To keep your balance you must keep moving…USA

To keep your balance you must keep moving…USA

We’d been riding for hours, and for the last few miles had been cycling into a brutal headwind. As I narrowed my eyes, dropped down yet another gear and tried to ignore the protests of my legs I saw the approach to the bridge loom into view. We were entering the final and most challenging stage of the ride, the Verrazano Bridge. For seasoned cyclists such as my husband Steve on his super light carbon frame road bike, this would present few problems. However, as we began the ascent I felt the will drain from my body, I grit my teeth and tried to grind it out as my legs turned first to lead and then to jelly. Inexplicably I began to cry.

We were on our way to completing the Five Boroughs Bike Tour, the world’s largest charitable bike ride. Every year thousands of riders take to the streets to ride forty miles through all five of the cities boroughs. Yet, six weeks prior to the event I didn’t even know how to ride a bike and the idea of learning scared me witless. What inspired me, age thirty two to confront my fears? I blame our move to New York City, a place that has always makes me feel that anything is possible. The opportunity to experience the city I love in this unique way was too appealing to let it pass me by.

Confronting my fears did not make me feel brave at first, quite the opposite.  Getting out of bed early one cold Saturday morning in March when there was still snow on the ground I took the subway to the northernmost reaches of Central Park. It was there that I was to face my demons. One hour into my first cycling lesson I was starting to suspect that my so called instructor was nothing but a charlatan. How else could you explain the fact that my cycling lesson was nearly complete and I was still sat on a bike with no pedals? Just ‘scooting’ along on the bike was enough to give me the shakes despite the ridiculous knee and elbow pads I was wearing. I was acutely aware that I looked ridiculous and somewhat unfairly cursing my father for not making me do this at a more appropriate age. The road to success was paved with unforgiving concrete and I sported the grazed knees of a child on more than one occasion over the coming weeks. There were falls, tears, and meltdowns as chains fell off, collisions occurred and I learned to ride the hard way.

Even the day before the tour I wasn’t sure I would make it to the start line, never mind complete the ride. We began our journey to the start just after dawn and as we rode along the Hudson through Riverside Park, passing the cities iconic landmarks, I reminded myself that this was why I had decided to take part. As we got closer to the start line, in the shadow of One World Trade we were swallowed up by the thousands of other cyclists who were all here for the same reason. The excitement was electric and the adrenaline started to flow.  Riding up 6th Avenue passing Radio City, Columbus Circle and into Central Park “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere” rang in my ears like a mantra.

Back on the Verrazano, Steve’s voice suddenly cut through the wind and the buzzing in my ears “Emma, are you OK, are you bonking? I think you’re bonking” I couldn’t make sense of the words so I just stared at him pitifully. “You need to pull over” he ordered and I wobbly complied. I felt oddly detached as I watched him battle the wind to get a sachet of electrolytes into a water bottle. “Drink this” he ordered.

 

As I did I instantly started to feel better, the blackness around my vision receded and I stopped crying and started laughing, perhaps a little hysterically. Steve beamed at me, hugged me and said “Wow, you just experienced your first bonk! Now you’re a real cyclist. How do you feel?” I briefly considered punching him in the face. Instead, we remounted our bikes and as we did I realized with delight that we were at the top of the ascent and it was downhill all the way to the finish line. 

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