I think I’d prefer to be on a bicycle than anywhere else. I used to say that about the mountains, but I think cycling even trumps that lifelong love affair. Riding is a solace and a relaxing safe place. It quiets my heart some days, and other days, it fills me unexplained hope. There’s a solitude to cycling — even when in a group — that allows me to look at life from an introspective lens. I’m able to pray, to meditate and to think about what’s happening in my life.
I have dreams of flying up mountains and winning criterium races, but in reality, I huff and puff up climbs and I’m slower than the famed storybook tortoise. I read about the latest gadgets and the newest frames (as if I were legitimately in the market for that $6,500 bike at my local shop.) My bike computer measures only the mileage, and my bike (while lovely) is neither shiny or new. For now though, I’m content pedaling any path I can find with anyone who will ride along beside me.
When life is stressful, cycling soothes me. When life is happy sailing, cycling is my celebration. Whatever mood I’m in, whatever situations I’m facing, cycling offers me an outlet. It’s not merely a hobby or another form of exercise, it’s a way of life.
My first time on a bicycle as an adult was exhausting. I rode two miles and was winded. I even remember feeling slightly wobbly and unsure of myself that first time back on two wheels. But there was something there, something about the forward motion and the fluid movement combined with the wind at my back.
The more I turned the pedals, the more I felt an energy and a joy I hadn’t encountered in years. Within a month, I bought my first pair of padded Spandex shorts and cycling jersey. The progression of clothing and equipment followed, eventually leading to a high-end bike and a more tan-line friendly cycling wardrobe.
Then I discovered Team Novo Nordisk (formerly Team Type 1), and I found the JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes program. I saw competitive athletes cycling with diabetes. Then I traveled to California and encountered 500 other cyclists who’d raised thousands of dollars for diabetes research. So I rode harder and longer, setting new goals along the way.
Cycling required more than hopping on a bike and going for a spin. I had to stay on top of my blood sugars in a way I hadn’t done before. I had to be meticulous. I had to pay attention to what I ate. I had to keep logs and charts to figure out what worked best and what was a failure on the road. It required lots of work and effort, but in doing it, I became a better cyclist.
Somewhere along the way though, I realized I had also become a better person and a healthier diabetic. I had taken the power away from this disease. I had taken the necessary steps to ensure I could ride safely and comfortably without fear or anxiety. I didn’t even realize it was happening, but over time, my lifestyle had shifted.
Cycling did that. Cycling empowered me, and it still does. Each January, I question whether I can fundraise $4,000. By the time autumn arrives, my friends and family come through for me proving they care about diabetes research as much as I do. That’s what makes JDRF rides such spectacular events. There is one person on a bike, but there are hundreds of others behind them, championing them to keep going and to keep fighting.
It’s you and it’s me, and I like knowing I”m not doing this alone. I like knowing my friends are praying for me and cheering me on throughout my training. Thank you for allowing me to share this journey with you — for allowing me to be honest about diabetes and its