What am I running from?

I've just gotten home from a solo 60km ride in the sun, the wind and the rain.

As a MAMIL = A Middle Aged Man in (some combination of materials unknown to me but commonly referred to as) Lycra" - reflecting on this ride it struck me that normally when I'm out on my bike I get a lot of thinking done. Ideas hit me and problems are solved.
Also, my earlier debauchery and extra calories consumed in the form of 3 weinerbröds and 4 cookies in the SJ lounge earlier that day were slowly being whittled away as I wheeled along the winding, undulating roads of Eastern Sweden.

Look! Some Mamils, enjoying life! What were they running from?
Ahh yes, the chance of NOT supporting kids with cancer. Well done there.

I would think of how my healthy lifestyle will permit me to enjoy my future grandchildren and who knows, perhaps even my future Great grandchildren.

2008 and two of my sprogs with Ride of Hope mascot- 'Hoppe'
Caitlin now does work for SISU and Stadium Sportscamp. Well done there.
WHAT was she running from??

I would ponder the effects of a good cardio workout, how it deals with the bad cholesterol, keeps my heart strong with a rather nice volume/per beat-ratio. Leaves my legs feeling empty but good. Damn good ... "Never have I ever regretted a work.out" I would think to myself whilst raising a hand to thank the driver that slowed down behind me till the road is clear instead of overtaking me by the narrowest of margins.

I'd notice how the countryside is getting greener. How Spring's warm breath is slowly heating up the rich, dark soil that farmers tilled and sewed for the coming summers crops as I sit pedaling patiently behind a tractor along with 17 cars, all of us biding our time till we can overtake and wave at the farmhand, thanking him for keeping the food on our tables. What is he running from in that tractor?

It would have been fun to try and remember all of the people I have met through cycling, or all the fantastic cities, towns, villages and hamlets I've passed through or visited on my numerous rides stretching over 37 years. From Primrose Hill in North West London to mt Carpenga in Emilia de Romagna.

Just a few of the amazing people I've met through cycling.
Just what were you running from guys?

Santarcangelo in Emilia de Romagna - Heaven on Earth, or just another place to run away to?

But today my mind was pretty blank. Being a cyclist some might think that's normal.
Some may go so far as to say that cyclists can't think at all when pedaling like maniacs on the tarmac.
They may say that thinking is reserved for the cumbersome, the fat, the lazy, the jealous, for those lacking the desire or will to feel the rush of adrenalin in their veins; In short, for those that have retired and surrendered themselves and their paunch to the luxury of an armchair, to ever remain untill their toes are pushing up the daisies from 6 feet below (and ten years premature) as they realise that running from death is futile so let's just sit here and wait for it. Why run?

According to the surgeon who removed my tumour, a non-healthy lifestyle
would have warranted a different approach to treating my cancer and
undoubtedly hampered the procedure! It could have ended badly.

In reflection I can see myself running/cycling TO a lot of things. A future without illness, a future with my kids, a future with my friends, a future filled with happiness and new adventures.
Today though I could think of none of these. Today I was running away .... running away and thinking "I sure hope that Malin Wollin isn't in her car in my neck of the woods." - You know, that journalist (loose description) whom upon approaching a cyclist on the road doesn't know whether to wait for the appropriate moment to overtake and get on with her busy, busy, important life, or to run the said cyclist over and then get on with her busy, busy, important life (planning her next mass velocide) Källa: Here

Is this really what you want Malin?

I tried to think positive thoughts. Like "IF she was ever in my neck of the woods, shuttelling her pastry-filled offspring (Darwin at work) to their summer sportscamp, then perhaps her bubbahs juicey little puffy faces, squinting into the sun (or just looking that way) will be inspired by one of yours truely's offspring and take a liking to the training and exercise that could potentially save the Government billions  (Exaggerate!? ME??) in medical costs and them from a potentially premature death" ... but honestly, who am I kidding. They would no doubt be pre-programmed to reject all sports in school, arguing: "I'm allergic to physical training, it disagrees with my eating habits!"
Well don't worry kids, mum will always be there to give you a ride to the A&E.
... and failing that she can always call for an ambulance while your embolism drains the colour acquired sticking your face out of a fastly moving cars' back seat window, from your softly rounded features.
At least that's less competition for my sproggs when out in the job-market! Well done there.

Yaaaay! Come on kids, lets all die young, or at least sit and do nothing while waiting.