Leaping in Without a Scooby

By: Megan

Starting something new brings with it equal parts challenge and opportunity. At 37, I started cycling, carrying at least a stone extra weight and at least a boulder of self-doubt. Add in a complete lack of knowledge of how any of the kit worked. Recipe for instant success, perhaps not.

I married into the cycling world, my spouse has been cycling for as long as I’ve been alive. So, for him, everything is second nature and everything comes easy. I hadn’t been on a bike since the first year of University. Skip ahead to the present, only to find those childhood bikes of memory are a drop in the technical ocean of modern cycling equipment.

But I had the clothes! Borrowed, but I had them! And a bike, and clippy shoes. So one sunny day, we decided to give it all a try and go for a short ride out from Dundee to the Ferry and back. The only obvious problem here was that I had no idea what I was doing. Not a scooby.

Successfully navigating the pedestrians and other cyclists along the bike path felt like an absolute win. We made it to the Ferry and had a short rest in the sun to check that everything was alright (or more specifically, that I hadn’t already broken the bike). Next step was to get back on the bike and head homeward. Easy! No. I got myself into what I thought was a straightforward kick off, but what I did not add into my launch calculations was the need for momentum. From a complete stand-still, I clipped both shoes into the pedals and immediately toppled over, in what can only be described as a “Humpty Dumpty” situation. Thankfully, and to my complete horror, a lovely elderly man came over to help me back onto my feet.

I share this tale of woe, not as a cautionary tale, but rather with hopes of laughter. At the time, there were tears. And bruises, and threats in the general direction of my spouse regarding never touching a bike again. Looking back, I can laugh. A spectacular failure with a fantastic bruise and tear-streaked cheeks. But I think that failure is part of the process, learning how to learn again and accepting that it’s not going to be easy right away. That failure, that embarrassment, that struggle, humbles all humans equally.

It took nearly a year before I dared to get on a bike again. But I did. Yes, we’re all going to fail. And fail again. This is just the unfortunate process of learning, which becomes significantly more physically painful with age. Accept that failure and take away the power of the word. Failure does not mean that you are failing as a human. It means that you are human. A human with a bruise.