It Was Never About the Exercise 🚲

I’ve discovered that when you have a real connection to an activity, it never feels like exercise.

When I ride my bike, I feel like I have wings. I don’t know if this is physical or psychological. My legs are working, obviously, but they don’t feel like they are. They feel automatic, like a bird flapping without thinking. And it’s not just the riding of the bike that feels so amazing, it’s where the bike takes me in my head.

I remember coming home from school to a house full of noise. Three brothers and a single mom trying to keep everything moving. Teachers, after school stuff, homework, dinner, someone always in trouble. There was always something happening.

I’d walk in, change out of my uniform, throw on shorts, and get on my purple Stingray with the banana seat. I loved that bike. In my mind, I could even swing by and pick up a friend, with a seat that long. I don’t think I ever actually did.

I’d ride through Coral Gables’ winding, tree-lined streets with the white signs and black lettering, the wrought-iron brackets, the names that felt like I was in Europe. Cortez. Pizarro. Capri. Granada. Venetia. Messina. Genoa. I knew them all. I’d come home just before dark. Just in time for dinner.

Is that why I still love riding a bike?

Of course it is.

It was never about exercise. It was about freedom. It was about leaving and knowing I could come back. And it still is.