Mamas and the Zen of Biking

It’s 6:30 am and, because I have no blinds in my room, the sun wakes me long before this night owl is ready and I stumble into the bathroom to put in my contacts.  Bleary eyed, I wrestle into the workout outfit I set out the night before- just a few hours ago–pulling on week-old bike shorts, tying up my shoes, snapping on my helmet, chewing my allotted 1/3 Clif Builder’s bar.  Sneaking downstairs so as not to wake Cooper, I pour an inch of milk to wash it down, checking to see if my iPod is charged, my water bottle filled.

Eight weeks ago, my bike was just a spider web holder in our crowded garage.  I bought it years ago, but had ridden it only once since then.  The seat wobbled.  The tires were flat.  My brakes bipolar.

Thanks to the efforts of a kind friend, my bike is now working gloriously and I have been slowly getting into biking shape, gradually increasing my mileage, learning that my quads can burn for two hours and, even though I want to, I won’t die.

There’s a rhythm to these rides, I’m discovering.  To get out of my neighborhood I have to climb two hills right off the bat, while my muscles are cold and still waking up.  The first five miles take me east, the early sun in my face, hill, valley, hill, valley, usually into a head wind.  It’s a rough way to start.  My legs are screaming.  My mind is fuzzy from sleep.  Although it’s early, this is Kansas, meaning it’s already hot and sticky, my stick straight hair miraculously curling around my sweaty neck.

Once I reach the five mile mark, I turn south for the bulk of the ride.  I’ve already conquered the altitude needed to get to the edge of town, now it’s about putting some miles in.  I put my head down and press into a six mile stretch.  By now my legs are warmed up, all that breathing hard is pumping rich oxygen into every cell, washing out any brain fog.  The sun is up–barely–painting tips of wheat a golden honey.  Fields are almost ready to cut;  huge green combines sit nearby.  A farmer in blue overalls and a white hat waves at me as I zip past.

I love this part of the ride.  My legs pump in a steady rhythm, my music works its way predictably through my biking play list.  I neigh at the horses, moo at the cows, covet cute farmhouses.  Sometimes I sing.   Sometimes I yell.

Most of the time, though, I just think.  There’s something about the repetitiveness of pedaling that lulls my brain into deep thought.  For an hour or two, I can’t let my ADD have any leash.  I must, must stay the course, stay in the groove, not breaking my focus by hopping over to check my Facebook or running downstairs to grab a cup of ice. Lulled by the rhythm of pedaling, my restless mind at last settles, unleashing a stream of cool and flowing thoughts.  Thinking long streams of thought isn’t something mamas get to do very often and I am rusty from eighteen years of not being able to finish even the most abbreviated line of thought/reason/argumentation.  But these rides are gradually reawakening in me the ability to think in something other than sound bytes.  To say I am more than ready for it is a wild understatement.

It’s not until the last two or three miles of the ride that I come out of this nearly hypnotic state.  Once I get back into town, the spell is broken.  I have to dodge cars in the McDonald’s parking lot, navigate my way through a few traffic lights, try to avoid riding into sprinkler paths or being hit by construction workers.

Suddenly I notice how hot it is.  I wonder if the kids are doing their school or their jobs at home.  I remember I have to go to the store because we have no peanut butter.  Dinner is unplanned, my bed unmade.  Time to get back to it.  Blogs to figure out.  Books to write.  Miles to go before I sleep, miles to go before I sleep…

Back home, I’m peppered with questions:  How far did I go?  What’s for breakfast? What should I wear today?  Will you do my hair?   Can we go to the water park?

Hello reality.

I’m glad to be home.  My legs are really glad to be home.  But as I go about today’s duties, chores (just the words sound drudgerous, don’t they?), I hope I can keep with me the peace I found today, pedaling away, wind in my hair, thinking thoughts while chewing on a Sports Bean.