19 May 2014
Then came a new rush of apprehension. I ride a stationary recumbent cycle, pedaling like crazy five or six mornings a week for exercise, but a real, moving bicycle? I hadn't even tried to ride for at least thirty years.
Last Friday, opportunity and challenge arose. I was visiting a dear friend, who had not one but two bikes in her shed, and the afternoon was sunny, clear and warm. She asked if I'd like to try going for a ride, knowing both my nervousness and my need to overcome it.
Anxiety tried to tighten its grip, enough so that I left my eyeglasses inside; at least if I fell I wouldn't harm them. I felt foolish about being afraid, and spoke against the fear. I would not allow it to hinder my attempt.
Inhale, relax. Exhale slow.
One foot on a pedal.
One foot on the ground.
Life felt precarious.
Inhale. Lift other foot.
Exhale through the instability.
Push pedals. Inhale.
Feel the motion conquering imbalance.
Exhale joy, squealing like a child.
Jesus had me, strong and steady.
The sun was in my eyes, on my skin
the wind gentle in my hair.
Victory was smooth, fast
We rode for about fifteen to twenty minutes, until the places where my body rested on the seat began to scream with annoyance. The aches have faded now.
Friday we shall ride again, longer. Training has begun.
joining Kelli in Unforced Rhythm