 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|||||
 |
|||||
 |
|
|
|
|
|
I wasn't always a believer. I spent much of my adult life watching joggers with detached amusement as they made their way through traffic, inhaling exhaust and risking life and limb. I smirked at bicyclists,
donning unforgiving lycra and neon helmets, avoiding potholes and car doors to get their daily fix. And I chuckled aloud as everyone else attempted their exercise du jour, mopping sweaty brows and nursing
pulled hamstrings. Nope, it was definitely not for me. Oh, I tried a few times to catch the fever. I do like to ski (no sweaty brows when you're zooming downhill with blessed gravity on your side
and frigid temperatures nipping at your nose) and occasional brisk walks enabled me to add birds to my life-list, at least during migration season. I even joined a health club that opened around the corner from my
office, convinced that its proximity would encourage my attendance. (They subsequently presented me with an award for "Most Days Missed In A Row.") Then, it all changed.
Recovering from the traumatic end of a relationship, I dreaded coming home from work each day to face the long summer evenings alone. I casually mentioned to a colleague that I was considering buying a
bicycle or committing suicide. She voted for the bicycle, and as luck would have it, she was about to buy a new one and asked me if I wanted her old Schwinn for $50. Sold.
What appealed to me was the fact that this was not an activity my former flame and I had enjoyed together. We had hiked, camped, skied, played golf and enjoyed horseback riding together, but we'd never
ridden bicycles as a twosome so there were no painful memories connected to it. It was mine, all mine. I bought a bike rack for the car (my neighborhood has more hills than
"The Sound Of Music" – I knew I needed some good, flat bike paths to start), some bicycling clothes (after all, I needed all the padding I could get), had the bike reconditioned and put on a cyclometer (what's the
point of riding all those miles if I can't see how many)! O.K. So the whole thing cost more than $50. But I was ready to roll! The first few weeks were trying. It was not love at first bike. As I
suspected, I learned very quickly that hills were not my cup of tea. I know, I know…the saying goes: no pain, no gain. In my own personal parlance, read that: no pain, no pain.
I started slowly, a few miles at a time. I found a great bike path near home that totaled six miles round-trip. Then I started biking with friends on Sundays. One of the local roads closes to traffic on Sunday
mornings from May through October, so I started planning for it when I worked on my weekend calendar. By the end of July, I wasn't even breathing hard at the 14-mile loop.
O.K. I'll admit that I didn't turn immediately into an exercise-aholic. It happened over time. And there were even times during this rebirth that I skipped a few days – after all, I wasn't a fanatic or anything. But I
had now graduated to Chair Spud instead of a full-fledged Couch Potato, the difference being that Chair Spuds have a little get up and go. This past weekend convinced me, though, that exercise is forever.
My family was gathering for our annual weekend of forced togetherness at a rented house by the beach. I usually greet such events with dread, and this time was no exception. I anticipated lots of concerned
questions and advice about my love life, or more accurately, the lack thereof. As the weekend got closer, it suddenly occurred to me that it might be nice to take a ride or two during the weekend. The more I thought
about it, the more I believed that the bicycle might just be my ticket to sanity. And I was right. Every time I felt the need for solitude, I put on my
helmet, waved goodbye and set out to explore this new, blessedly flat area. Once I got going, with the breeze in my face and the birds urging me on, I wanted to ride forever. I used the bike six times during the
weekend, returning after each ride with a smile and a glow. And even the pain of my lost love somehow felt a little better. Maybe he isn't the only man for me. Maybe Mr. Right has a bicycle.
©1995 Sandi Kimmel E-mail: sandik@musichealer.com You have permission to reprint this story for use in your e-zine, at your website or in
your newsletter. The only requirement is to include the following footer with links: Story by Sandi Kimmel. For more original content like this, visit |
|||||
Home | What's New | Profile | Listen Here | Features |
|||||
 |
|||||
t's true. Exercise makes you feel better. Actually, exercise makes me feel better, but I bet it would work for you, too.