Just Like Riding a Bike

When I was about 22, my boyfriend decided we should take up mountain biking together. He was already pretty experienced with riding trails - he used to go a lot with his buddies back in college, but just hadn't ridden much since then. He wanted to revisit this old pastime, but in lieu of his old college friends, he figured he could share the exhilarating experience with me instead. His enthusiasm was contagious, and within hours I was researching every brand, model, and spec. A few weeks later, I excitedly purchased a brand new set of wheels, spending about as much money as I could afford.

At the time, I had just started graduate school, so a few hundred dollars was a very big deal. I wanted to take it seriously, and I had such fond memories of riding my bike from childhood that I was certain this activity would become our new daily staple. Some of my very best childhood memories are of cruising the neighborhood streets with my brother on our bikes. With the hot summer sun beating against our backs, our only relief was to pedal faster until we felt the cool breeze on our arms and on our cheeks. We'd grip the handlebars and speed off, feeling like explorers and basking in our independence. We'd visit friends, check out the latest video games at the video store (remember those?), and sometimes we'd take off and just ride around for hours with no destination at all. One of our favorite spots was a place the local kids called Clay Mountain. It was basically a giant mound of clay hidden within a wooded area a few blocks away from my parents' house. Looking back, I have no idea why it was there or what exactly it was. As a kid, I didn't question its reason for existence but I distinctly remember that it looked absolutely enormous, with a slope that seemed near vertical. The local kids would dare each other to summit the mountain and then ride down the face of it. We visited Clay Mountain numerous times before my brother eventually worked up the nerve to climb his way to the top. I almost had a heart attack watching his epic descent, careening down that impossible sloping angle. (I never did.)

I might've been 10 or so when I stopped riding my bike. Of course, by age 16, a car pretty much negated the need for any other mode of transportation and I never thought to pick it up again until that moment at age 22. So by that point, I really hadn't ridden a bike in years. I wheeled my brand new bike to the front of the apartment complex, admiring how fancy it was. I grew up with the kind of bikes where you brake by pedaling backward, so a bike with legitimate hand brakes and multiple speed settings was in a whole other league. As I had done so many times before as a child, I gleefully gripped the handlebars, swung my leg around, and... and... what the hell?!...

I always assumed that getting back on a bike after all those years would be just like - well, I guess it would be 'just like riding a bike!' I assumed that once learned, it couldn't be forgotten. Wrong! I was shocked when I realized the muscle memory wasn't there. The familiar memory of catching momentum and equilibrium was suddenly and completely foreign. My boyfriend gave me a funny look as I awkwardly tipped too far to the left, then too far to the right. I fumbled around like that for a while, pausing to vent my frustration while watching my boyfriend's emotions cycle between confusion, amusement, and I think genuine concern. It took a while but I was eventually able to ride up and down the street. Thinking I was in the clear, we ventured out into the neighborhood and turned onto a scenic, hilly, winding street. It took me a minute to realize that I was starting to pick up some serious speed. I think I underestimated the combination of carrying another 100 lbs, sitting a couple feet higher, and riding a better bike, because my first wild turn instantly went from fun to terrifying. Suddenly, I was mentally flying down the vertical face of Clay Mountain, and in my panic all I could do was hold on for dear life, brace myself, and scream the name of the person responsible for my impending doom: "ALAAAAAAN!"

Don't worry. The hill bottomed out and I was able to brake safely to a stop. No one died and everything turned out fine except my ego. My skills on two wheels have since improved, but I never did become the thrill-seeking riding partner my boyfriend imagined. I think the simple explanation is that I don't like feeling out of control. Some people, like my boyfriend, are energized by it. For me, the swell of crippling anxiety completely disconnects me from my physical and mental faculties. It's a primal reaction of the sympathetic nervous system that turns my fingers into icicles, quickens my heartbeat, and gives me tunnel vision. I've experienced this so many times and in so many situations across every area of life. I've frozen during meetings when asked challenging questions, I get flooded with terrible stage fright as a musician, and I don't generally perform well under pressure. It's not one of my better qualities, and I've had to work very hard to cope with it in order to give presentations at school and at work. The worst part is that I'm less likely to challenge myself and try anything new because facing my fears head on often results in freezing up and reinforcing my fears with a negative experience.

Years later, my boyfriend became my husband, and a couple years ago we moved to a coastal city with sand and surf for miles. He was immediately drawn to the water, and dusted off an old surfboard from his youth. By now, the board was much too small for his larger frame, 'but,' he said, 'it'll be perfect for you.' So we bought him a larger surfboard and I watched a few tutorials to figure out what I was supposed to do once I was in the water.

My first day paddling out was less than impressive. I didn't catch a wave - not even close! Once again, I had trouble finding momentum and equilibrium. Paddling around and sitting on a surfboard requires some skill and balance. Any slight motion tempts the board to pop out from under you, so in the constantly moving ocean water, my novice abilities were quite challenged. At the end of a long day, I had bruises on my arms, legs, and rib cage. I had a stomach full of salt water, and one of my two contact lenses was missing. My husband met me on the shore, and with a huge ear-to-ear grin, he asked me how much fun I'd had and could we do it again tomorrow. Needless to say, I felt pretty miserable and definitely did not want to do that again.

Sometimes, I resent getting pushed into these uncomfortable situations, but if I step away from my fear, I really appreciate my husband's confidence in me when my own confidence falters. I really admire people who can step out of their comfort zones with composure, and wish I had my husband's adventurous spirit. For me, I think I've always been an anxious person and will always need to work on that part of myself. So with my personal cheerleader at my side, I've paddled out a handful more times, and we try to focus on the small wins over the failures. With time and practice, and a large dose of encouragement, I don't think I'm too far off from the thrill of riding my very first wave.

#anxiety #confidence #nostalgia