David Desjardins - Guest blogger

I train to suffer.

It's not masochism, it's meditation, asceticism. I renounce comfort to plunge my body into a state of distress that leads me to a territory of mystical effort. I am in pain and I try to reduce the sensation to a state of information. My survival instincts tell me to stop, but I train my mind to resist this urge. Each episode of suffering makes me stronger. I learn to manage the pain. I become tougher.

I exercise to feel good. After working out, my veins throb with contentment. They irrigate my brain, where the sweetest of drugs spreads. Endorphins invigorate and numb me, and my legs feel light, as if they have been literally emptied of their contents. I'm floating, happy to have finished my program. It's a small achievement, but one that repeats itself and satisfies my need to push myself.

I train to forget. Work, errands, finances, troubles, car repairs, house repairs, cleaning, children, parents, illness, grief, fear of death, relationships going haywire, demons from childhood or adolescence, regrets. When my heart beats faster and harder than a jackhammer, nothing else exists. I am just a body.

I exercise to see more clearly. Because after purging, I find my way back through the maze of my thoughts. In the chaos of ideas piling up, physical exercise brings order and untangles the thousand balls of yarn thrown into the middle of my head. In the shower, ideas flow, solutions appear. Everything seems clearer, less complex. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I exercise to feel alive. My muscles tense, my inner voice urging me not to give up, the wind in my face, the speed, my breath becoming shorter and shorter, and my heart beating in my chest: sport—and cycling in particular—reminds me that I am here, now, alive and happy to be so. I appreciate how lucky I am to have a healthy body that I can enjoy for my own pleasure.

I train for all the little deaths. Head down on the handlebars, at a standstill, arms dangling, nausea, irritated bronchial tubes, unusual heat radiating from my entire body. I pushed myself to the limit, maybe even beyond. I died to come back to life. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

I train to feel stronger. There are so many things that make me feel tiny, over which I have no control or influence. But by repeating movements, gaining confidence, and being able to anticipate what will happen, I develop reflexes, power, and a kind of intelligence. I feel less vulnerable.

I train to learn humility. Because there is always someone stronger than you. And if there are stronger people, there are also more generous, more intelligent, more cunning, and more talented people. On the bike, as everywhere else, I am confronted with better. But I am not envious. I have found role models, idols, and guides. A new path to follow to succeed.