Mold-a-Rama Rama

A bicycle ride is an excellent, and perhaps inevitable way for one to truly get to the bottom of what's in one's own head. I've zipped through quiet side streets, my head swimming with the sort of thoughts that would possibly cause me to fail a corporate psychiatric evaluation. Today's 15 miles, perhaps ill conceived considering today was only my sophomore attempt at cycling since November, proved to be both an emotional and physical challenge. In addition to proving exactly how out of shape I am, suddenly I was experiencing the gamut of emotions. Anger at my lack of speed lead to feelings of failure and ineptitude. Plowing forward into the wind, pushing my way up hills, over bridges, and winding along the lake seemed like an insurmountable challenge instead of an accomplishment. By the time I reached my neighborhood, familiar smells of tortillas and onions in the air, tears were streaming in rivers down my flushed cheeks. Like many people, I relish a good cry, and despite being made painfully aware of my own feelings, I feel energized and ready to get back in the saddle, so to speak.