When you go to work in an ice cream shop, I couldn't imagine ever being forewarned "dude, you know you're gonna be eating a lot of ice cream, right?" Or before taking a job at one of the fastest growing outdoor gear retailers on the planet, "dude, you know you're gonna be buying a lot of awesome shit and never saving money, right?"
Ominous forewarning, or blatant admission of the obvious notwithstanding, I got the same warnings before I started riding for SCC, "um, you know that bike messaging entails a lot of riding, right?" And to be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to expect--besides that I was going to be riding a lot. After three months on the job, I can admit with great confidence that this was something of an understatement. I ride a lot.
These are not long, calculated aerobic roadie miles though, as bike messaging is cycling's anaerobic, attention-deficit-disorderly cousin. Lot of eyes-wide sprinting, skidding, and dashing, then standing quietly in an elevator with echoes of the last three intersections struggling to keep up. Three minutes and forty seconds later, I stuff my lock back into its holster, and the cycle repeats. In turn, the muscle fatigue is rapidly punctuated; through periods of high drain, then partial refill from expresso and granola bar-shaped injections, and then more drain before the courts close, before total collapse by the time I climb my way out of the valley to my apartment, up in the avenues.
So like the ice cream gig, I started wondering how much of a good thing I could take. Goes without saying that I love to ride, but other such good things that I love, like Raisin Bran Crunch, and peanut butter and banana on orange marmalade are unfailingly scrumptious foods, and not in the business of completely wearing my shit out. Couldn't help worrying that after a few weeks, I might not enjoy riding the bike in my off time, as I had so much before.
Just enough to get by.