Cycling creates scars. It is inevitable, but life creates scars too. Each scar carries its own story and its own message.
When looking at some of my acquired scars over the last couple of years, some bring feelings of triumph, and some still bring that stinging pain of disappointment. I don’t want to be told that each scar was worth the pain, and I don’t want to be told I am tough. I don’t take pride in them, they are just a reality. They are a part of me, whether they were in France on a bike, or my arm in the oven getting Brussels sprouts. They are just a fact of life.
I hope to forget some of them, but it seems the ones that you really wish never happened are permanently tattooed not only on your body but also your heart. As they fade away with time, that pungent reminder of the destruction also fades.
Some scars are comical, and some are tragic. Regardless, I am not sure if chicks dig scars or not. I have accepted some of my scars, and still wish others weren’t there. The good news is that they are all healed, and the reality is, there will be more. That’s life.
And no, I haven’t created any new cycling scars recently, I am just reminiscing.