Redemption looks like a red tricycle...

I lie in bed and all I can think about is cycling again.
I know I should be thinking about work. I know I should be sleeping. I know I should be contemplating many things that are more significant than my butt on a bike saddle. But I can't.
I imagine the Arizona sun playing hide and seek among the jagged mountains at South Mountain Park at the end of the day and zooming down San Juan Road toward the ramada.
I think of the group riding up to telegraph pass in Ahwatukee, many of us mashing as the sinewy men careen past us yelling GOOD JOB!
I remember the morning chill and the site of my friend's blinking light slowly heading toward me at our regular meeting spot for our morning 17 miles and I can think of nothing else.

It was these seductive thoughts that lured me to the garage a few days ago to pump the tires on my Trek hybrid and open the garage, strap on my old helmet and think to myself, it's time.

The air was cool and the neighborhood was quiet. I swung my battered left leg over the saddle and stood for a moment. What I imagined would be perfectly natural, felt foreign to me. My "Fresh and Easy" bike as I had named it with it's black canvas pannier on the back for shopping at the neighborhood grocery felt awkward, heavy and, well, frightening.

I took a deep breath and slid onto the seat. Instead of feeling like I had slipped on a comfortable familiar glove, I felt shaky, wobbly and scared. At the end of the driveway, I nearly fell and slammed down the wrong foot and felt lucky to be upright. Feeling so foolish, I swung my leg over again and dejectedly walked the bike back to its spot in the garage. I could swear the bike was sulking in shame over having caused the whole disaster.

At first, I didn't want to tell anyone what I had done. With so many well-wishers offering encouragement, I didn't want to broadcast what a dismal failure this first endeavor on a bike had been. But, I did share it with a friend who had, herself, been in two accidents, each time breaking her pelvis and also her wrist the second time. She assured me that this was a natural feeling and that it wouldn't last. Her encouragement went one step further, she offered me a loaner red trike that her significant other had in his shop.

The very next day, I was at the shop plopped atop the vintage 70s adult tricycle. Although it presents its own set of challenges of turning and managing it, the red tricycle is just what I needed. Riding the wind trainer is amazing because it feels real and spinning on the stationary bike helps me work up a sweat, but this is real outdoor movement. I felt alive as I wound around the parking area.

Belief is back and my failure, redeemed. I can hardly wait to ride it tomorrow...

I know it's only a matter of time before I can feel the feeling of clipped in feet and wind whooshing by me at 18 mph. But until then, my borrowed red trike will give me the exercise and the confidence I need to move in that direction.

I am ambivalent about my slippers...

You might wonder why I am ambivalent about my Ugg slippers. Seriously, what did they ever do to not be fully embraced? Sure, they are Uggs, not really glitzy or very feminine. In fact, one might say they are downright ugly what with their scuffed hide and he-man looking woolen cuffs. There are many more attractive slippers that also can keep one warm, that's for sure.

But the sheer appearance of these Ugg slippers has nothing to do with my ambivalence toward them.

Since my accident in August, I have been learning to walk again. I am now the proud stepper of someone who no longer relies on a cane to get around. I can walk, on my own, putting one foot in front of another. I don't lose my balance, I have minimal swelling around my recontructed ankle that had been spun from facing forward to attempting to walk to the left on its own and, most of the time and I can walk heel-to-toe after warming up my aging, patched up bones.

My Ugg slippers are seductive in the guise of practicality: they provide me with the stability to walk while keeping my feet warm. Each day that I keep my feet warmed inside these Uggs, is one more day I don't attempt to don the shoes of a grown-up consultant seeking additional clients or seeking business for the clients I already have. Each day I slip into my Uggs is one more day I avoid putting on my Specialized racing shoes to see if I can stuff my Size 11 Frankenstein-ish looking foot into it and 1. Will it fit in them again and 2.Will it find its home in cycling shoes once again.

I have been able to find patience over the years for children learning to potty train, for fingers learning new keyboards, for employees learning new skills and for doctors who have overbooked appointments. Finding the patience for my ankle to decide it's ready to conquer old things that are like new again has been a hunt for which I have experienced more obstacles. The alternative is foolish abandon and snubbing reality which could lead to prolonged impatience.

In the meantime, I have vowed to do those things I CANdo with full on enthusiasm--trading my Uggs for sneakers is where I am today.