At one time riding my bike consumed my days. Relationships were built around riding. I rode hundreds of miles a week and thousands every year. My social life revolved around my collection of bikes.
Then things started unraveling. COVID ended. The relationship ended. The bike group shunned me. I fell during a rally and broke my collarbone, sidelining me for months. I started avoiding local rallies and riding solo when I was able to ride. Walking my one remaining dog became my outlet.
Somewhere along the way I lost that zeal for the ride, that love of the bike. It was traumatizing.
I was in freefall.
Then one day my chef friend called me asking for help in producing a weekly video. She couldn’t pay me in cash, but I got whatever was prepared as lunch and leftovers. Plus I got an education in culinary skills.
I’d found my way to turn those traumas into fuel. I’d fallen off the bike and into the kitchen.
I started preparing the recipes at home. Sunday became brunch day with friends. I began with pre-prepared meals like tamales. Then moved to shish kabobs and crab cakes. It became a whole experience rather than just food.
The experience and skills needed in the kitchen partially replaced the time on the bike. It was a redirection I needed. Instead of spending hours on the bike, I spent minutes and a few miles. Instead of eating out, I enjoyed trips to the markets and the prep time in the kitchen.
And the time at the table with my friends became the replacement for a speedy ride with a beer at the end. It was a more whole and uplifting experience.
I’d turned the trauma of brokenness into wholeness. I found balance again. And a more diverse lifestyle.
Let’s see where it goes.