“Freedom is the ability to escape,” I repeated over and over again--two years ago--every time I pushed on the pedals of my bike, ascending a mountain pass, five hours into a training ride, in thirty degree weather and frozen rain, by myself, again, trying desperately to escape my body. If only I could push a little harder. A little more pain and I could have my mind escape my body, a brief moment where I would forget existence. Behind me I tried to leave the nagging knowledge that bike racing had turned into a way to prove my self-worth.

I look with compassion at the memories of my confused and scared 18-year-old self. I have repaired the relationships I had clawed apart, and have apologized to the people whose friendships with me I had sabotaged. I am slowly learning to appreciate the talents I have, instead of using them as a way to measure myself against myself. Bike racing is now what it is supposed to be: a fun way to go fast, get fit, and get the adrenaline pumps leaking.

But, I still want to escape. Throughout every day, my mind--of its own accord--obsesses on the same thought: life has unlimited potential. Every time I walk into my garage I see the potential in my bike hanging on its hook. I could easily sell everything I own and those two wheels of my bicycle would unquestioningly guide me from Eastern China, across Asia, into Africa and throughout every other hidden nook this Earth offers.  And this knowledge haunts me.

Every time I escape I cannot decide if I am deserting or searching. Every time I have escaped it is because life has become too overwhelming for me. Yet, every time I escape it becomes more planned, more intentional, less sporadic and destructive, and the adventures become larger in scope, covering more miles, into more exotic and distant landscapes.

Perhaps I have had it all wrong. Perhaps Freedom is not the ability to escape. Rather, it is the ability to slowly discover one’s fullest potential in this brief life we all have to live. And the only way for me to realize this? By escaping.

 I’m also a big Italian dude with a handful of talents, the growing of body hair chief among them. I digress. The point is that I shave my legs.

 The reason and justification for the many, many hours I’ve spent dragging a razor across my body is simple: Bicycle racing.

 Upon many an occasion, I’ve been asked, “Yo, why do cyclists shave their legs?”

 The answer is usually assumed to hover around vanity, and those assumptions carry some weight. But my favorite answer, the one I spit out when awkwardly confronted with this question in grocery store check-out lines, long stop-lights and bar-room bathrooms is, “I shave my legs for preventative reasons.”

 …Right about now, the question’s asker is looking at me like, “Whaaa? Dude, that doesn’t even make sense.” 

I explain further, “In a bike race, you’re flying around at 30 miles an hour, balanced upon a 15 pound piece of equipment, protected by little more than a thin layer of spandex… And eventually, you crash.”

 Crashing is cool. If the question’s asker has begun to drift off with what was quickly becoming a looooong answer to what they thought was a simple question, the thought of me crashing into the ground always brings them back.

 So I continue, “And when you crash, you hit the ground and begin your slide across the pavement, still at 30 mph, still only wearing spandex and still with no leg hair. The friction from this pavement-slide grabs any loose ends; clothing, fingers, body hair... anything. So basically, if you’re hairless, you slide better. Otherwise, the friction grabs onto leg hair and rips the stuff out in chunks, flesh included.”

 Usually at this time, the question’s asker is looking at me sideways, most likely thinking to themselves, “Okay dude, justify your pretty little leg shaving anyway you want. I quit paying attention five minutes ago.”

 And I do. Every time I soap up my legs, perch one up on the bathtub ledge and begin my smooth, razor-blade strokes, I think to myself, “Ah, you go, you hard-core mofo…  Now, don’t miss that tricky spot down by your ankle.”