First, it should be said that I go for pictures first when I look at a book, so it only makes sense that I looked for a pic for this post prior to writing it.
Second, it should be said, in full disclosure, that of those “cyclist” pics, some were of nude yet body-painted folks. This seems so awfully wrong.
Third, also in full disclosure but absolutely no nudity whatsoever, I just learned to ride a bike earlier this year. YES, really.
Fourth, it should be said, in defense of my parents, that they did try to teach me, but the former kid actor in me was always afraid I would break a leg literally before breaking a leg figuratively before my next show.
Fifth, it should be said that really, if I’m, like, really, REALLY honest, I was probably just super scared I’d fall and break that literal leg.With me, fear is a great demotivator.
Sixth,… well, not much has changed (I’m still scared), but I did actually ride a bike.
Seventh, even now, if you can ride a bike out among other people, bikes, and cars, I commend you and tend to think of you as Lance Armstrong himself walking in my midst, for I, in my 30s, am still self-relocated to the church parking lot down the street.
My husband, however, is not. He just rode 120 miles in two days in the MS Society’s Bike to Jack and Back (that’d be the Jack Daniels distillery, which, most ironically, is located in a dry county.) Does anyone else consider it a colossal foul to mix extreme athletics with alcohol? Anywho, I’m super duper proud of my hubs for lots of things, but especially so because I think any bicycler (that’s what they’re called, right?) is Lance Armstrong. Naturally, my husband is only slightly existing below the supernatural level now.
The hubs is really getting into cycling: the embarrassingly tight gear, the insanely veined calf muscles, the lingo. He tried to explain to me why teams in big races like, say, the Tour de France (not exactly my idea of “touring” France, but whatevs) travel in packs–and no, it’s not because they wanna hang out and catch up (ahem), like some non/novice bikers might suspect.
Apparently, they take turns being “the puller,” leading one another against the wind’s traction. The rest of the team falls back behind to benefit from the person cutting through the wake of the wind. (Not sure something like “the wake of the wind” exists, but as a newbie, I’m going with it.) Yes, everyone’s legs are pumping, but the puller is breaking a bit of the resistance for his teammates.
And, because I tend to make everything a metaphor (My parents call this “dramatic”–Duh! I have an acting degree, which you paid for!), I thought this was a great illustration for friendship. I like to think I can sometimes manage to be “the puller,” breaking wind–
Wait. That came out wrong.
Wait. So did that.
If you catch my drift–Wait!
What I mean to say is, I think we all need someone to carry some of the burden from time to time, to meet up with some of the resistance on our behalf. To enter into prayer on our behalf. To help unload and offset the crap coming our way.
Please ignore all the potty humor. I am, after all, just a girl who is learning to ride a bike, and humbly hoping to do so alongside the people I love and who love me so well.
When did you learn how to ride a bike? Ever break a leg? Wind? Both?