Courage is a Muscle

I am brave. 

Ok, confession. Initially, I started this entry with—I am terrified. But remember, I love a positive mantra.

We have been doing all our cycling training in the pain cave, AKA our garage, while watching Netflix and traveling 10-20 miles without going anywhere. Stephen has done a lot of outdoor riding, but less since seeing his close friend and riding buddy get hit and killed by a texting driver. Inches from his side. He later found blood splatters on himself. 

It’s not that he’s afraid to ride outside. He just realizes it’s probably statistically safer to do some indoor riding and he knows I am afraid for him to ride outside. It’s also very efficient to dial in a workout on the trainer and not have to deal with stoplights, weather, cars.

Cars. 

Before hearing Stephen’s story of losing his friend, I already had the fear of God instilled in me, having heard several grizzly stories from fellow nurses and on the local news of cyclists getting killed on the road. 

Today we rode five miles around the neighborhood and I was a shaking, bumbling, almost-cried-three-times hot mess. 

It wasn’t just the worry about cars coming by. It’s also being clipped in, which feels like someone forcing you into the seat of a roller coaster,  strapping you in against your will, and saying, “Remember to unclip your seat belt so you can get out if something goes wrong!” Also, those tires! I am used to mountain bike tires and those skinny little “tires” feel like riding on a tightrope. Then there are the brakes (in a different location from the shifting??) and the idea of getting into the aero position (at a different location from the brakes??). Also, my blood sugar was a little low right before we started riding (not in my mind—I checked it on my glucose monitor). I should have planned my eating better, and eaten sooner in the day. And I had regular gloves on that were too slippery, making it hard to grip the handlebars. 

We were riding down a big hill and Stephen rode up beside me. 

“Are you braking?” 

“Maybe,” I replied defensively. “And can you not ride so close?” I knew what he was thinking. There will be a lot more people who are riding a lot closer at the race. 

I like to think of myself as brave. I was a wildland firefighter during the summers in college, I’ve done a fair amount of climbing and repelling, I’ve done plenty of mountain biking, and I have birthed four children without an epidural. And remember I just ran in the cold dark rain?? Hardcore. But today I was terrified. 

I just kept thinking, “What is wrong with me?” And kept braking down the hill, hands stiff from white-knuckling the handlebars. 

What is wrong with me? Is this getting older? Was it because my blood sugar was low? Is it because it’s so new and legitimately scary? 

My daughter is a competitive gymnast. Once I was talking to her coach about what she needs to do to keep progressing. The coach told me that she needs to 1) not get hurt and 2) be able to overcome fear. Besides putting in the work, that pretty much sums it up for the both of us. 

Is there a place for being cautious? Absolutely. (Link to Stay Safe Out There Post) Do I want fear to dictate my actions in life? No. 

Nelson Mandela said,

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

People do far braver things than get on a road bike. I mean, I just quoted a man who learned courage by standing up to his government and being imprisoned for it for 27 years. I realize, again, this is a very first-world problem. Still, it’s my problem. And the alternative is to not get on the bike, not face the fear, not learn a new skill, not be an Ironman. After today, I feel a little unnerved, unsure. But also today, I got on the bike and I rode five miles on the road. 

I don’t know if I can do this. I felt discouraged after the ride—vulnerable and weak. Stephen reassured me that this is new and scary and we just need to get out on the bikes more. 

Perhaps courage is like a muscle. The more you use it, the more it is at the ready. Perhaps my courage muscle has atrophied a little, having traveled a well worn adult-ing road of eat, sleep, work, parent, repeat. There is little in my daily life to push me out of my comfort zone.

Oooo, I know just the thing—I’ll do an Ironman race.

Brilliant.