(New addendum as of May 26 at bottom. Bit of a doozy.)

The obvious answer, of course, is that you might have no choice: that given what’s coming, anyone who wants to keep food on the table must give up their dreams of aliveness, and buckle down to placating the machines instead. I have two things to say about that, the first of which is that I don’t believe it: that aliveness is so central to meaningful human experience that there’ll always be a market for those who can cultivate it, embed it in what they create, foster it in institutions and organisations, and bring people together to experience it.

But the second is that even if I’m hopelessly wrong about that, and the direst predictions about AI disruption come true, then navigating through life by aliveness is still the right choice, because that’s what makes life worth living.

If there is one thing to be said for the end of an 8.5-year relationship, it is that it makes you circumspect. The quote above is from a piece by Oliver Burkeman, and it arrived at exactly the right moment, as I had given myself two months post-breakup to process everything and begin figuring out what comes next for me. A sense of aliveness seems crucial to that investigation.

If I am being brutally honest, I am still working through the negative emotions – and I am more upset with myself than with my ex-partner. While it rankled that, for months, our relationship seemed to fall somewhere behind her job, her biking, and time with her friends – even as I continued making it my top priority and worked hard to reduce her stress – the harder and more painful truth is this: I had known for years that the direction of our life together was not what I wanted.

As much as I trained, as hard as I raced, and despite how much money and time I poured into cycling, it was never what I wanted my life to revolve around. Do not get me wrong, I enjoy cycling and there is real joy in working hard at something and getting good at it. But it was always just a hobby, I never loved it, and it was never the foundation of who I am. It was her thing, and I stepped into the supportive partner role for years. Even the Tour Divide was my attempt to make cycling fit better into my personality by combining it with long distance backpacking.

So, as 2024 came to a close and no new job opportunities emerged, my life’s direction felt uncertain. I was searching for something to focus my life more intentionally. Returning to school helped, but I also decided that in 2025 I would start dialing back cycling to make room for other things. No signing up for races. No buying a new road bike to chase happiness through gear. No more vacations built entirely around bike riding (sorry, Mallorca).

Around the same time, she was diving even deeper into biking and bought an expensive mountain bike. Our rides together dwindled, and looking back at the final few months of our relationship, it is telling that the rides we did share were almost entirely tied to her racing or her job at BaseCamp. Few were the days she did not wake up and immediately check messages on her phone, spend the day in back-to-back meetings, work through dinner, write athlete notes before bed, and then checking her phone until she fell asleep. The difference in priorities and the shift in our relationship was hard to miss.

Simply and essentially, the couple whose relationship was founded on having fun together stopped having fun together. I shake my head just thinking this depressing thought: I felt lonely in my relationship, more of a burden and obstacle to what she wanted than an essential part of her life.

It does not negate how utterly miserable I have been these past two months – unemployed, homeless, and freshly single in the fresh hell of a second Trump Administration – but the relationship needed to end. I think I can honestly say I am glad it ended. It was past due. No one wants to feel like a side character in their own life and relationship. While I was struggling to figure things out, she knew what she wanted, and it no longer needed to include me.

::pause:: Good lord, this thought just occurred to me: I am now trying to find myself again. I am appalled that my life is so cliché.

On that front, two months later, I think the pertinent insights are these:

• The United States is in trouble. For decades, it has been inching toward a collapse, not just of infrastructure or governance, but of its core ideals. Not all at once, but in the slow, grinding erosion of the social contract and loss of public trust: staggering income inequality; the persistent gender pay gap; the absence of universal healthcare; repeated, targeted attacks on LGBTQ+ rights; a deliberately broken immigration system; mass incarceration; repeated efforts of voter suppression; and deeply entrenched systemic racism. The re-election of Donald Trump – and the forces that have risen alongside him – keeps me awake at night. While I love so much about this country, I keep returning to the thought that it might be time to leave. And yet, I do not want to give up on it, or on all the people who are still here and especially still fighting for something better. I am a man divided. And I have yet to answer the persistent question: if not America, then where? To that end, I am starting to plan some exploratory trips.
• Being outdoors and pushing myself physically is what gives me a sense of aliveness. While here in Ocean Shores, I have started swimming again and been attempting to start running again. My swimming came back quickly, far faster than I dared hope, and it makes me happy. Running, though… ugh. I am still barely able to jog slowly for ten minutes. Given how long and hard I worked to recover after my knee injury in 2012, I am angry with myself for letting my body become so weak over the past five years. I want to do long hikes and runs in the forest again. It is going to be a long, difficult battle back. Getting older, and carrying so much cumulative damage, is not fun.
• Boulder was never the core problem. While I missed the green and moisture of the Pacific Northwest, I believe Boulder could have worked for me – if we had not lived beside a multi-use path where, in the summer, unhoused people smoked meth, screamed at two in the morning, and threw trash into the stream. Just as importantly, if I had branched out from cycling and connected with people who shared more of my interests, it might have started to feel like home. I also needed more trips (to visit friends, to explore places that had nothing to do with biking) to remind myself of who I was beyond that constant, narrow, unrelenting training routine. Without those changes, I was never going to feel comfortable enough in Boulder to relax or to call it home. When I pushed for those changes, she never gave more than a token effort. A sure sign of differing priorities.
• Long ago, I was in a relationship that from the very beginning had a foundation of asking each other questions. Our very first in-person conversation was simply going back and forth asking each other anything that popped into our heads. It was oddly refreshing and remains my favorite memory of our time together, short-lived as it was. That outspokenness from the beginning combined with an unwillingness to coast has been much on my mind in the past month. Our relationship probably needed more of that.
• My personal social safety net is frayed. Between the move to Boulder, the pandemic and lockdown, children, and the slow grind of adult life, my friend group has shrunk dramatically since my years in Portland. The friends I still have are overwhelmed, stretched thin, and preoccupied with their own struggles. A few days ago, I messaged three of them. Not one has replied. That is not great.
  
  Even when I am working, busy, or off on some adventure, I make it a point to respond to friends as soon as I can. The people I care about, even if we rarely talk, are often on my mind dozens of times a day. The loneliness epidemic is real, and I do not know if there is anything I can realistically do about it. Society’s problems feel far larger than any solution I can bring to bear.
• 2025 is going to continue to be an ordeal. Nothing seems to be going my way, and nearly every day feels like a struggle to be optimistic about the future. I am managing, but "ok" at this point feels like face-planting in a freezing, muddy bog during a freezing rainstorm and being grateful that you can still breathe and walk.
• Instagram is off my phone. It was a distraction and an addictive one at that. No one should spend that much time looking at an app trying to fill a void.

There is a great deal I am not saying here, and these words feel painfully inadequate to the scope of the subject. Writing is an attempt to understand things in the language of your own mind, which is probably one of the most important reasons not to use AI for your personal writing (back to Burkeman's point). Maybe I will delete this in a week. But for now, writing has been invalulable in helping me process things. And that, at least, is something.

——

Addendum, May 26: After an acquaintance poked me on Instagram about yet another story of Tina's featuring Lesley, I asked Tina directly if she was in a relationship with Lesley and she confirmed it yesterday.

Lesley is the rider Tina went to Old Puebelo with. Their race experience was a mess, but they seemed to form a very close bond during the experience, which I fully supported; I am a vocal supporter of trans athletes and always want them to feel welcomed and encouraged in cycling. Lesely then came down the next weekend and they rode their bikes in Golden. My birthday weekend, incidentally.

This is when I started noticing obvious changes in how Tina interacted with me. Noticeably less affectionate, no longer playful, on her phone even more, no longer joining me for coffee, and a general sense of pulling away. I had some suspicions but I refuse to ever not trust my girlfriends/partners fully. Her job is exceptionally demanding and I tried to do more to alleivate her stress, but things between us felt like they were slowly deteriorating.

And then they went to MidSouth together and from the beginning, from her packing — barely speaking to me that day – and the entire weekend away, I got the worst vibe. Tina and I were fairly prolific texters to each other. With busy lives and lots of balls in the air, it was the primary way we shared thoughts, organized our days, and even showed affection throughout the day. That weekend, she barely messaged me. When she did, it was short replies with no emojis and long breaks. No wishing of a goodnight with a kiss. Completely abnormal and in my heart, I knew it was incredibly wrong.

I almost texted Tina that weekend asking her if she wanted me to move out while she was gone. Instead, I started taking stuff to Goodwill and organizing things to leave. I knew it was over. Every sign pointed towards it. And when we sat down the following Wednesday and she said she wanted to stay in Boulder and she thought I should leave, I agreed.

In no way do I think Tina physically cheated on me. But I dated her for 8.5 years. And this – this nearly exact scenario – is how she and I began dating, shortly before and after she split from her ex-husband. It fit a pattern. And I believe, on some level, she knew what she was doing.

To say this has not broken my heart would be a lie. While there may not have been an objective betrayal, it feels like she got tired of me and how I was feeling, found someone more fun, and was ready to move on. I feel abandoned. I feel betrayed. Our relationship, and I, should have counted for more.

Endings influence how we interpret everything that came before, fairly or not. I am left here struggling, seriously considering deleting every single photo, every single email, because at this point I would rather not have seen this book written. I hate this feeling, so damn much.

——

Addendum, May 27: While organizing clothes for a bike trip this morning, it occurred to me: Tina was dating my replacement while we were still together. Sort of funny, in a joyless way.

As I edit this, I want to be crystal clear: I genuinely appreciate the immense effort the State of Washington has invested in its biking infrastructure. Some of it is truly magnificent and noteworthy for America. However, there are significant problems. Many Americans own large, noisy, and smelly vehicles that they love to drive at high speeds, and unfortunately, many drivers show no regard for cyclists. Certain sections of my circumnavigation route were unequivocally hazardous for cyclists, including parts of the Olympic Discovery Trail. As much as I can appreciate what was good, it would be a disservice not to mention that which is bad and requires improvement.

––

There are really only two ways I enjoy adventuring: 1) fully invested in a journey for weeks or months (PCT, Tour Divide); 2) settling into a basecamp and just exploring out from that point (Mallorca, Maine, Boulder). When I pointed myself towards Ocean Shores back in March, I knew there were plenty of areas of the Olympics I had not seen, despite having lived in the Pacific Northwest for decades.

The Olympic Discovery Trail has been on my radar for over a decade. During COVID, it became even more intriguing because some intrepid cyclists used it as part of their circumnavigation of the Olympic Peninsula during the Festive 500. So, during my first forays into biking over here, I started poking at the nearest portions of that circumnavigation route and read up on the Discovery Trail.

My original intent was a 4–5 day bikepacking trip, but the stubborn snow up high scrapped that idea for at least another 2–3 weeks. So, naturally, I focused on making it a faster, more pavement-focused route. While I still have the fitness to do the entire 340 miles in one go — with a silly amount of suffering — I decided to make it a (somehow) more reasonable two-day blitz of approximately 170 miles each day with an overnight in Sequim, WA.

Unfortunately, my weather window was not exactly ideal. The Olympic Peninsula, an idyllic land of rainforests, is fairly well known for its precipitation. Still, I started on cool, grey Tuesday morning where Donkey Creek Rd meets Highway 101 and headed clockwise. The first part is, frankly, kind of tedious. The beginning of the Olympic Discovery Trail is about 90 miles of pavement away, primarily along Highway 101. The shoulder was mostly good — if quite filthy (one of many reasons I chose my gravel bike) — and the traffic relatively light. However, you are still on a road where a logging truck traveling 65 mph could pass you with 2-3 ft of space. Not exactly a zen ride. The 30 miles on the Hoh Mainline was super quiet though, glad my route went that way.

Onto the really good stuff. When you turn off 101 near Sappho, Washington, things change dramatically for the better. You are first on a quiet road and then you see the entrance to the vehicle-less paved path. IT’S ALL YOURS. No cars, no trucks, and perfectly quiet and safe. Around this point, the sun finally came out too. I loved this section of the route. Around 115 miles in, I saw Lake Crescent on my right through the trees. The trail here is older and the roots pushing up the pavement require you not to get complacent, but it’s a nice ride through the forest. I started seeing more and more trail users here. The trail finally descends to the waterfront and the views of the path are simply delightful. The two short tunnels are a hoot. My only usage of my bright front light was for about 20 seconds here.

Past Lake Crescent, the route is decent — a mix of vehicle-less trail, quiet roads, and busy highways. The busy highways are not where I would take an inexperienced rider. The road shoulders were narrow and dirty at points, and I do believe many American drivers have a troubling inability to find their brake pedals. As a highly experienced cyclist, I did not feel safe on those sections.

The journey into Port Angeles is a bit of a cruise and mostly flat or downhill. Alas, the route, on its way to a less developed part of the waterfront, requires you to travel on narrow sidewalks along a busy road. It was a stark contrast to what came before. It really makes you want to beg on your hands and knees for better bike infrastructure in cities. It’s appalling how cyclists feel even less than an afterthought for city planners and more of a “they’ll get what they get and like it!”

Anyhow, you get through the disappointing section and then you are on another quiet section of bike path right along the sea. Perfection. Loved this section — wish I had taken a video with the crashing surf. As you leave Port Angeles, you get on an older section of trail connecting to Sequim. It’s still good, but the pavement is rougher and the grades less friendly. I distinctly remember zooming down a steep path to a wooden bridge and immediately hitting a 20%+ grade to push up. A bit rough on the legs after 150 miles of riding.

The way into Sequim was fairly pleasant. My legs were quite tired but still working well, the wind was mild, and I knew super nice accommodations were less than 30 minutes away. Definitely felt the weather shifting though. Darker clouds, cooler temps, and a sense of foreboding. Oh, sorry, that’s just me naturally.

While investigating this circumnavigation, I knew Sequim was roughly the halfway point and thus a good place to rest for the night. Good hotels were found at a reasonable price, but then I stumbled across the Olympic Railway Inn. A literal block off the bike trail, old railway cars on the outside and upgraded interiors (hot shower! tub! Wi-Fi!), and only a few minutes’ ride to groceries at QFC. Sold! And each railway car is themed, so if you reserve early you can have a bit of fun with your selection. Since I reserved at the last minute, I had to “settle” for Casino Royale. It was a hoot. So worth it.

At the core of long-distance biking is the fact that it is as much an eating contest as it is a ride. Strava estimated I burned 7400 calories on this first day — and the second day had even more miles and climbing. Despite carbs in my hydration pack and a steady stream of snacks, I did not come close to breaking even. Dinner was just one long string of snacks while I cleaned gear, cleaned myself, and vegged out with some Star Trek TOS on the TV. As I drifted off to sleep at the early hour of 9 p.m., I had a small pile of food and drink right next to the bed for nighttime snacking.

Day 2. Knowing it was going to be a long day and with iffy weather in the forecast, I woke up early, fueled up, cleaned my chain, and rolled out just after first light. The Discovery Trail does not fully connect up to Port Townsend and ends just at the junction of Highway 101 and State Route 20. Along the way, you go through 7Cedars, home of the Jamestown S'Klallam Tribe. Everything was closed at that early hour, but it looked like a fascinating place to stop, especially the totems, which I’d love to come back and see. You could also stay at the resort and/or use the 7Cedars Market & Deli as a stellar resupply spot.

The route ends somewhat abruptly at the base of Discovery Bay, and you are forced onto 101. My plan was to avoid the 40 twisty miles along 101 down to Skokomish by heading to the Hood Canal Floating Bridge and using back roads. With a foolish blind obedience to technology, I merely put a couple of points into RideWithGPS and used the route it provided. This was a horrible mistake.

First, I had 2 miles on State Route 20 — a two-lane road with no shoulder, a deep drainage ditch, and speeding vehicles. No cyclist should ever take this route. It was harrowing. Getting off it was a relief, and the rolling back roads were far better, but then the forecasted weather showed up, and my rain gear came out. The rain finally abated near the Hood Canal Bridge, and in need of a morale boost, I headed to Port Gamble’s Steel Bridge Coffee (@steelbridgecoffeestand) for a pick-me-up.

What a brilliant decision that was. There is something about being wet, chilled, tired, and in regular fear of being squashed like an insect that wears you down. That espresso and cookie gave me a much-needed mental boost. Bonus: they had a lovely bathroom where I could wash the mud spray off my face and feel slightly more human again. Only three hours into the day, and I ended up taking a 30-minute break there. I seriously considered hopping onto the bus. The worst was yet to come.

I am not sure what algorithms RideWithGPS used to plot my course, but it took me on multiple super sketchy and steep car routes. On the computer screen at home, it looked promising — not on highways, not on state routes, and past multiple resupply options. But oh boy, those idiotic giant pickups with the large mirrors were gunning past me on uphills, belching diesel fumes while I am struggling to climb at 5 mph. Frequently the shoulders were nonexistent or were gravel-rich mud. And then the drizzle reappeared before turning back to rain again. Jane, stop this crazy thing! 

Reviewing my route here at home now, I think Strava’s route suggestion might have offered a far safer and more enjoyable path —possibly on heavier trafficked roads with far wider and safer shoulders. One does wonder if 45 miles on 101 might have been preferable just to get it over with too. Who knows. I am not intending to explore this route again anytime soon; did that, done that, onto the next thing.

Seventy-ish miles later, with a small diversion from my original route and after hours battling a headwind, I finally made it to the quiet backroads of the southern Olympics. While it was a long struggle to get there, I do really enjoy this part of the Olympics. My body was fairly knackered, and the sky had greyed up, but the roads were quiet and in excellent condition. Just you and your bike cruising through the miles.

The only notable bit: the gravel connector to Wynoochee Road has a short section with a 20% grade. At 135 miles into the day, I hopped off and walked five minutes instead of straining up it. It also gave me a chance to get off the bike and use different muscles, which was pleasant.

The paved section up to Wynoochee Lake, which has been on my ride list for a few weeks, was windy but smooth. I am definitely coming back to do it on my road bike at some point. And then once you reach the turn-off for the lake, you have a bit of rough gravel, smooth gravel, rough road, and then a fairly chill cruise down Donkey Creek Road. And fin.

Closing thoughts: 

Over these two days, Strava calculated my calories burned at 15,000. I took drink mix in my backpack and lots of snacks in a top tube bag, with a mid-day resupply around 80 miles. There are plenty of gas stations and tiny stores along the route for quick breaks (Pure Leaf Sweet Tea and a bag of chips, ftw). While I had carrying capacity for 3 liters of liquid, it was so cool and damp that I only used the 2L in my hydration pack plus an occasional store-bought drink in my frame bag. I always forget how much food my body craves on rides like this, and I really enjoyed buying a family-sized bag of M&Ms and just pouring it straight into my top tube bag.

I basically never stopped biking, so I did not explore the areas I biked through. There are more than a few museums and scenic spots worth a true visit. The Olympic Discovery Trail would be a really solid e-bike route for those with that mindset. Port Gamble is the one place I wish I had lingered longer. It’s got a cute small-town vibe.

Jefferson County has funding to expand the Olympic Discovery Trail and explore ways to fill the gaps near and past Port Townsend. This makes me ever so happy as this trail is 85% of the way to being a fun and safe way for bikers to get from the Pacific to Puget Sound. On the flip side, the problematic sections are a painful contrast to the rest of the trail. And those manner of unsafe sections is the norm for America, which frustrates me greatly. I want to ride more on the road, without feeling like I could become just another ignored statistic.

Day 1 on Strava.

Day 2 on Strava.

RideWithGPS route

I had a lovely ride up in the southern Olympics today, deep in the National Forest. I saw only one hiker and two cars the entire ride. Blissful. But about six miles from the car, I noticed smoke drifting across the road. Odd. I passed a pullout and spotted a fire burning. Surely someone was nearby? I circled back—no car, no person, just a fire smoldering on the ground.

There on the ground were a couple of large branches—one with a small, steady flame—surrounded by coals and ash. No fire pit, no ring of stones, and dry fuel all around, with the coals still quite hot. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Near the end of my ride and low on water, I used what I had (both inside and out of my body) to douse the flame. I pulled everything into a tighter circle away from the dry debris and spent five minutes searching for water nearby. Nothing. I biked back to the car to return with more.

At the car, I stowed my gear, filled a jug at a nearby stream, and drove back. Even with the extra water, it wasn’t enough. Luckily, a passing truck stopped when I waved them down. They buried the fire with a shovel while I went to find more water. A few miles up the road, I found safe access to Donkey Creek and brought back over a gallon. The fire was mostly buried by then, and I doused the last exposed hot spots. Once home, I sent the Forest Service the coordinates, hoping someone might check it in the morning.

In case you haven't noticed, the Western US is a tinderbox starting in June. If I hadn’t spotted that fire, it could’ve sparked a bigger blaze—even with the current dampness. In a month? It could’ve torched thousands of acres. This is why I’m simply against campfires unless the situation is truly dire. I’ve walked through too many burn areas. On the PCT, I passed trees still steaming. From the summit of Mt. Adams, I once watched a wildfire ignite on my exit route.

Nearly 85% of wildfires in the U.S. are human-caused. It’s not worth it anymore.

So. Real talk.

After posting about updating my living will and power of attorney on an Instagram story, a bunch of people messaged me saying things like, "I really need to do that" or "it's on my to-do list this year."

Here's the thing: if you are in your 30s, 40s, 50s, own a home, have kids, or have any assets — you need to stop putting this off.

None of us are going to live forever. And realistically, when something does happen, it’s often either a sudden accident or a longer illness. In the last couple years alone, my best friend got cancer, I had a pretty serious bike crash, and one of my favorite people died unexpectedly. Let's be honest, the number of times I've been a literal foot away from serious injury or death is without count at this point.

I’ve had my legal documents — living will, power of attorney, basic will — in place since I was 25, because even back then I had to admit: I’m not going to be around forever.

Without these documents, if something happens to you, your loved ones are stuck second-guessing your wishes, tangled in court for years, or left to make heartbreaking decisions without guidance.

You can avoid all of that with a couple hours of work and some serious conversations. It doesn't have to be expensive. LegalZoom is around $100. Plenty of local lawyers can help too. The important part is getting it done.

I get it — talking about death or illness is uncomfortable. But not having a plan is so much worse.

Take care of it. Seriously. It’s one of the biggest gifts you can leave for the people you love.

People of Earth. This is my 2024 Year in Review post. Will it be funny? Will it be introspective? Gosh, I dunno. I read the news tonight and the temptation to go to bed three hours earlier than normal is strong. Let’s crack on and see where the muse takes me.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK WAS THAT FUCKING YEAR?

::cough:: Sorry ‘bout that. The muse has been up since 3am and is suffering from caffeine withdrawal.

As a whole my year was not so bad. Lots of training on the bike, did a few races, went to Mallorca (lovely!), spent time outside in Nature, read many books, watched quite a few good TV shows and movies. It was good. Stayed mostly healthy except for a moderate crash and a sinus infection. Colonoscopy was clean, Cardiac CT Scan was clean. Really not much to complain about.

On the flip side, an erratic and occasionally threatening coworker led me to quitting my job. The election was a gut punch and then a hard smack to the head followed by a full body dunking in snot. While school was amazing, it drained my savings and provided zero clarity as to what my future should hold. The three job hunts all ended up being a lesson in how much I am exhausted by tech and late state capitalism. And my social network seems to be dwindling down to what can only be described as threadbare.

Also. Entering 2025 feels like the start of a horror film. You saw the trailer. You want to yell, “No, no, don’t go in there! The MAGA! Run you fools!” It’s a tale absolutely terrifying in its inevitability of chaos, pain, and a constant disruption to our lives. The struggle to keep sane this year is going to take more patience and perspective than I am entirely sure I can bring forth.

But…we struggle anyway. Not because it will fix everything or even anything, but because the struggle itself defines who we are. We resist, we care, we engage, we joke, we try to be kind—because that's the version of ourselves we want to believe in. It matters little that the world shrugs at our efforts; what matters is that we chose to continue to be ourselves when giving up would have been so much easier.

I still do not know what will come or what I will choose. I am trying to keep true to a certain blue box loving character though: "Never cruel nor cowardly. Never give up. Never give in."

Last week I got a coronary calcium scan (aka CAC score or Heart Scan), and my score was 0. That means no calcification in my coronary arteries and a very low likelihood of coronary artery disease. Woot! Let me tell you why I decided to do this test in the first place—and why you might consider it too.

A coronary calcium scan is a noninvasive CT scan that takes a detailed image of your coronary arteries to detect calcium deposits (plaque). A score above zero means some level of plaque buildup, and the higher your score, the greater the risk of a blockage.

So why did I, a 45-year-old endurance athlete who doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks, eats healthy, exercises 12–20 hours a week, and has the most lovely hazel eyes, get this test? Well...

• I was diagnosed with high cholesterol earlier this year. (Thanks, family genetics. 🙃)
• There’s a history of cardiac events on both sides of my family.
• And lastly, a study Brendan Leonard (@semi_rad) shared in a blog post. It found that male marathon runners who had run at least one marathon a year for 25 years had 58% MORE calcium in their arteries than sedentary men.

It's been known for a while that daily exercise at a moderate intensity is a great preventer of heart disease. However, more and more research shows that endurance athletes are not bulletproof from heart problems. Brendan himself got this test after multiple friends discovered major blockages despite being fit.

So, I booked the scan. It took all of 20 minutes and cost $200—I literally spend that much on groceries in a week. The peace of mind and one more data point to help maintain my long-term health? Priceless.

Nearly every health issue I have had has been from injuries (so, so many). However, I have come down with a serious and ultimately fatal case of O.L.D., Onset of Lamentable Dilapidation. No more devil may care attitude. I waited over 10 years between physicals and that is simply no longer going to fly. Reaching middle age needs to start factoring into my approach to life.

Is it worth YOU getting this test? Maybe! Only you know your health and family history. I am sharing my story to raise awareness and nudge you toward it if you’re on the fence.

When you did not sleep well, still have a busted toe, the skies are grey and the temps are cool, and yet there is 5 hours of riding on the training plan for the day. Time to pull out the pre-ride music and dancing to find the energy to get out.

When you had 9 hours of biking planned for this weekend (not including prep or cleanup) and then you slammed your little toe into a box full of books Friday night causing quite a bit of cursing. It is slowly recovering but even with pain relievers it does not want to be in a shoe, especially a bike shoe. So. I’m essentially stuck at home with my foot elevated trying to entertain myself with books, shows, and little projects. I am so incredibly bad at sitting still.

Spent the better part of today doing some budgeting for various scenarios for 2025, including a potentially epic adventure in 2026. And? Well. My coffee shop habit is practically nothing compared to my food and bike expenses. Also. I made a tragic mistake not being born rich. #paulthoughts

Today on #paulthoughts. Zombie-ant fungus and all it suggests about possible parasitical control. Sleep well.