Back in the Saddle

But not probably for what you think based on the last post. Yeah, I should be so lucky. No. This is more about the healing process and how my body is doing.

Before I got sick, I was really excited to sign up for this thing called the Hovis London Freewheel. Now, when all my shit got moved here three years ago, my bike was included in that shipment. Of course, my bike was also mangled in the process and I had to pay to get the front fins straightened and for a new handlebar. But I did that. I brought my bike home. I rode around the square that my flat sits on. I took my bike upstairs. And there it has stayed for the past three years.

Because I am terrified of cycling in London. The streets are narrow. The traffic is manic, and on the wrong side. Plus, while I love that I live in a really central part of Hackney, it also means that I'm surrounded by busier streets with buses and things on them. And what this meant is that my bike has sat and gathered dust for three years, while I occasionally have pumped up the tires to prevent rot.

So when this Freewheel thing came around, I thought it would be a good opportunity to get over my fear, and try this cycling thing in a safe and monitored environment. I know loads of people who cycling in London- there are many in my office. So I also figured there would be people I knew doing this. I signed up. I got people I know to sign up. And I figured I'd go cycling a couple weeks before the event to make sure I was up for the nine mile circuit.

Then I got sick. And I couldn't even think about cycling for the first month. But this day was lingering in my thoughts. I had been so set on it, so determined. I wanted to do it. I didn't want to give it up. In the meantime, most of the people I knew who had initially said they would do it, were pulling out for one reason or another. So it was down to me, my body, and my bike.

I figured that I would get to Victoria Park- my local 'hub' at least. See how I felt. Then I thought if I felt okay, I'd get down to the main course, and see how I felt. Then if I felt okay, I would go along the course and keep assessing how I was doing, keeping in mind that I would need to get back, but fully aware that I might end up walking my bike home.

At any rate, to keep this now long story shorter. I did it. I did it all. I got on my bike. I got myself to Victoria Park. I got my tires pumped up better, and I was off to the main event along very busy roads. Past SA's house. Past NE's house. Past Liverpool Street station. Busy as all get out, and I made it. And I got to the course, and I did the entire thing. I even managed to get myself home, though I got lost leaving Victoria Park and ended up on Mare Street which scared me at first, but then I was like, "No, fuck it, I can do this.", and I did.

So that was pretty fucking awesome really. The day was brilliant. The weather was superb. My ass hurts like a mother fucker, but hey, as well all know, I like that, so it's okay. I'm so pleased that I accomplished this thing that I set out to do. I'm so pleased that my body didn't hurt or fail in any way, aside from not being in shape for the cycling. But I still made it. And I'm even more pleased that I would not be scared now to cycle out there. At least in daylight. I'm only sad that because I did it all on my own, I don't have a single photograph of me out there on the day on my bike. Oh well. That's what memory is for.