Staple this to your eyelids:
SGC-THE SINGLE GUY COMPLEX. IT’S THE EXTRA MOTIVATION THAT PIGGYBACKS ANY MAJOR LIFE crisis. It’s the best part about any bitter heartbreak, be it the loss of a relationship, job or family member. It’s the silver lining to the black cloud of misery, lending proof to the old adage, “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
Serious cases of SGC are easy to spot. They’re the riders slogging through the cold rain, squeezing a few mere miles in before dark, focusing each day around the act of corralling their personal demons and beating them into submission on the trail. They’re the ones with dark circles under their eyes who mercilessly charge up the steepest pitches on group tides. As the others buckle in agony, the SGC-riddled rider gains temporary contentment, burning lungs and legs offering distraction from the chilling, metallic sting of depression.
I know those riders well; after all, I’m currently suffering from some SGC myself. In the grand scheme of things my case isn’t extreme enough to propel me to World Cup status, but I’m definitely looking forward to racing cyclocross this winter. I remember the exact moment I realized that SGC was working in my favor, It was my first Saturday morning in a new apartment with a couple roommates I had hurriedly found over the Internet. Although I was still nauseous and groggy from the previous night of drowning my sorrows, I escaped the dark cave of my new living quarters with a mountain bike ride.
In the first half hour, on an agonizingly steep climb under an oppressive sun, I flatted twice, very nearly threw up and got the evil eye from an attractive woman out for a hike. If I hadn’t been so disgusted with my new apartment, and my recent failed relationship, I would have just called it a day. But I soldiered on, up and over the grade. As the hill crested, something snapped. Dropping down a sweet slice of singletrack, with a cool ocean breeze on my face, I found my form, both physically and mentally. With my leftover buzz from the night before replaced by the euphoria that only comes from flowing down rugged rock gardens and drifting around loose gravel curves, I realized I’d actually be okay in this twisted world. In a matter of minutes, the ride literally went from being one of the worst in recent memory to one of the best. I felt superhuman, muscling the machine around tight corners and blasting up steep rises, my troubles dissolving with each pedal stroke.
The euphoria didn’t last long after I returned to my cave, but it at least provided a brief escape. Best of all, it gave me hope that these dark hours are temporary. It could be weeks or months, but at some point this awkward bout of Single Guy Complex will transition into newfound grace, both on the bike and in life. And in the meantime I’m satisfied just making others suffer by tearing their legs off in the hills. – Dain Zaffke, From Bicycling Magazine or MBA (can’t remember which).
