Coming home

Winter arrived early, but the cold and rain had already largely dampened my desire to ride outdoors. I had just returned from a month in Europe, including two weeks in the south of France, and the contrast in temperature significantly eroded my motivation.

So I returned home.

I never really left the Cartel. I continued to go there even in the summer, to do some structured training from time to time. Or I would join groups there on the weekends to ride outdoors. My other outdoor rides were a mix of low-intensity volume and several hours of "hard riding."

But now I was back indoors for the winter. I was returning to my old habits, and familiar faces, plus a few new ones. The social club of coffee and watts, equipment and anecdotes. We told each other about our travels. One to Italy, the other to Spain. Work had resumed its usual, sometimes frantic pace, and our lives, their anaerobic frenzy.

 I then remembered why I liked coming here: because I find myself in a bubble away from it all. Even though I sometimes arrive in a panic and leave in a hurry, most of the time I don't check my phone, I flit from person to person, chatting about this and that, simply exchanging pleasantries or superficial observations. But this social club centered around cycling is what I've dreamed of ever since I fell in love with the sport.

I watch a recorded race, discuss the outcome with another customer. Then I put on my clothes and slip into the darkness of the training room to reconnect with the familiarity of numbers. Their relentlessness, too.

I like their objectivity. Especially when things aren't going so well. A workout that doesn't go as I'd hoped is an opportunity to ask myself all sorts of questions, which outdoor training doesn't always allow me to do. If I can't finish a session, is it because I'm tired? How well am I sleeping? Did I eat well? What is my overall stress level and what is worrying me?

The figures from indoor training thus become a pretext for broader introspection, touching on all spheres of life.

When things go wrong, I don't look for excuses. I look for reasons, motives. I will then try to change the course of events, and the figures will allow me to check whether I have succeeded.

Others are going through the same thing. We talk about it after training. Even during training. I find a brotherhood there, encouragement that I try to pass on in turn. I would never get that on my own in my basement, on the roller.

So I'm not upset to be back to the rhythm of past winters, with regular indoor training. I've rediscovered my bearings, my methods, my friends, and my acquaintances. And the unique setting of a meeting place where performance matters, but never as much as human contact.