The coast stretches endlessly, waves rolling in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The air is thick with salt, clinging to my skin, filling my lungs with the scent of distant tides. The warmth of the sun presses against my back, radiating off the pavement, blending with the cool breeze drifting in from the sea. The sound of crashing waves pulses in time with the pedals, a cadence set by nature itself. The water shimmers, reflecting the sky’s endless blue, a horizon that never fades, only beckons forward.
I dream, actually yearn, for this environment. Yet it only exists within my mind, as if I am virtually cycling within The Matrix. In reality, the ocean is pixels on a screen, the road is data beneath my wheels, and the sun exists only in my head. The wind does not touch my skin, the scent of salt does not fill the air, and the taste of sea mist never reaches my lips.
I am indoors, surrounded by walls, the only sound is the steady, dull hum of the trainer beneath me. Sweat replaces the ocean breeze, artificial resistance mimics rolling hills, and the coastline stretches forward only as far as the screen allows. The body moves, the mind believes, but the senses know the truth.
Still, the effort holds meaning. The wheels spin, the numbers rise, and progress remains. Thirty kilometers today, two new personal records, a strong start to the week. No rush, no need to push beyond reason.
The ocean does not race to meet the shore. It moves with purpose, with patience, with power. The road ahead is long, but it will be worth the adventure.
