Biking is a symptom

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I’ve officially signed up for the Iceman Cometh mountain bike race this fall. For the last several years, I have watched from the sidelines (handing out shots of whiskey at Anita’s Hill to those I love and loathe) and asking myself… Why wasn’t I out there? Where was my drive? What happened to that “old Kandy” who loved to ride?

Well, she IS older – just a few days before my 50^th birthday, I will tackle my 9^th Iceman this fall.

But it was more than that.

This is going to sound crazy – but I promise you it gets better the more you read – but I had actually started to “hide” my biking (and most everything I loved). How could that be? But it’s true.

It’s taken me almost 4 years to figure out what happened, why I quit biking and why I am back.

It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t my biking that was the problem.

It was my self.

Back then, the arguments over my biking were wild and senseless. (FYI - I’m not referring to my husband – who supports me always!) A new bike caused major uproar – bought with my own funds. Those I loved did not attend my races, did not ask about my training. My biking life was “silenced” – I would sit at Thanksgiving dinner a few weeks after Iceman, and have to pretend that such a big part of my life hadn’t happened. My wonderful, fun biking life and friendships were written out of existence. It was like a stone in my throat. My biking wasn’t allowed in this place, and I didn’t know why. It caused me confusion and anger and shame. It was only biking.

But - I was carrying around this wild, unfettered, uncomplicated happiness. It was all mine, and I could make more of it anytime I wanted to. I didn’t need anyone else to do it. I could just go. Alone, with friends, both, some, none. Biking was a path to my SELF, something that I didn’t have much of back then.

And the more I biked, the more me I became.

However.

That ME was not accepted. I was to stay the same, in my box, in my role – small and contained and identical. Anything that set me apart was quickly snuffed out, dismantled, shamed. The attacks made my head spin, and that spin kept me in place - like it was meant to. I wasted hours and days and years defending something that otherwise brought me joy and health and friendship.