peddle pusher

I click into the pedals and lower into the saddle becoming one with my bike. A symbiotic relationship has just been formed, man and machine—we are one. My legs begin to peddle, my heart readies itself for the task ahead, and my lungs await their burden. Our journey has begun. The minutes roll into an hour and now my legs furiously spin like pistons to power these two wheels; my heart has taken on the duty of a dam to quickly channel gallons worth of my blood; and my lungs want to collapse but faithfully carry their burden. There is magic happening under my skin and nothing save a bone shattering, body-crippling wreck will make it cease. There is no end in sight for this road I ride and much too far behind is the starting line.

The wind becomes aware of my journey. I can hear it in my ears: it laughs, taunts me, tells me I will fail. For some reason it is angry. And this wind, like a young snake not knowing the power of its poison, bites at my skin. Using all of its might, it sets its giant hand in my path trying to stop me before my journey has ended. But I keep pushing forward using all of my strength to push this hand back. It puts up a good fight; I put up one better. So now it must find another way to stop me.

And it turns to the earth. Before me now lies a mountain that I must climb—a mountain that is only in a cyclist’s worse nightmares. The sweat of exhaustion now mingles with the sweat of fear. So many miles behind me I can’t give up now… but I’ll need help. I dig into my jersey pocket, pull out an energy bar, and pray it lives up to its name as I wash it down with a gulp of water. And then, with all of my might, I attack this mountain. The ascent is slower than I had hoped, but faster than the mountain ever imagined. Halfway up, the pain on my face says that I’m giving up. The mountain and the wind laugh at my defeat and give each other a high-5. My prayer must have been answered, though, because I manage to make it to the top and humiliate the mountain. From this height I can see the edge of the world and that, mixed with the joy of accomplishment, is enough to keep pedaling.

Now I am the one laughing at the earth and the wind. The sky hears this and gets in on the game, clothing itself in various shades of gray. But this costume does not scare me. So it shows me its skill with water and light. Still, I am unaffected. I was already wet with perspiration, legs already moving in lightning speed and my heart already beats with a sound like thunder. Tired and defeated, the sky gives up and puts back on its blue coat.

Finally, it’s just me, the bike, and the road. For once I am free and I will not stop—not today, not tomorrow, not ever. There’s a pain in my legs that tells me what life can’t.