEDZVVlavGnuDy7zopxEpcXIyAw-vbYNR0TEDGcO2M_Wb9DXrU9DDLTWUf6HE7gXBREZXraqRssZ8YPEllvbWxOMhEsog/w400-h304/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Speak
up. A trivial slip and fall on my
backside two weeks ago. A sudden
collision with a small deer as we were driving home from the beach a few days
later. Minor bumps that the old me would
have brushed off without thinking twice.
But with this delicate brain, my concussion symptoms reawakened. This old familiar fuzzy dimension. Dizzy.
Disconnected. Undone. This body and mind that don’t feel like
mine. Are these sensations
post-concussion syndrome or depression?
I’m not sure. The nuances between
the two are just too damn close. I do
recognize this dark gloomy place though.
I’ve lived here before. I don’t
really feel like staying. But I don’t
get to decide when I can leave.
Invisible injuries and illnesses are bitches like that. No one wants to talk about them. But that’s how they lose their power. Dismantling associated stigmas by speaking
up. I can’t just suck it up. I can’t fake it. I can’t keep telling myself those lies. All I can do is listen to my body. Follow my own rules. Be patient.
And I can also speak up. Its manifestations are physical. It’s not just in my head even if it really
is. If I seem indecisive these
days. If I cancel plans last
minute. If I seem withdrawn. If I isolate myself. It’s not you.
It’s me. I’m not
apologizing. I’m not looking for pity or
sympathy. I’m simply speaking up. If you’re going through something similar,
please know that you’re not alone. If
you want to talk about it, I’m here.
Speak up.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-70807673868186451472022-07-21T12:36:00.002-03:002022-07-21T12:36:14.530-03:00Reason for suffering<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBg5pXp5t3-OSTqG2MyVj1HEodK5J_Vs58hcOrvKCzRAZx1-Oj8B4ELPjiPMdT7doXuCvVSol45Q5IdCgEPNQEbWrskllXmElmkj0akqqnBHCHU96MOSsoN2eAmSDilnpNxE4CQzsa6Qy5Svor3IPslY9TDm-nCJBWce8ORDto71Qp2F0hnibGPkGIA/s1665/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1665" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBg5pXp5t3-OSTqG2MyVj1HEodK5J_Vs58hcOrvKCzRAZx1-Oj8B4ELPjiPMdT7doXuCvVSol45Q5IdCgEPNQEbWrskllXmElmkj0akqqnBHCHU96MOSsoN2eAmSDilnpNxE4CQzsa6Qy5Svor3IPslY9TDm-nCJBWce8ORDto71Qp2F0hnibGPkGIA/w346-h400/1.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6Y1B9wGC92sJsHGvvrE0BTfeDfdq06lzicVUMgT00R9HpHrWwFnJDiDCIgrAc784UZU4NBPrlzEA1x_xJv7mBbEax3sqHe7AmCA3opTn5blWR0CzTecgOwiLmrjv_yLyYalrx8Jrm07F1NgEj_Hvsbee0gEioDtjwbTY8aQbJtfg1lavZwWBpKtLBg/s1661/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1661" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6Y1B9wGC92sJsHGvvrE0BTfeDfdq06lzicVUMgT00R9HpHrWwFnJDiDCIgrAc784UZU4NBPrlzEA1x_xJv7mBbEax3sqHe7AmCA3opTn5blWR0CzTecgOwiLmrjv_yLyYalrx8Jrm07F1NgEj_Hvsbee0gEioDtjwbTY8aQbJtfg1lavZwWBpKtLBg/w346-h400/2.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFpEE8gVkr1BVKrEV6UK1rwVtBT-Ikb4vHH8PlUPYN2Hnl9ZnjCBhlnmnNjUgEhrPTiO5fC5oEp_algoegvrjuasMd9FXF8LABegN7s3Jc8GLu7dS0RQ_n4URiZH2IUsOOF78-axQHsnLHGREMuDQT15y_ZBmOdNSxYeINJ_q86KVupCtkyr5Q3-5GlQ/s1661/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1661" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFpEE8gVkr1BVKrEV6UK1rwVtBT-Ikb4vHH8PlUPYN2Hnl9ZnjCBhlnmnNjUgEhrPTiO5fC5oEp_algoegvrjuasMd9FXF8LABegN7s3Jc8GLu7dS0RQ_n4URiZH2IUsOOF78-axQHsnLHGREMuDQT15y_ZBmOdNSxYeINJ_q86KVupCtkyr5Q3-5GlQ/w346-h400/3.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcV8uz_UZ5BR-B078nnB2NN2FqTTBX0j4Gr-GV14WSOcSYbaM4ojeWaGhjSqmQrAoY185_xy7oNzm1YVYzyBFkhUaSJu1wYm3xVXBZP2Chpgl9S1qXpZREcZCy9hLQVCDLMouzJFu-sE5iw7zQbRaDEz5OLaV40iTXidFG49Kiyh4-HxbP1VprSnJMQ/s1661/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1661" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcV8uz_UZ5BR-B078nnB2NN2FqTTBX0j4Gr-GV14WSOcSYbaM4ojeWaGhjSqmQrAoY185_xy7oNzm1YVYzyBFkhUaSJu1wYm3xVXBZP2Chpgl9S1qXpZREcZCy9hLQVCDLMouzJFu-sE5iw7zQbRaDEz5OLaV40iTXidFG49Kiyh4-HxbP1VprSnJMQ/w346-h400/4.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I remember a
conversation way back when. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A discussion
about how the strongest rider doesn’t always win.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That the victor is more often the endurance
athlete who can suffer the most.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mediocre
competitors out suffering much more talented racers.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It happens all the time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So very much of it is in the head.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In our willingness to turn ourselves inside
out on the race course.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But maybe it isn’t
just in our ABILITY to suffer.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe it’s
mostly in our REASON to suffer.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A while
back I remember reading a story about Greg Lemond.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Shortly after almost losing his life in a
hunting accident, he made the winning break in an early season race even if he
obviously had much less fitness and training compared to the rest of the peloton.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lemond felt like he belonged in that break.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was his reason for suffering.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In Tyler Hamilton’s book, he explains how for
Lance Armstrong that losing was like dying.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And we now all know the extent that he went to in order to win.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For him, it was a matter of life or death.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was his reason for suffering.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A few days ago in the Tour de France,
Canadian Israel-Premier Tech racer Hugo Houle won stage 16 in honor of his late
brother Pierrik who was killed by a drunk driver in 2012.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For 10 years he promised he’d win a Tour
stage for his brother.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was his reason
for suffering.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I raced bikes for close
to 30 years, It’s pretty much what I had assumed that I’d keep doing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I felt like it was who I was, what I was
meant to do.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">During that time, I just
couldn’t see myself not racing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But then
things changed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I changed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How I now see myself.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My identity.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My relationship with these bikes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How do I know that I am done with racing?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s quite simple actually.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I know today that my racing days are over
because I have since lost my reason for suffering.</span></p><p></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-8298648053623835742022-07-07T10:18:00.001-03:002022-07-07T10:18:16.021-03:00Concussaversary<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0KTfw8geZTmOWSNqwTozJ3rjXJSI5wIO6s7LGK5q75x0y7xeB-1jA0Se3LgrREMn4qxM8z8xzbQVWLk8e7IYx8b6uT_RhHnv-jJJiM8MU0xzsdost9WFn5U6AmzZAC-wIlA2HeA4mn4a4YBWEA1Qz_YmOtQdwfe1TCMy-VctdpsWEwKOAYnxyz9QBg/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0KTfw8geZTmOWSNqwTozJ3rjXJSI5wIO6s7LGK5q75x0y7xeB-1jA0Se3LgrREMn4qxM8z8xzbQVWLk8e7IYx8b6uT_RhHnv-jJJiM8MU0xzsdost9WFn5U6AmzZAC-wIlA2HeA4mn4a4YBWEA1Qz_YmOtQdwfe1TCMy-VctdpsWEwKOAYnxyz9QBg/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJuDCIndw-s4wOPzN7xUIbL75LSZrwgqH-pRCztUjp4foZZhMadXer1XG-sZGC2gNbRTSv9INFSCbouvyRZTHB2XJ3PuGZCVMfjZVdIZxaa6wMpnszkK2oCEY-M4BNzMeIoNFOQEq-SaPMz5P1ZlW2E87RX5voomcUV0uy-qpaXWOEdHUluBZQEVNNw/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJuDCIndw-s4wOPzN7xUIbL75LSZrwgqH-pRCztUjp4foZZhMadXer1XG-sZGC2gNbRTSv9INFSCbouvyRZTHB2XJ3PuGZCVMfjZVdIZxaa6wMpnszkK2oCEY-M4BNzMeIoNFOQEq-SaPMz5P1ZlW2E87RX5voomcUV0uy-qpaXWOEdHUluBZQEVNNw/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The impact
was fatal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Annihilating a huge part of
me when my head hit the ground on that day six years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bike racer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This false persona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ego completely dismantled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My truth revealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Face to face with the real me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This new fuzzy reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Desperately waiting for my senses to settle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This brand new everchanging brain
chemistry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowhere to hide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Impossible to keep riding away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just me and these demons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Desperately trying to find a way to tame
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past Tuesday, July 5<sup>th</sup>,
was my concussaversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last time that
I pinned on a race number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day that
the previous version of me died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hit
me hard for some reason this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Partly because of how traumatic this seemingly minor injury has affected
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And mostly because of how far I’ve
come since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without this accident,
I am absolutely certain that I would have never undertaken the difficult work of
healing my trauma as a sexual abuse victim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So much internalized shame released.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I truly believe that was the main purpose of this whole ordeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The universe’s way of showing someone
stubborn and hard headed like me the way to the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got out for a solo celebratory ride that
evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meeting myself by spinning
these pedals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A short gravel jaunt before
the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I feel like I’m still
healing from this injury, I can’t help but also feel forever grateful for all
that it has taught me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the parts
of you that once seemed all important need to die in order to make room for much
better parts of you to emerge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
never “just a concussion”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love your
brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And always wear a helmet.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-37959202828506087362022-06-29T10:30:00.006-03:002022-06-29T10:30:36.323-03:00Pedaling Longevity Project<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGNSr-5PU-zexl_yyADZkeqZBA-pUrbUHpdtwTSAm4BNqq0E3I-GFchx4YD4we70zxxqOkvZ7KY-jlrWlTClu--javlqLAgXa7-y8NeGOzfP3RMl7aOKwQcW2RlvZ5m4G889-DbLDALJfsjkJGMP4AYloI0djyF_S5JqwNAFCO23kjbxW4jubGtaEtA/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGNSr-5PU-zexl_yyADZkeqZBA-pUrbUHpdtwTSAm4BNqq0E3I-GFchx4YD4we70zxxqOkvZ7KY-jlrWlTClu--javlqLAgXa7-y8NeGOzfP3RMl7aOKwQcW2RlvZ5m4G889-DbLDALJfsjkJGMP4AYloI0djyF_S5JqwNAFCO23kjbxW4jubGtaEtA/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifexETqDkxRweIgvvQuAx904FqklWpexwqKyh-84AqE0DUNXraddiIWi9nZ6o26OD5x_VPhZ0tq1bvStP57c-NuWJIDwwgTwKutKY6dHfA8XqTaPKrvMio8cK3UjPCQoxsfsISHuAs4HOqyD86Qeanu1HIn2UMRgEAeGo_kCl9L_aDn-XjzNC3c6FjPA/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifexETqDkxRweIgvvQuAx904FqklWpexwqKyh-84AqE0DUNXraddiIWi9nZ6o26OD5x_VPhZ0tq1bvStP57c-NuWJIDwwgTwKutKY6dHfA8XqTaPKrvMio8cK3UjPCQoxsfsISHuAs4HOqyD86Qeanu1HIn2UMRgEAeGo_kCl9L_aDn-XjzNC3c6FjPA/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuf96WS5HLEvONXsdOZ6JKIzptf6VYll2t4Po9oS0d8TZa3jTpkGVoy4KF7gje8WOEhRUpCLFrKVLLJ-3sw810t5futjLlizvaw1yI3cLeZsiikbEwaRS8beyFEjFsfvsRJHKLeMA0Gp79BGhvxSpZL-2ANQZd24DBCjNjP7dqzMPF9FIvMDPAm37Xw/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuf96WS5HLEvONXsdOZ6JKIzptf6VYll2t4Po9oS0d8TZa3jTpkGVoy4KF7gje8WOEhRUpCLFrKVLLJ-3sw810t5futjLlizvaw1yI3cLeZsiikbEwaRS8beyFEjFsfvsRJHKLeMA0Gp79BGhvxSpZL-2ANQZd24DBCjNjP7dqzMPF9FIvMDPAm37Xw/w400-h300/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacrClu-s5NYYYlMVReeXdlKNcTJs5keTqoqoediqRajDcathhLtmSjvtJvJx7RJa-teP3itxnsUUBYNtWsvpZRByv6D0qjwsWHKfuaX04RTjuu18SeiqzIWtn8eYY0Aq_kQj7XrRlKjdcWlEIEhUFcn6UoEGdI1pAmtwuY3EDyS9gS54oUL29D1WukA/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacrClu-s5NYYYlMVReeXdlKNcTJs5keTqoqoediqRajDcathhLtmSjvtJvJx7RJa-teP3itxnsUUBYNtWsvpZRByv6D0qjwsWHKfuaX04RTjuu18SeiqzIWtn8eYY0Aq_kQj7XrRlKjdcWlEIEhUFcn6UoEGdI1pAmtwuY3EDyS9gS54oUL29D1WukA/w400-h300/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For the
longest time now, riding has been my medicine.
For so many years, I used it as an analgesic. A coping mechanism enabling me to numb the
pain from underlying past trauma. A very
effective method. Riding to forget. It worked for years. Even if it was but a masking remedy that only
provided temporary relief. Today, my
riding has changed. I’ve changed. Less avoiding. More feeling.
Riding to remember. To heal what
I am struggling to feel. To help me make
a bit of sense of the senseless. Closer to
these emotions. No longer trying to
escape them. My bikes guiding me back to
my true self. I’ve come to a point where
I no longer have any use for competition anymore. I’ve come to despise it actually. It just seems to rob me of too much
happiness. There simply is nothing left
to prove. I am already enough. Fast enough.
Strong enough. Goal setting and
signing up for challenging events are not what motivate me to keep pedaling. My reasons are intrinsic. No longer about improving. Simply about enjoying. The only intention or goal that I currently
have in regards to bikes is to be able to ride as long as physically
possible. Not faster. Not farther.
Just to keep spinning these pedals.
In this happy medium space at this unhurried pace called
sustainability. I call it my personal ‘Pedaling
Longevity Project’.</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic",sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-83403948611489287722022-05-27T14:07:00.002-03:002022-05-27T14:07:16.841-03:00Changing my mind about change<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVkoMSKXPzmB4gBDakLtkNk16jYQThKSAW2vsg5OsJ6my0aVe_mJvjUtohBvRTQxAoIOJrFNgIStmNCAdbF3JV99KWVZXAFhIg63hPr_P7Ncg6UWM3RYGS_W6HAg6sfWHY3gczIzlD2XKm3P_Zg0cU-Ovm9kjh87tdPF89N14kT-G-WUSWRDo_nG6ww/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdVkoMSKXPzmB4gBDakLtkNk16jYQThKSAW2vsg5OsJ6my0aVe_mJvjUtohBvRTQxAoIOJrFNgIStmNCAdbF3JV99KWVZXAFhIg63hPr_P7Ncg6UWM3RYGS_W6HAg6sfWHY3gczIzlD2XKm3P_Zg0cU-Ovm9kjh87tdPF89N14kT-G-WUSWRDo_nG6ww/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNM9Noafx7pwqdO9wp8YTFPbnWl1kIaFCqBRXpJuAvsJIdm-pmapb6prh4YfvVHGGjCQ0n7RyVVkekg3Z0VWNBidk6tX_QA768WTramRQTJmoXsYQzuaJPLt8EMCAYd8a18Kt17fQsTW0Zsul5oHPslWfGYvTpsIYBzPu5tnwjj6_Die_8Lxyey7j8Q/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNM9Noafx7pwqdO9wp8YTFPbnWl1kIaFCqBRXpJuAvsJIdm-pmapb6prh4YfvVHGGjCQ0n7RyVVkekg3Z0VWNBidk6tX_QA768WTramRQTJmoXsYQzuaJPLt8EMCAYd8a18Kt17fQsTW0Zsul5oHPslWfGYvTpsIYBzPu5tnwjj6_Die_8Lxyey7j8Q/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBKFpxCjmQT_ZwFGE5L1TY8m6fWqY7CCQSNREC5-zOiUTMe7AnIAqPWxlpzBaYEyByO6wmn7cnFeY7BGn-UYJv1UiW4nEbLVsqu1fus1shs28Rwtuc9RXlnkGrROvQBgRx6PFC2HM9lZexz-0QYogkJC_dQjc6Se8dzwSfEwRUEcV0h6CN2wwr-An7w/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBKFpxCjmQT_ZwFGE5L1TY8m6fWqY7CCQSNREC5-zOiUTMe7AnIAqPWxlpzBaYEyByO6wmn7cnFeY7BGn-UYJv1UiW4nEbLVsqu1fus1shs28Rwtuc9RXlnkGrROvQBgRx6PFC2HM9lZexz-0QYogkJC_dQjc6Se8dzwSfEwRUEcV0h6CN2wwr-An7w/w400-h301/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtw_eWNwq7LzdVoJynyTXzMzPFlU7S6P7U26rxnAJqRuAZmywXPoPa93Z-rbx8ceBWxKtLoyD9swGP0_9IYJ7hY6AzpXkY6crMDt0b5mHUHoJT71l-uPZjcy2rmXMf7Dk-Vyd0wLhiJ-W8GcQgQCsKIAJ_7by3lzNCilsSBANR6EV8Cnyf2AGLfAanw/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1440" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtw_eWNwq7LzdVoJynyTXzMzPFlU7S6P7U26rxnAJqRuAZmywXPoPa93Z-rbx8ceBWxKtLoyD9swGP0_9IYJ7hY6AzpXkY6crMDt0b5mHUHoJT71l-uPZjcy2rmXMf7Dk-Vyd0wLhiJ-W8GcQgQCsKIAJ_7by3lzNCilsSBANR6EV8Cnyf2AGLfAanw/w400-h303/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I don’t
remember who said it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And I don’t
remember the exact wording.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But I do
remember reading that working on oneself is mainly about learning how to let go
of wanting things or people to change.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Change.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’re most often either impatiently
waiting for it or dreading it.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We’ve
been blessed with warm beautiful days these last few weeks.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With some wet cool days in between.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been riding almost daily.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mostly gravel with some road.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Groad is what I think they call it .</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">With some BMX in between.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This sunny weather after all the rain earlier
this month has left these forests vibrantly buzzing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So very pregnant.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Birthing fresh leaves.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Reawakening.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">These creatures of light.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Constantly changing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If I’m
honest, I must admit that I had been restlessly waiting for these natural changes
for a few months now.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The emergence of
this spring season sprinkled with glimpses of summer.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Empowered by these changes as they change me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Energized by this strengthening sun.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Back to life.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Following its lead.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sleeping when
it sets.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Waking when it rises.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My ideal rhythm.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even if most of my rides are local, around these
same roads, they’re still never the same.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Outside is never stagnant.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Constantly
changing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eloquently evolving.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A brand new ride every single time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The art of riding these bikes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Irrelevant path.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Irrelevant goal.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">No right or wrong direction.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just flowing movement.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The faster I hurry, the slower I go.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Everything just keeps changing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><p></p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-31315781689223405952022-05-06T14:45:00.000-03:002022-05-06T14:45:00.565-03:00Margot<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlUJUsc0EYgh8eAJ211o4fdT75Ho-0B3ZiXxPcE_UTXskhAWlBcSYMnZ03JkxWHDcNnHZlpz8CyTSlG8HelMF3cM57YysZs5YKEiexVZ__BfLYCxcba4QSLBC5ZpiL2Xw3uT9ecTV8HwyMDAXlfLM1STUyfjQ_Q-mItQKJUbpF-gQ_ceiDegZUyF3cw/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlUJUsc0EYgh8eAJ211o4fdT75Ho-0B3ZiXxPcE_UTXskhAWlBcSYMnZ03JkxWHDcNnHZlpz8CyTSlG8HelMF3cM57YysZs5YKEiexVZ__BfLYCxcba4QSLBC5ZpiL2Xw3uT9ecTV8HwyMDAXlfLM1STUyfjQ_Q-mItQKJUbpF-gQ_ceiDegZUyF3cw/w400-h300/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYGbGGWmusFQI4jwPLOT4tov-6gViY_DFtsTSPGSRRRAKfgaw-IIpyWOc1vuuFlpAlZEQ7mJ182fRVtKjKZP3tiQ4C0xWVxLszjYO4ULq9YDcTMEtTP6-EHIFeqS4LLncZhgCq8RYflr57Vl43sdd2h2uX_98hCtygQb3mbFwzxQndB9LNTgcMJjQww/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnYGbGGWmusFQI4jwPLOT4tov-6gViY_DFtsTSPGSRRRAKfgaw-IIpyWOc1vuuFlpAlZEQ7mJ182fRVtKjKZP3tiQ4C0xWVxLszjYO4ULq9YDcTMEtTP6-EHIFeqS4LLncZhgCq8RYflr57Vl43sdd2h2uX_98hCtygQb3mbFwzxQndB9LNTgcMJjQww/w400-h300/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDzVv6aLXKgtV_MLwenOnmnafhhlH73ZNZd1bDjanqljXtmo6M9dVFRS4GIO_lbseNJlJwamiGb9E7EvGCX5z84mzeIl-YbMDSeVK7FSKnnwqY4aHK9GDbrt1qSsyOoj2w_1bvVZTvSI_tSeXIokxDlL4U1n4yryurRLJavSCu6sZeLXD6x7fFA6Lig/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDzVv6aLXKgtV_MLwenOnmnafhhlH73ZNZd1bDjanqljXtmo6M9dVFRS4GIO_lbseNJlJwamiGb9E7EvGCX5z84mzeIl-YbMDSeVK7FSKnnwqY4aHK9GDbrt1qSsyOoj2w_1bvVZTvSI_tSeXIokxDlL4U1n4yryurRLJavSCu6sZeLXD6x7fFA6Lig/w400-h301/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGggtL9tObhf3bG-9tztZ5A0L-yUae7fJni99TQXYRbvFqpcDsaVkdT5BwynhsSwe8mTSjjkN19NJ8LTAeCAhzcYxShvsP0gVmMNVm5XDN4YTAU7NmxycpNHquciCI7XS58VF2uJCXBQ_agFjf9Ldkyi5NmndMvmcRWW1m8W93QitJMLlsgeJcu1X5Q/s1440/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1440" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGggtL9tObhf3bG-9tztZ5A0L-yUae7fJni99TQXYRbvFqpcDsaVkdT5BwynhsSwe8mTSjjkN19NJ8LTAeCAhzcYxShvsP0gVmMNVm5XDN4YTAU7NmxycpNHquciCI7XS58VF2uJCXBQ_agFjf9Ldkyi5NmndMvmcRWW1m8W93QitJMLlsgeJcu1X5Q/w400-h301/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I may have
been in middle school? </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or a freshman in
high school? </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Maybe?</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m not sure.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But after all these years, I still remember reading Ray Bradbury’s science
fiction short story “All Summer in a Day”.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A futuristic story of nine year old classmates living on Venus, a planet
where it rains pretty much constantly, the sun only appearing for a few hours every
seven years.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of the students,
Margot, had moved there from Earth five years earlier and was the only one in
her class who remembers what the sun looks and feels like. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Different from everyone else, she is constantly
bullied and locked into a closet just before the sun comes out of its seven
year hiding causing her to miss the whole thing.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The details of this story were very fuzzy in
my mind after all these years.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But I
clearly remember wondering what it would be like to live in such a wet world.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The intense feeling of euphoria during that
brief period of sunshine.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The tragedy of
how Margot was treated.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The devastation
of missing that sunny interlude.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And the
sheer agony of having to wait another seven long years.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Growing up, I remember literally sitting by
the window waiting for the rain to stop.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Me and my friends in my dad’s garage, impatiently watching our BMX ramps
dry so we could ride.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even today, I
still glance out the window every single morning as soon as I wake up to check
the weather.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Rain for five days straight
last week evoked memories of life on Venus and Margot’s story.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This week the weather changed.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sun and clouds.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Drying gravel.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Close to 80k on Wednesday.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My longest ride of this year.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just getting back home, it starts to rain
again.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not for 5 days this time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just a shower.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Poor Margot.</span></p><p></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7255572165774104242.post-45814680095835263662022-04-27T10:45:00.003-03:002022-04-27T10:45:35.928-03:00Number Sixty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCms-Ik8B9jKNYxXIU6pY5PBtDry1aLPus7AnT4KkjFPaRxVZi1ywF4nDndI2e2ZlWldMIVzTctudJ3lRyrxT5y3ojmLhxffrhv4-hPa2HzD6ehMIhM-aoW7p-tiBCX_rKzhk14j9uamKg-ZNP3LgkbyxmF_pSrTENWSeHfKiJdPx3m5IMI2LiKdspAQ/s1440/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCms-Ik8B9jKNYxXIU6pY5PBtDry1aLPus7AnT4KkjFPaRxVZi1ywF4nDndI2e2ZlWldMIVzTctudJ3lRyrxT5y3ojmLhxffrhv4-hPa2HzD6ehMIhM-aoW7p-tiBCX_rKzhk14j9uamKg-ZNP3LgkbyxmF_pSrTENWSeHfKiJdPx3m5IMI2LiKdspAQ/w400-h400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqKQeiuXp-Rbk3Z2OLHRqHgC-O859rBRgFfLJOI7o8CDVTO6UvIUYSwxt1UMAKtDd2sQFezpIg3JIRunZ01fHKweqIbRFx5VbAZ0jZN9shdMH-s3ROKx5dcRmNKRISBquq1bG8p-63KdOAgz5AUTi8L9WwncWxQTR1phThN5nL_R4gEwk8Ut-JbOVcA/s1440/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqKQeiuXp-Rbk3Z2OLHRqHgC-O859rBRgFfLJOI7o8CDVTO6UvIUYSwxt1UMAKtDd2sQFezpIg3JIRunZ01fHKweqIbRFx5VbAZ0jZN9shdMH-s3ROKx5dcRmNKRISBquq1bG8p-63KdOAgz5AUTi8L9WwncWxQTR1phThN5nL_R4gEwk8Ut-JbOVcA/w400-h400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYUwfY7MtN3KA9u_1t2jz6HhG7EPfupjWjZ_uGNvD71S8dlvEIk_fverZWtX9mkt_ByioJyMLYwLPsO737nHZKL8T5GhTXotAad5ybfjYxzMgOlTuWy0qRzPFK7BRLp2-sznuS5EQ92X8TpIfzpxeEadq3AXj876hyAxwTTl_3enCDha0jppyeHsU3Q/s1440/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYUwfY7MtN3KA9u_1t2jz6HhG7EPfupjWjZ_uGNvD71S8dlvEIk_fverZWtX9mkt_ByioJyMLYwLPsO737nHZKL8T5GhTXotAad5ybfjYxzMgOlTuWy0qRzPFK7BRLp2-sznuS5EQ92X8TpIfzpxeEadq3AXj876hyAxwTTl_3enCDha0jppyeHsU3Q/w400-h400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #262626; font-family: "Segoe UI",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%;">39 years ago. April 1983.
Before going to the car show at the Moncton Coliseum, we dropped into
Eastern Sports. Me and my cousin Armand. We both bought Haro Flo Panel BMX
plates. I didn’t know what number to
choose. I remembered a picture in one of
my BMX Action magazines of a dude riding a white SE PK Ripper like mine. I didn’t really know who he was but I really
liked his style. And that white PK! I’m not 100% sure, but if I remember
correctly, his name was Bubba Hayes. And
he was rocking #60 as he was slaying his competition on the BMX track. I felt inspired. And decided to also go with #60 for my first
full year of BMX racing. I was 14 years
old. Last year, while cleaning my old
bed room, my mom found my old Haro Flo Panel plate. I cleaned it up. And Luc provided the stickers including my
old #60 bringing it back to life. 39
years ago. 1983. Eat.
Sleep. BMX. Repeat. Yeah, that sure was a great summer… <o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Mike LeBlanchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14925417435582338888noreply@blogger.com0