I push myself.
Not to win, but to see what I’m capable of.
A few weeks back I was cycling 50 km with a friend half my age. We were pushing hard. Back in the city limits, we both slowed. It was raining. I entered the roundabout first. As I exited, I heard a th-wump!
My friend and his bike were lying in the road, cars queuing behind. He was banged up but able to walk. X-rays revealed a broken hand. Now he’s in plaster for weeks.
That could have been me.
His tyres had slipped on the greasy line markings. By chance, I had made sure to ride clear of them. Why? Because of a new habit I’m trying to get into: not cutting corners. You know, taking shortcuts, quick fixes and half-arsed preparation.
My life has been one long she’ll be right mate!
But I’ve also been incredibly lucky.
I’ve fallen 12metres from a cliff onto my head, had a head-on crash on a motorbike and electrocuted myself.
I reckon I’ve used up my luck.
If I want to see my grandson become a man, I have to lift my game. I’ll stop being a knucklehead who cuts corners. Am I finally growing up?