I want my bike.
I want to feel the rhythmic slash of tire rolling along the pavement, I want to feel the flexing of muscle as I pump the pedals and feel the flush as my body warms, my heart rate accelerates and my pale skin pinkens and moistens.
I want my early morning rides back when the world flashes by silently and the cool, moist air fans freshness into my eyes and I fall into this wonderful, meditative half trance, just my body and the world waking up around me, and glimpse into the warmth of kitchens spilling golden light into the gloam of early morning and the wonderfully freeing sense of traveling through time and moment that I ache for this cold, frigid winter morning.
I want my bike.
Time stretches forward in a frozen wasteland of slick, icy roads and banked snow spattered with the debris and waste of a city’s leavings. Spring is not even a breath as I exhale frost into the shivering dark and the dogs gambol ahead of me, oblivious to the unwanted embrace of the frigid now and I yearn with intensity painful in its need for change.
So quixotic! I seek and embrace change and in the next breath, deny her reality and mourn her former incarnations.
I am changed though and recognizing that reality has been a journey fraught with anxiety, depression and denial. But change is inevitable, an intrinsic part of every life. Sought or unsought, change licks new landscapes into being and destroys realities once thought immutable.
I miss my bike.
Last year was a bad “biking” year for me. A combination of events from an unusual number of rainy days (beyond sprinkling but skies which spewed water in torrents of biblical proportions), a pervading and persistent depression, and D’s commnd that my early morning forays desist due his fears for my safety combined to undermine my former three to four day commute to work and back again.
and I missed it.
This year will be different. I have vowed to start biking again on a more frequent basis. Weather permitting I shall bike 2-3 times per week, depending on my schedule. I ache for the early mornings that I gave up in deference to his worry and his desire and reclaim them in my new incarnation.
I am capable and strong and far from careless and basic precautions will be taken.
But I’m taking back the night.
Reclaiming the feel of my world at 4 a.m. and the encapsulated realities of muscle and sinew, of sweat, fragrant and clean trickling between my breasts, of muscles unchallenged waking and remembering the rhythm of health and well-being.
A baby step... one of the first steps ... my own decision, no longer deferring in the totality of my being to his wishes. I sense further changes ahead as I stretch and find the beloved fetters are tattered and falling away ...