At first I was afraid, actually petrified, but off I went

On confronting generational trauma

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified…”

Gloria Gaynor’s timeless lyrics echoed in my mind. For most people, riding a bike is second nature. For me, it represents generational trauma.

Before I was born, my little cousin was hit by a school bus—killed while riding her bicycle out of the driveway right in front of her home. She was only seven years old. Then when I was five months old, my uncle died after being hit by a truck; he was riding his bike along a country road in Kansas. He was just twenty nine years old, a pediatrician at an Air Force Base. Sharing my family’s devastating losses makes my insides ache with sadness, and also longing to know these two souls taken too young.

Understandably, my mother feared losing another person. We rode bikes occasionally; but then my brother had a minor accident. After that my mom forbid us to ever bike again. As the first-born child and perpetual rule follower, I listened with my whole heart and honored her wish. My mom repeatedly spoke about the dangers of biking, how many head injuries occurred on bikes, and she was downright terrified. I had and continue to have compassion for how her past, like all of ours, shaped her present.

When I got engaged, I told my fiance that when we have children, they will never ride bikes. Ever. I deeply empathized with my mother’s anxiety about loss when I was young, and I continued to as an adult woman. But when our son turned four, I woke up one day and said, “Honey. Let’s get him a bicycle soon.” My husband’s eyes widened in utter surprise. Quite frankly, I was shocked as well!

But my deep-rooted fear didn’t simply disappear. Hardly.

I’ll be brutally honest—I am not, nor likely will ever be, completely at ease when ANYONE I love rides a bicycle. In fact, I have signaled drivers to slow down and implored even strangers to always wear helmets. This is much to the mortification of my family. I realize I cannot save everyone—sometimes I can’t help myself from trying.

And I thought I’d made a breakthrough by getting on a bike, cruising quaint streets, not sidewalks, (also a big deal) in Cape Cod a few years ago. But that paled in comparison to what happened here in my happy place in the Green Mountain state of Vermont.

The first time in five years that I got back on a bike was Father’s Day. I was walking to the Stowe Farmer’s Market as sweat trickled down my back. Captivated by the blossoms, I took the longer route. My husband said, “Why don’t you just jump on my bike—it’s too far to keep walking.” Normally I plan for these things mentally and emotionally—it had been years since I sat on that tiny little seat. But I felt brave in that moment so I did it. Also, I was honestly exhausted from the unseasonably sweltering heat.

I didn’t feel confident enough, yet, to go over the little bridges on the Stowe Recreation path. I’ve walked over those rickety bridges a gazillion times, but I chickened out being on wheels, especially after a toddler whizzed by me. I was convinced the kid would knock me over. My daughter and husband cheered me on, encouraging me to stay on the bike. I almost did. But after a group of teens sped by, I clumsily stumbled off of it like a baby giraffe learning to walk. And pushed the bike slowly over the bridge instead.

After this brave afternoon, my husband suggested I buy a new bike. I guess for context that I should’ve shared this first: Imagine me sitting on a rusty old Schwinn that we’d bought for my daughter years ago. And every time I use the brakes, which was quite often, they’d screech in a grating, mortifying announcement that I was approaching.

A few days later, feeling like a badass, I spoke to this man at a bike shop. Present and incredibly patient as I peppered him with questions about the best type of bike—I wanted something stable, safe, and smooth.

“So I guess you’re not looking for a mountain bike,” he said.

I laughed and replied, “ Oh no, that’ll be graduation day!” Too bad the shop didn’t sell three wheelers.

He offered two options and suggested I test them out. Then I looked down at what I was wearing. A dress. Really? What was I thinking!

I asked if perhaps I should buy a pair of shorts first. He said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s Vermont.”

“I don’t want to scare your customers away!” I joked.

He grinned, and I made him promise to turn the other way. I mounted the bike, a bit wobbly and hoping I wouldn’t wipe out in the parking lot.

Then I saw her. I knew she was mine the minute we met. First of all, I was lured in by the big sale tag. It was a brand that I recognized with the little knowledge I have of what I formerly considered death machines. A Cannondale felt super legit. I pointed to it, hopped on, and noted that it even came with a light and some other super cool features. I told my husband, “She’s the one.”

But that wasn’t even the biggest breakthrough.

Shortly after, I went back to the same rec path for a ride. This time I went over the bridges. This time I didn’t stop pedaling when someone zoomed past me.

And then I experienced an epic moment.

We’ve heard about this 93 mile trail for years that runs through different towns in central Vermont. My husband said, “Let’s go for a ride.” I said OK. The craziest, most liberating part of it all? Joy replaced fear for the first time in my life.

We biked 12 miles. 12 freaking miles! Not only that, but I loved every second!

I cruised over bridges and rebuilt some of my own inside myself.

Of course my heart gripped with fear and felt like it was literally in my chest. I still insist that my kids ride on sidewalks or in parks. It’s not broken body parts that worry me. It’s moving vehicles.

So when I got on that bike, I was scared of crashing into other human beings.

But I did it. I swung my leg over the seat, sat down, and tentatively rode.

My heart thumped like a jackhammer in my chest as I went up and down on the Rec Path; it’s not a flat journey. But I did it anyway.

That 12 mile bike ride solidified a huge personal, emotional turning point for me. I felt empowered, liberated, and I can’t wait to hop back on.

When’s the last time you conquered a fear? What was it and how’d you feel? Share your story and comment below!

XO,
Dara