I Bought a Bike. And That’s How I Found Myself

I pawned my wedding rings and I bought a bike. It was the first thing I did for me – and only for me – in over 20 years. 

My whole adult life, I wanted to ride a bicycle. To escape for an hour and wind around the neighborhood, to fill my lungs with fresh air and feel a little, even just a little, burn in my legs. But it didn’t happen until I got a divorce. 

My self-esteem hit rock bottom. I didn’t like who I had to become to survive the trauma I experienced, and to be completely honest, I felt like I was such a weird stranger to myself. Everything I thought I was, was wrapped up in a marriage that went utterly wrong. It was so strange to realize that I had no idea what I liked, where I fit in, or who I wanted to be. 

I needed a new career, a new perspective, and to figure out who I was without a partner hovering over me, telling me who I should be. What I needed was a bike.  

I ached for the freedom I felt as a kid, soaring hands-free downhill and then skidding to a screeching halt at the bottom. Lollygagging with my dog in my bike basket, giving her slow, lazy rides until she was tired of the treks, or ditching my ancient Oldsmobile and spinning my way into town for a soda and some Sour Patch Kids. 

That’s why I did it, that’s why I bought the bike.

It was for that feeling of freedom and to have a vehicle to find myself, for real, this time. It was just an inexpensive entry-level bike, a black Arden One by Diamondback, and a Kurt Kinetic Wheel-on Trainer – the best I could afford with the little bit of cash I got from my jewelry. And it was just enough to get me hooked. 

At first, all of my anxiety from the divorce showed up in my cycling. I was so scared to ride, feeling like I would topple over at the slightest bump or crash in the weeds at even the most gentle passing car. I couldn’t bring myself to pedal faster than 10 miles an hour. The mechanical disk brakes felt strange, and the geometry was sketchy on that small bike. The lightweight aluminum frame jittered on the rough country roads. But I was all in and riding that bike – it changed me. 

I fell down. Over and over and over again. Mostly at stop signs when I forgot to unclip my pedals, but it only scratched my pride.

Feelings of fear were slowly overtaken by a rush of freedom and the thrill of success. Flat pedals gave way to SPDs, and the oncoming cold weather prompted me to burn my way up Alp de Zwift. It didn’t take long until I found a way to upgrade to a Canyon Ultimate and a Wahoo Kickr.

Donning a pair of bib shorts and an aero fit jersey breathed new life into my self-confidence, prompting a level of bravery to try new things on a bike. 

I found a beginner group ride at a local cycling club, and comfort zone be damned, I showed up and rode with an entire group of people I had never met before. My thoughts swirled faster than my wheels – what did I get myself into? I never did this before! I don’t even know if these people will help me find my way back. 

But there was nothing to fear – they welcomed me in, taught me new skills, cheered me on, and became some of my favorite people in the world. 

Through it all, something happened inside me, slowly and subtly, but it was there.

I learned a bit about grit. And I discovered some sort of joy in chasing new experiences and things that made my heart skip a beat in fear. 

There was a YouTube video of a woman riding bike rollers, and they looked so frightening that I couldn’t help but try. I found a cheap set of bike rollers on Amazon and kept going until I could ride them. I wasn’t great (and I’m better but still not great)– but I was doing it. 

I tried the track and fell in love with a crazy cycling discipline with no brakes and only one gear. 

In the dark days of COVID, I drove 5 hours to buy a cyclocross bike that was both affordable and ever more rare, my size. And then, when we were free of quarantines and life returned to its new normal, I went to cyclocross for the first time, by myself, without a clue of what I was doing. I may have walked more than I rode on that first try, but nobody cared, not even me. I was riding a bike! 

And I learned so much about myself. 

I am stronger than I think I am. And if I am, for sure, so are you. 

I am braver than I ever thought I could be. And if I am, I know that you are, too. 

This body of mine – that was once discarded and labeled never good enough – has proved itself to me over and over again, in strength, in speed, endurance, and durability. It can do things I never expected it would – and I bet yours can, too. 

I gained a community that is kind, supportive, adventurous, and a lot of fun to be around. And they will welcome you, too.

People who ride bikes have surprisingly big hearts. 

Cycling gave me myself, a community, and a new skill set. It reignited a passion and excitement for life that had been missing for a very long time, and while your cycling journey may be entirely different, I’m here to cheer you on. I would love for you to discover what life is like on a bicycle, but most of all, I hope you love yourself and celebrate your body for all of the crazy, wonderful things it can do. And if you need help, I’m here. I got you. 

So here’s to the ride, and to finding the version of yourself that’s been waiting for you all along.