Mortality is measured in miles.
Look in the mirror. You aren’t getting younger. The body slows down, and the world tries to shrink your horizons. Fuck that.
Mountain biking is a direct assault on the comfortable decay of middle age. When you push past the two-hour mark, when your legs are jelly and your back is tight, you enter a space where only will exists. Marcus Aurelius talked about the “inner citadel”—that place inside you that nothing can shake. You don’t build that citadel sitting on the couch. You build it out on the trail, enduring the heat and the distance. Every mile ridden is a reminder that you are still the master of your own domain. Ride hard while you can.
What’s the longest ride you’ve done this year, and what did you learn about yourself in the final hour?
