Racing to the Red Light

 Two fifty worth of gas on pump number five

A lottery ticket and a Colt 45

Scratch it right off, cash it back in

Just give me five more somebody gotta win

Somebody gotta win, it happens all the time

Ending up spending your every last dime

Racing to the red light

                        James McMurtry, “Racing to the Red Light”

Normally, riding my bike on the East Bay Bike Path on a weekday morning is relaxing and refreshing.  The Sheriff (see http://laughteranddoubt.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-east-bay-bike-path-sheriff.html) in me isn’t on high alert because there are fewer people out, and those who are know the courtesies of sharing that ten foot wide ribbon of pavement.  And last Wednesday didn’t start out any different.  It was cool, crisp, sunny, with little wind. 

Part of what makes riding a bike better than running is that sense of rhythm with a minimum of effort, especially since the EBBP is flat and fairly straight.  You can see far ahead, all the while enjoying the scenery on the left and right.  But that, of course, was before fall began. 

I didn’t used to have anything against nuts.  I happen to like peanuts, walnuts, almonds, cashews, pine nuts, and even those weird ones in the mixed batches.  The problem is that squirrels like nuts as much as I do, and they appear to be anticipating an apocalyptic winter as free of nuts as an elementary school classroom.  “Gather ye nuts while ye may!” must have been the Squirrel Laureate’s battle cry.  As a result, whenever I started sailing  along in 21^st gear, wind-created tears dripping down my face, I would have to brake for a little brown furry body, jaw bulging, frantically trying to decide whether to cross the path or not.  Unlike rabbits, who break for cover when disturbed, squirrels can’t seem to make up their minds.  My momentum was lost, and so was my good mood.

Momentum is an unsustainable energy because it relies on the force of the movement itself.  When I depend on momentum, I’m not really in control of my body.  In the case of running or biking, I gain momentum by going down a hill, but especially in biking, I may not be able to stop when I need to.  When we were skiing in Colorado, the instructors cautioned us always to be in control of the skis.  Nels marveled that I could go faster than him down the mountain, but it was mostly because I was barely one tick ahead on the right side of the control dial. 

For a long time, I violated my yoga teachers’ instructions by swinging my legs up into Shoulderstand (head and shoulders are on the floor, legs pointed up toward the ceiling), putting undue pressure on my neck. It took a long time to strengthen my core just bring my legs up.  I still haven’t learned how not to rely on momentum in Headstand, though, which means I have to be next to a wall so I don’t flip over.  I used to think that staying up in Headstand was the hard part, but it’s not.  Getting there is.

Momentum, ironically, makes us lazy.  When we rely on the force of movement, then we are not using, and therefore not strengthening, physical muscle. 

Momentum has non-physical dangers as well.  In my work life, it can be addictive, as if I can get a million things done fueled by excitement and/or caffeine.   However, like the Dexatrim of my youth, the letdown is powerful.  There will never be enough time to do all that I want to do, or feel that I must do.  There will always be people and tasks that call to my ego: “Come, do this!  You will be good at it/It will be fun/People will like you/If you don’t, your next job will be wearing the Lady Liberty costume waving to cars next tax season.”  If I rely on excitement or adrenalin to carry me through my day, then I am not using my other, deeper, muscles of the heart and mind.   

Living by momentum is nothing new.  Back in the 1840’s, Thoreau wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”  And as James McMurtry put it, we are all racing to the red light:  the inevitable stop of death.  It makes me wonder why I’m in such a hurry, and what I lose when I don’t move, work, eat, and live mindfully and deliberately.  It’s a lesson I need to learn over and over again.  Thankfully, the squirrels are there to teach me.