addiction

I had brunch with my handful of female friends a while back, something we do much too infrequently. we are connected through former employment and our children's schools, and the seven of us bring amazingly different backgrounds and life experiences together in a beautifully successful, crazy quilt kind of way.
two of us are from michigan, two have lost sons, one has lost a husband. five of us worked for the same company years ago, and four of us have children who have attended the same schools. two of us married boys they dated in high school, and one is currently dating a boy she went to the prom with. one just returned to college, three have graduate degrees, and between us we've given birth to nineteen children. one has a sister with addiction issues, and one has an ex-husband with addiction issues.
while we are all healthy, a few of us walk, a few run, a few own bikes, only one of us is as committed to cycling as I am. yep, that would be me.

one of us has a son who died of an oxycontin overdose five years ago.
his mother has fought for years now to spread the word about this dangerous drug, to warn others, and to have oxycontin banned.
so some of our conversations are about addiction.
and at brunch, it turned to other kinds of addictions, and suddenly I was addicted to cycling.

now, certainly, people can say that, think that, even believe that.
I can get defensive, I can agree with it, or I can try to put it in perspective by understanding their perspective as one who doesn't live inside my skin.

I begin with a definition of addiction. the following is the most relevant one I could find, as most definitions focus on the use of drugs or other habit forming, harmful substances:

a recurring compulsion by an individual to engage in some specific activity, despite harmful consequences, as deemed by the user themselves to their individual health, mental state, or social life. (the infamous wikipedia.)

so . . . compulsion? well, I do feel compelled to move. (I think we're supposed to do that. doctors tell us to, and God gave us all those muscles and capabilities for a reason.) I just happen to like to move on a bicycle as opposed to walking or running. but I also love my books and my couch.
harmful consequences? like . . .? a healthy heart? toned muscles? a boosted metabolism? not sure I can find a harmful consequence. I manage to balance responsibilities and social activities with my cycling. and my mental state is mostly improved by biking.

some say we get addicted to the endorphins, and push ourselves to keep experiencing that high.
well . . . I think I grew up learning that a "natural high" was what we were to reach for, to "get high on life" as opposed to alcohol, drugs, food, shopping, and on and on.

I've stated this before, and I still hold it to be true: I am not addicted to cycling, nor am I even obsessed with it. I am someone who finds peace, joy, and a way to be healthy, all on my bicycle.
and on those days (weeks) when the phone doesn't ring, the editors don't respond, and orders for my work are nonexistent, riding my bicycle is a way to keep my sanity.
I train hard for the events I choose to participate in, and I love feeling strong and capable, but the meditative aspect of cycling is probably the most important piece of all.

a beautiful bit of advice I once heard was this: don't explain, don't defend.
so to even write about this is difficult, as I don't want to be one who doth explain too much.
I am firmly committed to my mental health, to my physical health, to experiencing joy in our world, and to being a peaceful, loving, helpful member of our shared planet.
riding my bike dovetails perfectly with my goals, and for as long as it brings me health and joy, I will continue to hop on ruby and pedal away.

you can call it addiction if you'd like, or even obsession. but I know the truth about me, and I'm okay with it. I've got a fabulously healthy heart, and I've got my sanity.
works for me.

coffee

I want to write about coffee this morning.
but to get there, I have to start with Atlas Shrugged, which I am currently re-reading. if you're not familiar with it, this book is Ayn Rand's 1168 page classic, a philosophical novel, or what I call a really really long fable.
the protagonist is Dagny Taggert, a beautiful, intelligent, driven, productive, capable, amazing woman. who smokes. seemingly constantly. she is forever lighting a cigarette, smoking one, having one lit for her, buying cigarettes, lighting one for someone else . . . now I know this novel was written over 60 years ago, but didn't they even have a clue back then that smoking was not the best thing for your health?
what I've decided is that Dagny was Ayn's semi-autobiographical creation, and that Ayn herself was a committed, determined, heavy duty smoker.
okay, that said, now I can turn to coffee.
I drink a lot of coffee every morning. and like the question I asked of myself last week about cycling: is it an addiction? or just a strong habit? and what does it say about me if it is an addiction?
was Dagny addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that take away from the competent, capable, truly astounding woman she was? was Ayn Rand addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that make her any less of a philosopher, writer, intellectual, and truly astounding woman that she was?
I love drinking my coffee. I make a small pot each morning, and it has become a very special routine for me. I take one of my favorite mugs, and pour into it an ounce or so of milk. then I warm this for 19 seconds (laugh all you want: I know my idiosyncrasies), and then add coffee and artificial sweetener (another no-no) until I have a mug full of sweet, hot, dark brown fluid that warms me up and makes me smile.
I usually end up zapping my mug in the mircrowave a few times before I fill up again, as I sip on my coffee for hours, in between writing and reading and working and making hot chocolate and lunches and driving kids to school and cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry and whatever else comes up each morning.
my coffee is a caf/decaf mix: 1 to 3 is my current ratio. for me it's not all about the caffeine, it's more about the ritual, the routine, the habit. so I try to just do a little caffeine and a lot not. but here's the thing: I don't really know how significantly I am hooked on this stuff. because I don't want to stop making and drinking my coffee.
could I give it up? I'm sure I could, if I had to.
will I give it up? not unless I absolutely have to.
about the only time I will forgo coffee is when there's neither milk nor artificial sweetner that I like. (I detest splenda, can tolerate equal, and definitely prefer the little pink packet kind.) my mother-in-law used to have a little bottle ~ like the kind you get prescriptions in from the pharmacy ~ with saccharin pills in it, these itsy bitsy teeny little white things that would dissolve in liquid. those are okay with me, but I always felt like some kind of a drug addict when I used one.
you know I am desperate for coffee when I drink it black with real sugar. ick.
you know I've completely lost my mind when I use cream. ugh.
(please pardon the break: I just returned to the computer after leaving for the kitchen to refill my mug of coffee.)
on mornings like this there is also something about holding that warm mug between my hands, feeling the heat through the smooth ceramic surface, knowing that the liquid inside will warm my body and give comfort to my soul. this small event contributes to my sense of well-being: to me it means warmth and security, comfort and luxury. no matter what the rest of my life holds, at the moment I sip from this mug I am safe, warm, happy, and have all of my needs met.
that is a pretty amazing gift from some water, some beans, a little milk, some saccharin, and a beautifully shaped piece of ceramic.
so, like Ayn Rand, I may have certain traits and habits that seem to belie the "I have it all together" posture I present to the world. or like Archilles and every other character in Greek mythology, I, too, have my tragic flaws. and I suppose if drinking my mugfuls of coffee each morning is on that list, I am happy to have it remain there because guess what?
I love my coffee ritual.
especially after a 23-mile early morning ride in the 40 degree dark.
mmm, mmm, aah.

notes

my mother asked me the other day if I was perhaps obsessed with cycling.
I laughed, and replied, of course not, then canceled our lunch date so I could go for a 50-mile ride before the clouds moved in.
no, I didn't.
then there's the article in this month's issue of Bicycling magazine (to which I have a subscription, but please note that this was given to me by a friend; I didn't ask for it, either) called, Are You Addicted to Cycling? I read the teaser on the cover, then immediately turned to that page and skimmed the article (I didn't have time to read it, as I was getting ready to go for a ride), to see whether or not I met the criteria.

so, am I? am I not?
after my mom asked the question, she went on to say, as long as you don't need to do it . . . and then she qualified that statement by saying, well, I do need to do my walking . . .
and there's the rub. I love to bike, and it's an activity that is good for me. at what point does one cross over from healthy levels of activity/fitness to obsession and addiction?
what I know is that I have not made that cross.
how do I know this?
because I drag myself out of bed or off the couch to go riding, and I am almost always thrilled when it is over. on a day off I am grateful. I love to sleep in and ignore my bike. all of these indicate that I still possess some level of sanity around my cycling. on top of all those, I have never maxed my credit card out at the bike shop, and though I may have bike and gadget envy, I can patiently await the day when I can afford to buy my new toys. (that's because, remember, I have thoroughly learned patience in this life.)
therefore, I deduce that I am neither obsessed by nor addicted to cycling.
there are a few points on the other side, however . . .
such as my odometer reading and commitment to reaching that next big number.
such as my determination to keep riding each morning, dark as it is.
such as my dislike of stopping along the way to smell the roses: I catch enough of the fragrance as I ride past.

when I first started riding regularly, my path took me through many neighborhoods. and on my "recovery days" I still often wind through streets with houses, sidewalks, yards, and gardens. that first summer I saw so many different styles of gardens and yards, and was amazed by how many truly beautiful homes there are. so very many people must take great pride in how they care for their homes and yards, and I love this about riding through neighborhoods.
what it made me think of was that I should carry around a pad of paper and pen, and leave notes for people. "Your yard is stunning ~ it is pure pleasure to ride past your house" -type notes. "Your house is gorgeous, and you take wonderful care of your yard--thanks!" and then sometimes it would be, "Are you aware that you have a broken sprinkler head by the driveway that is gushing, 6am, Tuesday?"
but I have yet to put paper and pen in my pocket.
because then I would have to stop along the way, which doesn't fit with my cycling life.
which leads me to think I'm a little too addicted to the whole pattern of get up-ride-get home, do it again tomorrow.
yes, I said addicted.

someday, I think, I will be calm enough to go for a leisurely ride with a small notebook and a pen. and I will stop every time I want to write a note to a homeowner. I will write it, put my bike down, and go tuck the note in the mailbox. then pick my bike up and ride away, off to find the next beautiful yard.