Back in the Saddle

I was able to ride a bicycle last weekend. It was the first time in three weeks.

I had to make some minor adjustments. Riding with an ankle brace is not a problem. The only issues rose from switching dominant feet (I am right-footed and my right foot is injured). I usually mount with my right foot and had to do so with the left foot. At stoplights I usually rest on my right forefoot. Similarly, I rested with the left forefoot. These seem like trivial differences but our muscle memory is strong, and we take for granted how many movements are instinctual. Even switching dominant feet can cause cycling to feel foreign.

However, it was nice to be able to ride a bike again.

The more concerning part was the newfound fear from riding. Episode 8, Season 2 of Ted Lasso really struck a chord with me and this newfound fear of mine (and it struck too close to home for comfort). One of the main characters, also a bike commuter, gets hit by a car and struck unconscious.

She tells Ted something along the lines of, “I am worried that I’ll never be able to ride without fear again. The bike was my happy place. I’m scared the world has taken that from me.”

While cycling yesterday, crossing each intersection caused my body to tense and my heart to pound. My arms cringed, my breathing stopped, and my neck tightened, all as if anticipating a car to once again strike me from behind by turning into me. Breathless, where I once fired all pistons and put the pedal to the metal, I suddenly lingered and looked behind me for a boogeymen that may or may not exist.

Our neuromuscular system remembers events, particularly injuries, with sharp precision. When we are kids we can fearlessly fall to the floor or run down a hill at full speed or belly flop from the high dive. Then the body gets hurt, and we stop doing it. Our adult selves look at the same jumps, dives, and runs with trepidation and fear.

That is my main fear right now, that I’ll never be able to ride as fearlessly as I used to; what if what was once my meditative time becomes yet another exercise in chronic overthinking. I am hoping that I can overcome those neuromuscular reactions over time.