On the Bike Again

In the summer of 2014, I finally rode 1000 miles on my bike in a month. In late summer, I completed an ultra duathlon. In the fall, I added swimming to my weekly routine of cycling, running, and soccer. Then in November, everything changed. I was expecting my daughter. 

I had read about triathletes that trained through their pregnancy. I read the stories about women who ran till the ninth month. I read about how to ride a bike with a larger stomach. I was going to do this and continue my doctoral experiment. I was going to show that women can do it all. Then I didn't.

My blood pressure dropped early and I felt like the world was spinning. I had trouble concentrating. I did not feel safe on the narrow British roads that I cycled daily. Swim practice was at 9 pm and the only way to get there was by bike. Every evening, I was exhausted after a day of trying to concentrate on my studies. I tried to run and my body was so tired that I contracted infection after infection. Then the doctor told me to stop. I could only manage to do my studies and to carry my child. Even then, I did perceive that I did that very well either.

I withdrew with a sense of profound failure. Every question about why I could not continue biking hurt. I heard the stories again about all the women who were able to continue their normal life while pregnant. I wish I could have been one of them, but I wasn't.

Then my daughter arrived and she is wonderful. Then my dissertation deadline came around me like a stranglehold. Then the days of working, followed by writing. The lonely isolation of busyness. The madness of a graduate school. Still, I did not ride. Still, I did not run. My clothes grew tighter. It was all I could do to keep my head above water and the pressure of life threaten to drown my very essence. Finally, I finished and survived a somewhat brutal defense. It was a sloppy finish, but I dragged my bloated corpse of a body across the line. Then came my first gasps of air.

I rested. I started to lift weights. I ran when the weather allowed, slowed by my larger mass. Then the other day, I rode.

Cycling, which had brought me healing in the past came back. I pulled on the jersey which had once hung loosely around my frame, now clung to every curve. I put my old shorts, surprised that I was able to get them up to my waist. I brought out my freshly cleaned bike. I rode with a cycling friend for an hour. 

Once again, I heard the spinning wheels and felt the hot sun on my back. I breathed in the country air. I absorbed the peace that can be found while cycling. I came back with a light euphoria and renewed enthusiasm for living. I made plans for training through the fall. I started thinking of races in which to compete. I will take time before I obtain where I was, but I am now two rides closer.