Back in the Saddle

Riding a bicycle has always been something I’ve loved.  As a child, jumping onto my bike – complete with its banana seat and handlebars with streamers flying out of them – provided me with such a sense of freedom.  As soon as I started turning the pedals over, my world opened ahead of me, and I felt such liberation in coasting around the neighborhood, exploring places I thought I couldn’t reach on foot.  My bicycle became a vital part of my childhood experience.

Then adulthood hit, so I parked my bicycle, got married, and set about raising my kids.  A bicycle didn’t reappear in my life until I was well into my forties, when my grown son invited me to get back in the saddle.  And what a wonderful invitation that turned out to be!  Yes, it looked a bit different now; the addition of a sleek-looking road bike, clip-in pedals and shoes, helmet, gloves, and the sometime very unflattering spandex biking garb replaced my banana seat and streamers.  But the thrill of the ride carried on, and I soon found myself hooked again.  Riding became a time for me to challenge myself, to push the limits of what I thought my body and mind could do, and to relish that sweet sense of freedom that I came to love as a child.

Until a moment hit that was filled with the tragedy of loss and grief.  That year my bicycle never made it down from its hanging perch in the garage.  It hung abandoned, as did much of my life, as I dove headfirst into the unchartered and all-encompassing territory of grief.  As many of you unfortunately know, grief is exhausting – it sucks up much of your vital energy, calls on you to realign all the ways you did your life, and challenges you to grab back anything that feels normal and reliable.  It’s as if grief taunts you into believing that not only did you lose the person you loved, but you are also in jeopardy of losing yourself.

Eventually, as I fought for some semblance of my life back, I got the courage to take my bicycle down, pump up its tires, and climb aboard.  I must admit, claiming back this part of my life felt scary to me – Could I still do it?  Would I enjoy it?  Or was the experience of being in the saddle one more thing I would lose? 

But I did it – I donned my helmet and gloves, clicked my shoes into the pedals, and started turning those pedals around.  It was hard at first, climbing back into the saddle.   However, as the wind hit my face and my legs warmed up a bit, I started feeling good.  I actually started feeling great!  As I hit one of my favorite long hills to climb, I started experiencing that sweet sense of freedom down into the depths of my soul and when I did, I began to weep.  I mean I really began to weep – tears coursing down my face, snot running out of my nose kind of sobbing.  I wept for the loss I was in, but I also wept triumphantly for the part of me that I was claiming back from grief. 

So here I sit, many years later, and this particular week I have felt a different sort of grief that stirred up all those old feelings of untethered-ness.  I have felt disoriented, fearful, energy-less, and sad.   Then I remembered my experience of returning to the saddle all those years ago.  Pedaling through that grief didn’t make it disappear, but it reminded me of my own agency and power to carry-on and endure.  It helped me to understand that even amid turmoil, I can hold onto pieces of me and that somehow things feel better when I do. 

As I write this today, I’m aware that my bicycle will never hold all the answers to the maelstrom of life that surrounds me, but despite that, I can’t wait to get back in the saddle once again and pedal my current worries away -  I’ll relish visions of banana seats and handlebars with streamers flying out of them, and I’ll recall how important it is for me to find ways to claim my strength, declare my freedom, and nurture a sense of peace in the midst of turmoil 💜