Friday, May 9, 2014

Sans Training Wheels



Last summer, knowing I swam competitively in high school and had obviously gotten the hang of the whole running long-distances thing but was beginning to suffer some over-use injuries, one of my coaches suggested I take up triathlons.  The idea had always intrigued me, but I had convinced myself that my deep dark secret would prevent me from ever checking Iron(wo)Man off my bucket list.  “Yeah, that would be awesome... but, uh, well, you see... there’s one teeny tiny problem with that,” I cringed, not wanting to admit it or receive the expected reaction.  “I don’t know how to ride a bike.”  The look of shock on the faces around me, combined with water spray from mouths that could not contain their amusement, suggested that I should somehow be embarrassed.  "You need to learn," he said.  

Duh.  But... how?  I'd told countless people over the years that I didn't know how to ride a bike in a *wink-wink-nudge-nudge* hapless way of hoping a volunteer would come forward, including people close to me who were greatly inconvenienced by my inability to ride a bike, such that if it were easy to teach someone to ride, I assume they would have.  The fact that they didn't suggested that learning as an adult, or teaching an adult, was really hard.  I also had nightmares - I mean painful memories - of my corrupted college roommate's attempt to teach me how to snowboard on a gorgeous bluebird day at Squaw (I've never looked at High Camp the same... just the thought makes me want a beer to numb the pain).  Maybe it was because she was "Goofy" and I was "Regular" (or maybe the other way around, as the very term "Goofy" definitely fits me better than "Regular") so that when she told me where she was putting her weight, it "didn't quite work for me" (translation: "I biffed hard," as she has affectionately referred to my plentiful falls on- and off-snow over the 18 years we've been friends).  Still, Jessica deserves a pair of wings for her valiant efforts; bless her heart, that girl has the patience of Mother Theresa.

In any event, while many people have rightfully told me I need to learn, after my experience with snowboarding, the thought of relying on someone to teach me how to ride a bike seemed like an untenable and frustrating combination of "too much vulnerabilty" for me, and "a torture session" for my would-be instructor.  One blogger has flat out stated that learning to ride a bike in her 30's was terrifying and humiliating, and would not allow her boyfriend to teach her, refusing to "supplicate him to such a trust exercise."  I could relate.

So, I started where any reasonable, independent, information-gathering woman hoping to learn a new physical skill would: Google.  Just follow the instructions from ehow.com, right?  I searched phrases like "learn to ride a bike as an adult," and watched YouTube videos of awkward Prius-driving ex-pats attempting to learn on grass, covered in knee/elbow pads and helmets 2 sizes too big, crashing into each other like bowling pins.  I'm not a fan of intentionally putting myself in a position where I look like a special-needs adult, so I was greatly displeased by what I found.  "That looks a like a LOT less fun than giving myself a concussion on snow," I thought.  Le sigh.  

Then I came across a class at REI designed specifically for this purpose.  Having taken other classes or tours put on by REI, I had some semblance of faith that they could help me - and maybe have me look relatively cool while doing it.  And help me, they did!  I learned fairly quickly, in part by scooting myself along sans pedals between chalk drawings on the ground from the day's previous "kids only" class.  ("Now, scoot yourself down to the scary bear, and then turn around and come back to the happy bunny!" my instructor coo'd... next pass through, I got my pedals! Yesssss!)

But then I didn't do a damn thing about it for the next 8 months.  I didn't go anywhere near a bike, not even a spin class with stationary bikes.  What did I think would happen?  That a bike would magically appear for my use and I'd be able to cruise around busy Midtown streets while intoxicated without any trouble or nerves?  My friends amped up the chatter about our plans for this summer - bicycle pub crawls, biking around Tahoe, rides from Davis to Woodland and back, taking that triathlon clinic that got be started with this whole biking thing in the first place - and the wave of discomfort stemming from my lack of bike skills washed over me again.  Ah, crap.  I'm gonna have to figure this shit out. 

Thanks to the help of a special (not of the short-bus variety) friend who's more familiar with bikes and riding than anyone I know, I'm now not only the owner of my very own bike (in one of my favorite colors!), but I can ride in a straight line!  I still have some (read: a lot of) work to do on the whole slowing down and stopping thing, but I am confident I'll get there... eventually.

So there you have it!  I am now an athlete in transition!  A runner-turned-hopeful-triathlete!  I feel like a whole new person with this new skill!   

Over the past couple days as I've practiced my skillz on my shiny new bike, I’ve come to realize how transitioning from using your body to run to using your body to ride is analogous to other transitions in life.  Pedaling around the undeveloped portion of my neighborhood (also in transition, you could say) yesterday, I thought about all the people I know who are in some sort of transitional period in their lives.

Some are pregnant or new parents for the first time, terrified of how their lives are going to change, how they'll handle parenthood, whether they'll fuck up their kid literally or figuratively, but experiencing indescribable joy and connectedness that comes with bringing a new life into the world.  Others have 17- and 18-year old “babies” who are graduating high school and moving on to college, leaving them with a lonely empty nest but a second leash on life to do all the things they wanted to but couldn't while focused on raising their kids.  Some are making big career changes – huge promotions, changing fields, or going back to school - and essentially changing their identities as they know it, hopefully for the better.  Others are leaving their careers entirely by taking a well-deserved vacation for the rest of their lives via retirement.  Some are moving across the country to a new, big, unfamiliar city, and having to transition to a whole new way of life, if only figuring out how to buy and get 10-bags worth of groceries up to the 10th floor of their NYC studio.  Others are learning how to handle the day-to-day stressors that come along with being separated from a loved one due to deployment, or preparing for their return just after having gotten used to them being gone. 

The transitions I've observed most often and with which I am the most familiar are those who are experiencing significant changes in their relationship status – that is, those who are getting engaged/married, or those who are going through a divorce.  Newlyweds are negotiating their new lives as a legally-bound couple (they say the first year is the hardest) with the goal of both parties getting as close to their ideal vision of the marriage as possible, whereas those dealing with the painful ordeal that is divorce are, along with fighting over finances and/or children, having to relearn what life is like as an uncoupled person (again, they say the first year is the hardest), kicking tires, testing waters, figuring it all out. 

All of these transitions are so similar to learning how to ride a bike as an adult.  They're not really something you're ever fully prepared to do; no matter how badly you might want to transition, you're always a little scared.  It feels awkward and unnatural at first - What do you do? How do you do this? This feels weird!  When you first push off, you're afraid of getting doing it wrong or getting hurt, so you go so slow that you wobble in a jerky way, wildly from side to side, totally unbalanced; you think you just might look like Elaine’s awkward "dance" from Seinfeld, so you hope no one is recording you looking like an asshole.  You desperately want to put your two feet back on solid ground, where you know how to use them and where they feel most comfortable, but the advice you're given tells you that in order to keep moving forward and keep your balance, you’ve got to have a little faith and pedal a little faster to turn the wheels.  Soon enough, you agree.

You learn to look both ways for anything coming at you too fast, and to avoid obstacles by realizing that if you focus on something you're afraid of, you’re going to head right towards it - a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.  A few times you find yourself taking your eyes off where you want to go, distracted by cute little things along the route, and then just as you are giggling and smiling wide, a bug flies into your mouth.   

Eventually, you find yourself cruising along, the wind from your speed cooling off the sweat on your brow.  You're proud of how far you've come in such little time.  So, you pick up a little speed, confident and feeling an ease that you're finally "getting it," only to realize you don’t know how to slow down or stop without near disaster.  While your friend watches with trepidation and grimaces, half-expecting you to injure yourself, you laugh as you stumble.  You start again, this time with the recognition that you're going to have to practice having the type of control that lets you set the speed with which you're most comfortable.  And without a doubt, you concede that you need help from people you trust to get you through it.

The long and short of it all is this:  We all have something we strive for, something we want, someplace physical/emotional/relational/professional/familial we want to end up, and we all undergo a major transition at some point in our lives to get there, whether by choice or when forced upon us.  Getting through it to the other side always requires some level of risk, some patience, some time, some effort, some trial and error; but waiting until you're 30 years older than everyone else going through the same thing before you try really won't do you any favors, as 30 years of riding will have passed you by.  So, take the training wheels off, grab a trusted friend, and just go... skinned knees be damned.

P.S.  If I have any hopes of checking Iron(Wo)Man off my "Things to do by 40" bucket list, I guess I need to start looking into doing some open-water swims.  Cripes.  Anyone got a wetsuit?  Or maybe just a life preserver?  Anyone?  Anyone...?