I’m a mechanic.
That probably explains the three screws holding my hip together. And the broken helmets. Yeah helmets is plural. I suppose I was a mechanic. I still am, still like to understand how things work, why they work, I like making them work.
Even more interested in the stories. Now, not those stories, not the ones people do to satisfy their sponsors. The cheap labor of marketing. The stories you get to experience on the infield at the track. The stories on the way to the velodrome through a snowstorm with beer hauling road trains sliding all over the highway and ending up in the ditch both in front of you and behind you. The stories you tell yourself about your next bike. How it is your last bike. Your do-it-all bike. But then some mechanic is selling a sweet pair of tubular ENVEs you probably need a frame for.
Crashing is like meditation. My crashes focused my attention, allowed me to separate my consciousness from my body.
Questioned my day to day actions and pushed me towards living with intent. With awareness. With love and compassion. It took a while (read : a few crashes) for me to get that. Concussions aren’t necessarily recommended for humans with a tendency for depression. Crashes focused my attention on my family, challenged my relationship. My relationships with friends. Crashes desacralized my decisions. Crashes are a good story. They’re also annoying for your partner. You don’t need to have your friends call your partner in the middle of the night to say you’re going to the hospital, just so you can start living with intent. That’s just the way I did it.
I’m quite happy that I hit the barriers at 58 KPH and woke up in an MRI machine scanning my brain. It’s a good story. Doesn’t mean I’m going to go round the parc in Lachine this summer. It’s a story. I’m happy with it.
Content. Not content that pleases sponsors. I’m not that capitalistic either. I mean: I am content. (That sucks.) (It’s also a lie.)
Perspective shifts. Changes. Splits. So that both sides of the perspective are true. Always.
Consciousness.
Awareness.
Memories.
Stories.
Amateur track racing in Ontario in February. So serious. And dangerous. And fun.
I wanted to race. I wasn’t ready. I suppose you know when you are. You probably don’t know. You feel. Just like hitting the trigger on the camera. On the start gun. It’s not that serious. Is it? Can’t be. I’m still on the team.
This is what sport is about. Not about competition, or war, or money. It’s about teams. I don’t believe in individual sports. It’s about life. It’s a representation of life. Like art. It’s lifelike. It’s like life. It doesn’t really matter. We got a few stories.
Next time we’ll talk about doping.
Benoît C. Gauthier 