I’ve spent most of my life wired to get from point A to point B as efficiently as possible. Set the goal. Execute. Move on. The journey was just the space between outcomes.

Lately, I’m learning something different. These smaller rides aren’t about miles or speed or even today’s destination. They’re about becoming someone capable of the bigger ride that’s coming. Training muscles, yes—but also training attention. Patience. Presence.

Slowing down turns out to be a skill. One I never practiced much. When you stop racing toward the finish, you start to notice what’s been there all along: light shifting through trees, quiet roads waking up, the rhythm of breath and motion syncing. The ride becomes less about proving something and more about absorbing something.

I carry more than effort with me now. I carry people. Those who have battled cancer. Those still fighting. Their courage rides quietly alongside me, reminding me why this matters. This preparation isn’t just physical—it’s about building the capacity to hold meaning while moving forward.

These moments are teaching me how to enjoy the journey without rushing through it. How to stay with discomfort without wishing it away. How to let gratitude coexist with effort.

This is training for what’s ahead. Not just the big ride, but the long days, the uncertainty, the miles that won’t be easy. If I can learn to see, to feel, to stay present now, I’ll be ready when it counts.

Today wasn’t about getting somewhere. It was about becoming someone