My first time

My love of the bike started slowly. I remember pushing the girls in their stroller with A. on a sunny Saturday afternoon in TriBeca, and watched a man taking a beautiful Cannondale hybrid out for a test spin. At first is was all about aesthetics. Matte black, very little graphics, very sleek yet muscular looking bike.

A bicycle, I thought. Hmm. Maybe I should get a bicycle. We have storage in the basement of the building, there's the west side bike path right across the street, why not? But for the first time I didn't walk into the bike shop looking to buy the best looking, most expensive bike. I wasn't sure I would like it. I remembered my brief dalliance with a yellow road bike when I was fifteen years old. I bought it with money saved working at a garden center, and hopped on thinking it would be fun to cycle the 10 miles back home. All I remember are the hills that didn't seem all that threatening when sitting in the passenger seat of a car, and the super thin tires that kept losing air. I don't remember how I made it home that day. This was before cellphones, but I'm pretty sure I don't remember pedaling up the driveway.

So this time I used common sense. I didn't want to spend more than seven hundred dollars. I had no idea what a hybrid was (it's basically the speed of a road bike combined with the ruggedness of a mountain bike), but the first bike I test rode was the one I bought - a 2010 Giant Rapid 3.

I hadn't exercised in five years. My back was still a problem. I literally had my ass handed to me as I refused to wear any kind of spandex. I bought a giant white helmet that weighed a ton and had no ventilation. My first ride was brutal. I made it to the park next to Chelsea Piers, and for those who don't live in NYC, that's about three miles on the flat. I sat on a bench and a man walked by and whistled. "Nice bike," he said. "Beautiful." I felt like an idiot. A defeated idiot.

I don't remember much of those first few months, but I stuck with it. I changed my saddle, bought a pair of bike shorts that I wore under some sweatpants, and got a lighter helmet with vents. I celebrated small but huge milestones, like the first time I rode all the way to the little red lighthouse under the George Washington bridge, the first time I made it up the hill towards the cloisters, riding over the Brooklyn Bridge, and doing laps of Prospect Park.

Cycling saved me from the city. It saved me from the stress and exhaustion of being a mom of twins. It gave me reason to be out in the world, to step outside my comfort zone and surprise myself with what I could accomplish, who I could be. Last summer I bought my first road bike, a Scott Contessa CR1 Team. I have all the kit. I wear the spandex without apology, despite my bruised up, pale legs. I clip my feet into the pedals even though in the beginning I fell over twice in the city streets, more embarrassing than painful. My socks match my bike, a color scheme of black, red and white. I rode in the Medio portion (64 miles) of the New York GranFondo in 2012, and this May I will do the 109 miles up Bear Mountain.

Cycling has allowed me to move through this world fearlessly. To live in the moment, something so important, and something I always failed to do. In a small part I owe my sobriety to cycling, because I never want to let myself down on the bike.