Short Shifts — Held Together by Training

Martial arts training is the thing that keeps my accident‑ravaged body in running order.

It’s the perfect mix of strength, endurance, and flexibility — sure, you learn how to fight and defend yourself, but that’s almost the side benefit.

Regular training is what kept my mind together through a rough 2025. On the days when I felt like giving up but still forced myself to train, those were the best sessions.

The ride home, even with bruises, sore muscles, or the occasional cracked rib, always felt clearer. Calmer.

Like a reminder that I’m still here, still moving, still rebuilding.

Short Shifts — Sunrise on the Bridge

Not the actual sunrise… or the actual bridge.

I wake up at 4am, exercise, lift weights, have a spartan breakfast, get ready as quickly as I can — all just so I can cross the bridge on the way to work at the right time. Very light traffic. Just me, the bike, and the sunrise.

It doesn’t happen every day. Sometimes I skip the exercise for a sleep‑in. Sometimes I’m late and get stuck in traffic. Sometimes the sunrise is hidden behind clouds. And I’m not a hopeless romantic — I’m not “into” sunrises. I just know that when I cross that bridge, I look for it. And when it’s there, I drink it in.

I slow down a bit. It knocks the sharp edges off my day.

Short Shifts — The Long Way to Training

When I’m really struggling mentally or emotionally before Tang Soo Do training, I make a point of taking the long way there. I’ll go out of my way to stretch the ride out, maybe stop for fuel or grab a quick snack. A few extra minutes on the bike, and a few minutes standing next to it somewhere quiet, does more for my head than sitting at home trying to “push through it.”

It’s not about avoiding training — it’s about arriving with my head clear enough to actually be present. The long way gives me space to breathe, reset, and knock the noise down before I walk into the dojang.

Some days, that detour is the only reason I make it through the door at all.

Short Shifts — The Voice in My Helmet

I went on a charity group ride recently. Good ride, well organised, everyone having fun, everyone safe enough, and my usual wingman Caine was with me. We ended up somewhere in the middle of the pack on the first leg.

I won’t admit to anything or incriminate anyone, but let’s just say a bit of stupid started leaking out of a few riders — including me. And I just remember Caine telling me to slow down and check myself… without actually telling me to slow down or check myself. I don’t know if he does it intentionally or instinctively, but he can talk me down better than anyone. He might’ve been doing it for the entire three years we’ve been riding together, and I’m only just noticing it now.

I’m grateful for that voice in my Cardo that bumps my brain out of stupid mode. Thanks, Caine.

Caine’s work can be found HERE