Cycling Blog - Lake District to Edinburgh.

Prologue
Earlier this year I made it a goal to ride a bicycle from London to Rome. I'm not sure why really, maybe because nobody told me I had to.

Well, this week is my first mini test of that adventure. I'm cycling from Kendal, England to Edinburgh, Scotland over the next 3 days, about 162 miles. If you google it, and select terrain view, it makes my ego feel a little better to take 3 days to do what a TdF rider would do in 3 hours.

I'll be keeping a short blog which you're invited to read. Right now I'm waiting outside the station to embark - friggin' bomb alert. Dont worry Mom, it's just the nanny state at work.

However, I already managed to have an inauspicious start. On the ride to the station, I was closing in on a healthy, fit-looking male cyclist and thought to myself, 'ah, if I could overtake this guy, with fully laden panniers, that would be a major serving of humble pie to start his day' so I started peddling furiously. Closing the distance, I started smiling to myself. Within 50 metres, ha ha! 40 now, so I'm going as hard as I can on a decline. Just then, a chap on a fixed gear*, with his legs pumping wildly, overtakes me like nothing.

Right then. Humble pie served. Off to the north where I can compete with grannies getting groceries.

*if you don't know, a fixed gear bike is one with only one gear, which doesn't allow you to free wheel. So you only have one gear, for inclines/declines/straights. In theory, I shouldn't get overtaken by one, especially on a decline.

Day 1
Perhaps it says it all that I have very little inclination to write this report. It was a fine afternoon of cycling, but I'm just exhausted.

Just the facts to start. 37.58 miles today with an average speed of 12.8 mph. I was still standing in the saddle in the last mile, so that's a good sign. My avg speed came down a lot in the last hour, which is a bad one.

Along the ride, I think I had all the weather possibilties of the Lake District. Everything from glorious sunshine to fog to spitting rain to driving hail. At one point it was so thick I felt like I'd ridden into a lake - my iPod was convinced as it stopped working.

Somewhere in the midst of all this I was treated to a glorious beauty one can scarcely imagine on a small island with 70 million people. It reminded me of the rolling hills and farming communities of my youth. Of course, that's been invaded by a horde of strip malls which, regardless of their necessity, have the design sense of cotton candy. The Lake District has mercilessly avoided this fate. It's buildings all appear to be rugged and timeless, with a nonchalant austerity. Obviously, it enjoys a lot of tourism, so you'd expect a certain aplomb in the town centers. But I was cycling through back roads, too. Even in the farms and personal homes, which must be subject to the vagaries of economy like everywhere else, a touch of class prevailed. I was smitten.

Despite the weather, or maybe it appeals to my masochistic side, I could imagine living, or at least writing a book, here.

I now sit in a village pub enjoying an over-priced but aesthetically amazing evening.

Tomorrow is 62 miles including, if I remember right, a 22 mile long climb. Oh joy.

Day 2 
Today started with all the promise of a legless rugby player. My Garmin sat-nav charger didn't charge my Garmin. Which is no big deal if you just have handy written directions, but I've come to be spoilt by my Garmin. It not only tells me when to turn left and right, which on these country lanes is a necessity, but also my heart rate, speed, distance, time, incline, gradient, reps and horoscope. None of these is that important, except my heart rate, but they become excellent motivational tools. 'I shld go faster on this incline' or 'Jupiter says to slow down'. So. I go online at the B&B and write down the succession of towns and villages I'd be riding through. Sorted.

Except that within 4 miles the wee slip of paper fluttered out of my pocket, gone with the wind. Ok. Not even handy written directions. I'm cycling through the border villages of England and Scotland with only the sun, which mercifully peaked through the clouds, to guide my internal compass.

I don't know how many miles I rode this morning but it was certainly more than the planned 34.

Along the way I was treated to more Cumbrian architecture with its seeming effortless endurance. It was a quality I would admire more and more as the day wore on.

Soon enough I was riding into Carlisle. Here is a city that shines as an example of how the Lake District's design sense has failed to gain universal adherence in Britain. Grotty, spongy and plain. Its saving grace was its shops, and I was able to replace the Garmin charger. Otherwise, I couldn't pedal through it quickly enough.

As I did, the ensuing climb began to loom in the distance. This would be my first attempt to traverse a mountain range, which is an elemental part of the London to Rome goal. These are tiny compared to the Alps, like a bear cub to his daddy. But they are still bona fide mountains, and I was going to ride across them.

FDR famously said, "we have nothing to fear but fear itself," and every year I appreciate the wisdom of those words more deeply. As I rode the 12 miles north of Carlisle for my appointed lunch break, I felt the tendrils of fear weaving their way into my legs, heart and mind. My legs were already deeply sore from the 70 miles I'd ridden before the lunch break - more miles than I'd ever done in a 24 hr period. And ahead of me lay a 26 mile ascent. No breaks. No free-wheeling. Every mile fought and sweat for.

That's fear talking though. And I could hear its insidious whisper with every revolution. But the secret to cycling, as much as I've been able to work out, is the same as everything else in life. Attack. Push forward. With patience and discipline, of course, don't go off crazily. As a hero of mine once put it, "Courage is the first of human qualities, because it is that which guarantees all the others." 

Over lunch I resolved to pray/meditate over the idea of courage, and to attack the climb on every single wretched mile of it.

It was also over lunch that the driving sleet started pouring outside.

Upon arriving in Hawick, said by the locals as 'Hoik' with a pronunciation similar to the sound made by one bringing mucous from their throat to their mouth before spitting, my first question was where are the mountains? Either I possess hitherto unknown powers of self-hypnosis or those weren't mountains I'd just climbed. More like downs really. Yes, big hills. Yes, tiring. And yes, my climb to Hawick was a long slog, but the gradients were mostly about 3-4%. And despite what my trusty website planner had told me, only about 10 miles of it was a truly constant incline. I could freewheel and catch my breath over most of it.

So where did I get the idea they were mountains? From several Brits, that's where. Quite a few people I'd shared my plans had said, "Oh, crossing over the mountains, are you?" So either I've taken the non-mountain route, or these are only mountains by some kind of technicality, like being x feet above sea level.

So this afternoon's ride wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared before and at lunch. It's funny how often the fear is worse than the deal. One thing that helped was adopting the strategy to 'attack every mile' literally. As the Garmin had been charged over lunch, I could now track my distance, speed, etc etc. So for every mile ridden, I made sure to spend at least 20-30 seconds out of the saddle, attacking. It may not sound like much, but instead of looking at each hill with a foreboding 'oh dear, another one' I was thinking 'shall I attack here, or wait for a harder one'. The difference in the feeling while riding is immense.

The countryside is gorgeous and unspoilt, unless you count sheep shit. Its fumes occasionally threatened to tarnish some soulful vistas. Fortunately, the land here is so vast, or the wind so forgiving, it remains a splendid sojourn. The rolling hills and pockets of forests mingled with farms and streams really are my idea of heaven. If it weren't for the weather, which somehow avoided drenching me today, though I could see it unleashing on nearby hills, I could spend a few days relaxing here.

Arriving into Hawick, I couldn't have been more underwhelmed. Industrial, worn and insecure were my first impressions. Whilst not a mountain climb, I'd still cycled 112 miles to get here, and endured a reasonable slog. So quite unfairly, I expected the destination to somehow deserve the effort. It doesn't. 

Fortunately, the B&B is exquisite. I have not only an en suite bedroom, but also an anteroom with sofas and a wide screen telly. So I watched Harry Potter, a surprisingly enjoyable film.

I'm now off to bed feeling very confident about the ride to Edinburgh tomorrow. Only 52 miles. Can't believe I just typed that. Surely a good sign.

PS The Garmin doesn't really do horoscopes. That was a joke.

Day 3
A cycling friend tells me the Norwegians have a saying, "There's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing." Rubbish. If there are cycling Gods, and I now suspect there are, they viewed my post yesterday as derisive hubris and chose to redress the balance this morning.

Before leaving Hawick, for which I've changed my 3 words to tired, insecure and helpful (the people are just lovely), I noticed a warble on my front tire. I'd managed to shear some spokes on my front wheel! I found a local cycle shop to repair it, but didn't get a start on today's ride until nearly 11am.

This delay produced a head-on collision with a storm as I left Hawick. Perhaps this wouldn't have been so bad had I not finally found the 7-8% inclines I'd been promised. Add to that a 20-30mph headwind (actually felt closer to 40mph but I'm trying to be objective here) and you have the recipe for a gruelling morning. At times, I struggled to get the bike to 5mph! If it weren't for the winds, I'd have probably toppled over at the speeds I was going. 

The rare descent provided little respite. On a 6% one, where I might expect to go 35mph quite easily, the headwinds kept my top speed to 20mph. To be fair, with the stinging sleet battering my face, I didn't want to go much faster. On occasion I'd be treated to a gusting cross-wind, which destabilised the bike. Combine that with the sucking currents produced by large trucks overtaking at 50mph, and you have a somewhat frightening cocktail.

I know what you're thinking. Whinge, whinge, whinge.

Well, after enduring this cacophany of joys for 16 miles, I stopped for lunch in the town of Galashiels. From what I could see through the shroud of clouds, mist, rain and fog, it's an attractive place that hasn't coped well with the new economy. As if to puncuate the idea, the one local I asked to suggest a restaurant advised I go to the cafe at Tesco's! Determined not to patronise such a chain, I found a warm, friendly and attractive local place. They dried me off, warmed me up, and even flirted with me throughout. Guess they don't see many yanks, but there's still something disquieting about the suggestive leer of an ugly woman. Fortunately, the attractive ones were flirting with me too. Or maybe I was just road-weary and they were laughing at this drenched idiot actually riding in this weather. But you choose your reality, eh? I say it was flirting.

I think I naively expected the weather to lighten up in the ride after lunch. In London, storms like this pass over in a couple of hours. Not in Scotland. Today became a cruel exercise in futility.

I cannot think how to accurately convey the dispiriting effect that riding into a strong wind, hour after hour, has on the psyche. Every move is countered. Every attack depleted. After several efforts at standing in the saddle and getting my speed up to something pathetic like 10mph, a huge gust, seemingly sent directly from the cycling gods, would knock me back to my pre-attack speed. Even when I was going downhill I was required to push, the wind stronger than gravity. And because I was drenched, and I mean soaked through, I often forgot to drink my water and became slightly dehydrated. Not good.

I later discovered on Scottish telly that major highways were closed due to the flooding. It was a bad storm even by Scottish standards.

At one critical stage, having ridden 36 miles at an average of 8mph, I stopped under the shelter of a bus stop to eat a power bar. And I don't know, I'll never know, but if a bus had come along at that moment... 

So I can't say I attacked on every mile. I can't even say I looked up on every mile. It was a simple life lesson on what it means 'to endure'.

Finally, as the landscape changed with about 10 miles to go, the headwind almost vanished. It was euphoric. I had become so angry at the wind, I know - very silly, but somewhere in me I found a fierce desire to finish strong. Suddenly, finally, I was able to get out of the saddle and have it make a difference. I sang and hammered the pedals and rode into Edinburgh triumphant, at least in spirit. It was nearly 7 hours of riding on the day. I'd finished it.

Edinburgh warms the heart. It's mature, dynamic and globally provencial - one of Europe's great cities. I could walk around and just inhale the lively mojo of this place for hours, in fact I plan to. 

So there you go. 165-ish miles in 3 days. I'm taking the train back to London on Sunday. Perhaps today's journal lacks salesmanship, but I'm inexplicably still determined to do London - Rome. If you fancy joining me for a prep ride, or part/whole of the real McCoy, let me know.

Surgery Malarkey.... what happened.

Er....that sucked.

I'm now home from hospital, and not a minute too soon. Overall it's been a horrible experience that I'd like to avoid ever again. For sheer curiosity value, here's what happened. First the surgery. Obviously I don't remember anything from the surgery itself, but before surgery I did attempt to tell the anaesthetist a joke to see if I could somehow struggle against the tide of opiates and manage to get the punch line out before I went under. Didn't get close.

After surgery they send you to intensive care and apparently I've either got too low or high a threshold of something, but I came out of their drug-induced stupor many hours too soon, waking up to find myself on 100% life support, intubated and unable to consciously control my limbs enough to do anything, but semi-concious and semi-alert. This really sucked. It was like all those horrible 'buried-alive' scenarios except you wake up to find a river of inert bells, lights, monitors and technicians all streaming around you in a detached, slightly nightmarial procession. But I was only able to come out for a few minutes before falling back into the sea of drugs.  I regained ‘consciousness’ about once per day. Breathing was a forced, mechanical requirement, with air shoved inside and sucked out again, relentlessly. I was in this state for days and days. I could see the same other patients each time I awoke and they looked in really bad nick – completely lifeless and catatonic. All the while I’m trying to work out what state I’m in and why I’m being treated this way when clearly I can think. Tubes are everywhere but I’m not catatonic. I try to resist the lung machine and it’s just too strong so I figure I’ve got to fight my way out of this friggin thing. After about 8 days, I finally worked out how to move my hands and put my hand over my mouth. That’s when I felt the tube forcing the air and out. I hadn't understood until now. I was a machine. I tried to pull it out but I wasn’t strong enough.

I see a faceless woman in a white coat floating by and I wave to her to remove my tube. She says, “just a minute” and disappears. I lose consciousness while I’m waiting for her to reappear. When I wake up I guess it's the next day; it's been forever and there’s nobody around. Again I try to get the tube out, make a sound, figure out some way to let people know I’m in here, but nobody is there. It just felt incredibly cold and lonely. Until I fade away. There wasn’t really any physical pain I can remember, just the swimming and drowning and ebbing of consciousness twinned with a spiritually desperate screaming. I wake again, and see a woman but she has a bit of a face this time, and again I motion to the tube and again she says, “just a minute” and disappears. I try to follow her but my eyes won’t track to that part of the room or I can’t move my head or something. I’m determined not to fade away this time. I don’t sense any malice in the situation, just clinical uncaring distance. And I know I need to convince her I’m in here. So I start to look around the room to try to get my bearings but it’s all so foreign and white and sterile I just can’t think anything. 

Finally, I see her again and I motion to my tube again but she doesn’t seem to notice or care and I’m feeling very desperate now as I start to fade away again, really struggling not to lose myself but being pulled under all the same, all the while feeling the machine force the air in and out of my lungs, but I’m fading again and there’s nothing I can do.

And then, just like that, it’s out. The woman is next to me now, talking to me, trying to reassure me, and she even has water for me. That was such an overwhelming moment of complete gratitude as it is hard to describe. Euphoria. I’m so thirsty I drink about 2 or 3 cups of water and ask where I am - I tell her I'm not a vegetable! but I don’t really know what she says, I’m really just enjoying inhaling these massive breaths of fresh air. And then I’m out again.

This time when I wake up I need help, I’m going to vomit and I just scream out as loud as I can “HELP” and somebody new comes with something and I can vomit. And vomit. It’s pretty painful but in a nice way. Somehow, despite the toil and intestinal wrench of involuntary vomiting, despite the inability to breathe, despite the ripping feeling inside, it's nice to interact with the world, to know I'm alive, to feel the pain of life. This is when I ask how many days I’ve been in here. The woman says I’ve only been here a day. I don’t believe her.  It felt like it'd been days. She shows me a clock and says for me to just keep an eye on this. Over the next several lapses in consciousness I work out I’ve been coming and going in about 20-30 minute cycles. They keep giving me more morphine, but I won’t stay out.

Then they sent me to the High Dependency Unit where I continued a similar cycle for another 24 hours. At this stage I can count about 14 tubes coming in and out of my body in different places. The five biggest ones are drains to allow the excess internal bleeding an outlet. This is also where I notice the unexpected set of 18 metal staples holding together my groin and thigh. Apparently they had to use the femoral artery with the heart-lung machine this time. Thanks for telling me. 

The nurse comes over and asks me me to try to get out of bed, to stand, two days after surgery, which sounds about as likely as me singing a fucking show tune at that moment in time. But I try. After much finagling of tubes and wires and beds, a couple of nervous starts and a complete loss of dignity, to my immense surprise my legs don’t completely fall out from under me when I stand on them. I’m shaking and dripping and weak, but I’m standing. It’s not a great feeling, it just is. The only feeling I really have is a desire to get all these god-damned tubes out of me.

The next morning I’m still not dead, so they can take the tubes out of me now. I remember this from last time being the most painful part of the entire show, and ask why they have so many more in this time. Surgeon’s choice. Obviously. To be fair, open-heart surgery never gets properly painful. I’d say it’s below a broken bone or a torn ACL, but above a sprained ankle. As it turns out, pulling the tubes wasn’t as bad this time. Maybe it was because I didn’t watch and did Jedi mind tricks on myself, chanting and whatnot. Or maybe I was a big weakling during my previous open-heart surgery.

They decide to try a new drug on me, but they have to let some of the morphine wear out first, so I clear up mentally for about an hour or something and have some conversations with people, but I can’t remember them now. I remember having felt good in them, even fun. I also saw the incision for the first time. Bigger this time, with about 30 metal staples holding my chest together.

But the new drug is insidious. You’re awake for lots more of it…and outwardly you ‘feel fine’. You don’t ease in and out of consciousness - you walk around and have conversations. But with some people this new baby has mind-altering side effects, and guess who is one of the ‘lucky’ ones. So the next 4 days become a blur between reality and fiction, dream and nightmare, unable to tell the difference between the two. I just didnt understand what was real and what wasn't. It was so bad, I actually don't want to describe it, don't want to archive it, don't want to ever remember it. Just imagine if you really didn't know what is real, if you couldn't tell if you were awake or asleep. Ever. I started to suspect something in the drug as early as last Friday and starting taking less then the nurse portioned me, secretly hiding part of my dosage.

Finally on Sunday morning I confessed to the doctor that I was having trouble with reality, was concerned I was losing my mind, to which he simply replies, “ah, yeah, ok, one of the drugs you’re on sometimes gets that as a side effect.” Great. Thanks for telling me. You’ve got to be FRIGGIN KIDDING me! I couldn’t believe it and still feel sick just thinking about it. I felt like a Timothy Leary experiment, or one of those soldiers that 'helped' test the effects of atomic warfare.

So Monday I informed the hospital, my family, everybody who would listen, I would be checking out that day. Politely, with tact and diplomacy, I’m leaving. Anniken and mom thought I was bluffing. So I pack to walk home. What do you need before I go. Anything to sign? Because I’m leaving today. I will not be a guinea pig. I will walk home if needed.  I am leaving.

I’m now at home. Anniken, Freya, my mom and sister Kathy are here and it’s great and I feel like the recovery has finally begun. But, whew. That sucked.

My Credo.

I’ve talked about doing this for years.  Robert Fulghum first suggested the idea to me probably 10 years ago - in his book 'Maybe (Maybe Not)' - capturing the essence of my beliefs at a point in time in one document.  I think it’s worthwhile because it requires me to think seriously about what I believe, but I think it’s dangerous because it suggests a static belief system.  But I believe in change and growth and development and life-long learning.  So everything here could change or develop.  But right now, today, it’s fairly close.

I believe that principles are the building blocks of a happy life.  We are all incredibly alike: we all have good and bad days.  The experience of joy and pain is remarkably similar for everyone, regardless of circumstance.  The thing that makes us different, more than education, ability, circumstance or anything else is the way we think.  Our thoughts, reactions and attitudes determine the way we handle life (or the way life handles us), and the course of life.

The way we think is hugely influenced from birth by our family, our friends, the books we read, the media we heed and the culture we follow.  So it follows that if we don’t consciously challenge what effect these stimulants have on our thinking, sub-consciously we become a product of these forces whether we actively engage with their ideals or not.  

This is usually a good thing.  There is great love in the world.  Mostly, our parents and teachers try to share ideas that will serve us well in life, usually in the form of timeless principles like honesty and fair play.  Obviously, however, not all influences on us are ultimately good.  Sometimes even well-meaning influences lack understanding and promote short-cuts or impulsive reactions instead of ideals.  So without actively questioning our influences, wherever they come from, and the subsequent impact on the way we think, we naturally become ‘wandering generalities’, blind acceptors of the way things are.  I believe real evil has its roots in the blind acceptance of the status quo.  We must question the way we think in order to grow and develop as human beings.  But what yardstick can we use to question our own thinking?  Especially when our thinking has developed from such a vast array of intimate influences in our lives?  After all, generally we have chosen to agree with these influences enough to internalise the ideas we hold.

The answer is principle.  Principles are universal and timeless.  They were true thousands of years ago and they are true today.  Principles are the cornerstone of the way we think, and it is the way we think that most determines the life we will have.

Before we go too far into principles, I must share a flaw I have felt in my own thinking as outlined above.  (As part of my belief in the questioning of my own thinking, it will be interesting to see how this ‘chink’ in the armour changes my entire Credo in future years).  If principles are so unquestionably the timeless building blocks of life, why after many thousands of years has not all of humanity naturally begun to accept principle to develop cohesive, balanced living?  I am not sure, but right now I think it’s because:

1. Human life span or paradigm shift theory; any generation that perfectly attuned itself to principle would only be 50 years from all being dead, and will have been replaced by a generation that has to learn it for itself.
2. Loneliness; human beings are social creatures.  If a newborn infant is given warmth and nourishment, but not physically held, the infant will die.  We all need others.  The warmth provided by bad relationships and influences is generally preferred to loneliness.
3. Human beings are naturally weak, lazy and indecisive, whilst principles are unforgiving, relentless and elusive, and therefore destined to be appreciated by only a minority of people, and really embraced by fewer still.
4. The 7 Deadly Sins; greed, lust, sloth, envy, rage, gluttony and pride.  These lead to the horrors of humanity (war, rape, slavery, pillaging, murder, torture, etc) which lead to the kind of environments where children don’t learn basic principles from loving parents and are therefore hindered from accepting a call to them later in life.

Therefore, I believe that the antithesis of principle in life is sin.  This credo is clearly not overtly religious – my faith is a constant struggle.  But this battle between principle and sin in my own heart is a real, active and raging one that I can personally attest to the difficulty in overcoming.  And I believe that there is one common bond between them.  They both employ our greatest human weakness, loneliness, as their chief recruiting agent.  Our entrance ticket into the halls of both parties is paid for by the love of someone who invites us to their bash. 

So if the common theme behind principle and sin is love, surely sin is not all bad.  I believe there is a different character of love involved.  The love of principle requires us to think of others.  But the love from sin is selfish and focused on the individual.

Therefore, it follows that graduation from ‘wandering generality’ to ‘meaningful specific’ is accompanied by the love of a personal invitation.  But such alumni do not share any moral impetus – the great evildoers of the world are ‘meaningful specifics’.  However, they do not accept deviation from their specificity.  And this is why Unconditional Love is my first principle.

Before I list the other principles that I believe in, allow me to define principle for the purposes of my Credo.  The strictest definition of a principle demands that it be truly timeless, as self-evident today as in centuries past, and universal, equally applicable in sport, politics, bricklaying and parenting.   I use a somewhat looser definition for principle, including not only the traditional kind but also ideals that reflect who I want to be as a man.  I recognise this has allowed me to avoid some difficult decisions, but also afforded me some levity in sharing them.

So these are my principles.  This is what I believe today.  It’s changed before, and I hope it changes again.  Because change in my belief system means that I am learning, that I am growing, and that I am alive.

1. Unconditional Love is the greatest force in the world.  Love your neighbour even when you don’t understand or agree with them.  Warmth and compassion are the genesis of all beautiful things. 
2. Mankind is hard-wired to fuck up.  The only way to get through life is to accept this in both yourself and the people you love.  Mistakes are not bad things…as long as they are viewed as bad things that should not happen again.  Which creates an intellectual loop, of course, and yet more proof that mankind is hard-wired to fuck up.
3. You can only control one thing in life, and that is your attitude.  Everything else is uncontrollable, and even your attitude is pretty hard to control sometimes.  But you can.  Even if sometimes a bad attitude is the right choice.  But generally speaking, a positive outlook is within your grasp and the right choice.
4. Never try to control uncontrollables.  Accept your situation.  Remember the prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
5. All events in life have a good and a bad side.  Sometimes the good side is really hard to see, and may not be known to you in your lifetime, but it is always there.  Seeing the good side in the thick of bad times is a real achievement.  Managing to see the bad side in good times can be pretty impressive, too.
6. Honour family.  Some special force in the universe has declared we have a sacred duty to care for our families throughout life.  Heed the call.
7. Serving others is a noble act and a form of love.  Genuine focus on serving others requires you to think about their needs above your own, which leaves no room for selfishness.
8. Don’t base decisions on fear.  Especially scary decisions.  Base decisions on principle first, desire second, fear never.
9. Hard work and toil are good for the soul.  And hard work is internally defined – if you aren’t exhausted at the end of it, it wasn’t hard work.
10. Commitment and schedule actually free you up to grow.  A fear of commitment and schedule shackles you with indecision and possibility.  Too many options and indecision are bad for the soul.  Commitment is freedom.
11. Sacrifice is growth.  By closing one door, whether you realise it or not, you open other doors, and just as many doors open from your ‘no’s as your ‘yes’s.  Like all the great ideas in life, it’s paradoxical, almost to the point where you might say paradox is truth.
12. Paradox is truth. 
13. Discipline is effortless.  Or at least it can be.  The only time it’s an effort is when the activity is not who you really are.  So become who you are meant to be, and you’ll find the discipline for it is effortless.
14. Live in the moment.  Be the ball.
15. Courage is the first of human qualities, because it is that which guarantees all the others.  (stolen from Winston Churchill)
16. Humility is next, as it allows others to be courageous.
17. Integrity speaks for itself.  Dismiss it at your peril.
18. I’d rather be a sucker than a cynic.  This is fairly personal, and hard to equate to a principle, but in such a cynical world it takes on greater significance.
19. Pain is normally a good thing.  It is the attempt to avoid pain that causes most unhappiness.
20. Ambition is a dangerous beast.  Ambition for yourself leads to loneliness, and loneliness leads to the dark side.  Ambition for ideals can lead to greatness, but this is interlaced with pride.  But a lack of ambition leads to laziness and becoming a ‘wandering generality’.  Ambition must be balanced with principle and humility.  The tightrope of ambition is a big reason why mankind is hard-wired to fuck up.
21. Wealth and money are perhaps the least effective paths to happiness.  But don’t let that stop you trying.
22. A sense of humour can get you through absolutely anything.  Except public transport.
23. The simple qualities of patience, thrift and temperance are all ones that I know about, and ideally I’d believe in them enough to exhort them on this list, but the simple weight of empirical evidence shows that these are just theories for me right now.  Maybe next time.
24. Being a good parent is about being a good example.
25. Sacrifice is freedom.

So that’s where I am right now.  I’m really excited about looking at this in several years and laughing at what I didn’t know back then.  I was tempted to just quote Rudyard Kipling’s “If…” as it’s the perfect poetic piece of principle ever written.  But that would have been lazy, and less fun.

            I wonder slightly how my internal definitions will stand the test of time.  Schedule is for me a very powerful idea, underlying the importance of habit and far more important than a cursory reading of this list implies.  Mostly we have little decisions in life, not big ones.  So the thoughts in, say, 3, 10 and 15 have played more regular roles for me than, say, 5, 6 and 12, which don’t come up every day.

            But they have all been critical to me at times in my life.  I hope I am able to continue to grow towards my understanding and appreciation of them, and that I’ll have the courage to amend them as life’s lessons teach me to do so.

NB.  Upon re-reading this, I feel compelled to offer an explanation of the declaration that real evil has its roots in the blind acceptance of the status quo.  I do not mean to promote anarchy or unwieldy scepticism.  The vast majority of the influences and systems in this world, in my belief, are good.  There is endless beauty in the world.  Perhaps related to this fortunate perspective, I’ve had precious little exposure to real evil, if any.  But I do believe that if we were all proactive guardians of considered and timeless ideals that evil would find less opportunity to grow.  Sometimes I think it’s the parent who’s unwilling to scold the child that isn’t their own who creates the vacuum.  Perhaps provocative behaviour sometimes invites its spoils.  This line of thought, however, stems from self-righteousness, which revokes my 1^st principle.  It is not my place in this world to judge.