I was 👌 that close to writing a fluff piece about cycling today, but…

I couldn’t.

I had a mini, two-second panic attack out on the road last night, riding with Chuck.  My first ever.

A car passed us, just a little closer than normal – maybe 2-1/2 feet instead of 3′ – something that normally wouldn’t even phase me… that has to get down to inches before I even think about getting nervous, and even then, it’s gone pretty fast.  I don’t know why I am blessed so, I’m just glad that I am.

We rode by the site of that motorcycle accident from the other day and I saw the bloodstain on the asphalt with the paint outline. I can’t unsee the look on that poor guy’s face. It was an expression that showed half “oh, $#!+… I’m F***ED” and half “wait, why can’t I talk, I need to get back on my bike and get out of here” bewilderment.  The vehicle passed us shortly after that, and that’s when I had my little moment.

54,000 miles and I can’t remember, not once, ever thinking I didn’t want to be on the road until last night. And it sucked.  

That face is starting to blur around the edges, though, and I know what I have to do. I have to keep getting my butt back in that saddle until I’m back to my normal self.  I have to keep talking to friends about it, and I’ll probably have to write about it a time or two until it’s gone – but it will go, because that fear is irrational and most important; I want it gone.  Too often we let our fears define who we are.  I won’t say anything about anyone else, but in my world, that shit is a choice and I won’t accept a life of being defined by a fear.

The reality is, I’m happiest when I’m working my recovery program, putting effort into my marriage and family, and cycling.

Just something to kick around.