Wholistic Fitness

SCHOOL IS OFFICIALLY BACK IN SESSION:

“The World’s Fittest Human”, Coach Ilg, gets schooled like a kindygarter on his first Flagstaff Cycling Club Training Ride.

It’s a good thing my WF Jersey carries the slogan, “WF…Begin Again and Again,” cuz’ folks, this ol’ mountain yogi finished dead last in my first Training Ride with the local boyz. I went down hard like flank steak without water as the dashingly handsome young local chieftains of the pedals schooled me on their home grown 65-mile hammerfest along the shores of magnificent Mary and Mormon Lakes just south of town.

When you are a WF Master Student, you get used to losing. I find it funny that many people associate me with ‘winning’ because usually, i lose. That’s because, unlike conventionally trained athletes, i don’t give a damn about what normal athletes crave; sport specificity. It does not turn on the WF Master Athlete to simply do one sport and eventually get good at it. Any chimpanzee can be thusly trained. There is little spiritual benefit in sport-specificity. On the other hand, copious amounts of Bardo merit await he or she who devotes their fitness life to to Dancing the Physiologic Spectrum; endurance, strength, suppleness, skill, and mastery of body/mind nutrition.

To be completely honest, i suppose i was over confident going into this Club Ride, which began in the seductive quaintness of historic downtown Flag. Each Saturday, during non-snow months, the local Cardio Warriors meet at 9:00 am at “Late For The Train” the native coffee shop that makes the corporate Starbucks seem as spiritually sterile as a Las Vegas Resort. Yesterday, i and Sudhamani (my road bike) cruised the eight minute jaunt from my home to downtown Flag. With my early morning Meditation, pre-ride ToiletYoga, and Pranayam under my WF jersey, i felt as light as the turquoise sky which greeted my ride. Waves of pure Pran rolled off the 12,000’+ shoulders of the San Francisco Peaks like etheral blankets of om saturating my cells. I felt Warrior ready. I knew, by direct experience, that there are no Easy local club rides. I knew it would be a testosterone War on Wheels.

Pain. I hear Rinpoche’s words, “Whatever you do, don�t shut off your pain; accept your pain and remain vulnerable. However desperate you become, accept your pain as it is, because it is in fact trying to hand you a priceless gift: the chance of discovering, through spiritual practice, what lies behind sorrow.”

To prepare to handle the inevitable boatload of pain that would sure to come on this Training Ride, i had granted my sea-level, pollution seared lungs two weeks to ‘acclimatize’ to this high altitude air. In these two weeks i had explored, on my ‘Cross bike (Nalanda), a mind-boggling (and leg ripping) maze of world-class wilderness trails and forest roads canvas the Kachina Wilderness more efficiently than a spider’s web weaved in high wind. I had equalled a local hillclimb record earlier in the week and was feeling fit. I showed up early at Late For The Train and took delight in watching the ‘tourists.’ i sensed deep Happiness to be a ‘local’ once again, in a mountain town. The cyclists came. And came. By the time we pushed off, the peleton was about 35 strong. Half that many would meet and join our Cardio Parade as we pedaled toward the outskirts of the ancient city and into the woods.

When i ride in a peleton, the peleton is always about 15 racers. Why? For in a peleton like this one, ‘safety is in speed.’ The mass of riders can reach speeds of 45 mph+ handlebar-to-handlebar, elbow to elbow. All it takes to go down into the asphalt and be stampeded by the ensuing mass, is to make one flicker of a mistake; drinking from a water bottle, swerving to miss roadside debris, etc. I stay in the top 10-15 guys no matter what (unless i have a team around me), for those guys are the good guys. The guys that know a thing or two about bike handling. The suffering is High up here, yet the safety factor is as equal a caliber.

The course is not ‘my’ type of course. It is a big man’s course; rolling terrain with impressive side winds. Belgium…without the freezing rain. At the ‘climbing prime’ i took 9th place. Not bad, ilg. At the halfway sprint prime, i took 7th place, even though i did not know where the City Limit sign was that designated the Sprint Line. Not bad, ilg. I had the WF CHI, baby! It looked like i was the oldest guy in this top group. In fact, I looked decidedly out of place…an old man surrounded by wrinkle-free bronzed calves and thighs of Herculean proportions. (Girls, if you are single and looking for cute, fit, mountain boys; git yer skirt to Flag…there are mountain babes everywhere here!) At the mini-rest stop at Lake Mormon Lodge, i sparked conversation with the boys from the local bike racing teams. Surely, thought i, these guys were impressed with the new “old guy from LA” and i would soon be courting sponsorship offers from their respective teams. I was fitting into my new cycling scene like a Delta faucet capping a sink bound PVC, baby.

Then, we re-mounted our ponies and turned them toward the stables, awaiting us in Flag 30 miles and 1,100′ higher.
It is then, my noble Wholistic Fitness warriors, that Reality shattered my delusions of grandeur.

COMING SOON TO DL; the Conclusion