Internal Monologue of a Potential New Cyclist
Chapter 1: The Static Life
The alarm blared a chirpy, aggressively optimistic tune at 6:15 AM. Eleanor Vance slapped it silent with the practiced ease of someone who deeply resented its existence. Another day. Another commute. Another eight hours tethered to a desk.
She levered herself out of bed, a groan escaping her lips. Forty-two years old, and it felt like she was ninety. Each morning was a minor negotiation with her body, a series of creaks and pops as she coaxed it into motion. She hadn’t always felt this…stuck. There had been a time when mornings held a spark of anticipation, a sense of possibility. Now, it was just…routine.
The bathroom mirror offered a grim confirmation of her internal state. Tired eyes, a faint network of lines around them, and a general pallor that even her best concealer couldn’t quite mask. She brushed her teeth with automatic precision, staring blankly at her reflection. It wasn’t that she disliked her appearance, exactly. It was more that she felt…disconnected from it. Like looking at a photograph of someone she used to know.
Downstairs, the kitchen was bathed in the pale, pre-dawn light. She brewed a strong cup of coffee, the aroma a temporary reprieve from the morning gloom. Toast popped up, and she spread it with a thin layer of jam, eating mechanically while scrolling through the news on her phone. The world was full of chaos and conflict, a constant stream of negativity that only amplified her own sense of inertia.
The drive to work was, as always, a trial. The highway was a sluggish river of red brake lights, a metal serpent slowly constricting her energy. Each stop and start sent a jolt of discomfort through her lower back. She tried adjusting the seat, fiddling with the lumbar support, but nothing seemed to help. She was starting to suspect her car was actively conspiring against her well-being.
“Seriously?” she muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter as a pickup truck cut her off without signaling. “Some people.”
She glanced at the bike lane, a ribbon of asphalt running alongside the highway. A few cyclists were already braving the morning commute, their bodies gliding with an effortless grace that felt alien to her. They looked…free. And infuriatingly energetic.
“Good for them,” she mumbled, a hint of envy creeping into her voice. “I’ll stick with four wheels and a climate-controlled cabin, thank you very much.”
She parked in her usual spot in the company lot, a sea of identical vehicles stretching out before her. The walk to the office was short, but each step felt heavier than the last. She passed Sarah, a colleague known for her boundless energy and unwavering enthusiasm.
“Morning, Ellie!” Sarah chirped, her face flushed from what Eleanor suspected was a pre-work bike ride.
“Morning,” Ellie replied, managing a weak smile.
“Beautiful day for a ride, isn’t it?” Sarah continued, gesturing towards the sky with a gloved hand.
“If you like that sort of thing,” Ellie said, immediately regretting the dismissive tone.
Sarah’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “You should try it sometime! It’s a great way to get some exercise and clear your head.”
Ellie forced a laugh. “Oh, I’m not really the cycling type. Too much…wobbling. And falling.”
“Everyone wobbles at first,” Sarah said cheerfully. “But it’s worth it! You’d be surprised how much fun it can be.”
“I’m sure,” Ellie said, already turning away. “I’ll stick to the elevator, thanks.”
She entered the office building, the cool, sterile air a welcome relief from the muggy morning. She settled into her cubicle, the familiar gray walls closing in around her. She booted up her computer, the screen illuminating her face with a pale, flickering light. Another day, another mountain of emails, another eight hours of staring at a screen.
As she began to sift through her inbox, she couldn’t shake the image of those cyclists gliding past on the highway. They looked so…alive. So unburdened. She sighed, a heavy weight settling in her chest. Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe she should try something different.
But the thought quickly evaporated, replaced by a familiar wave of exhaustion. She was too tired. Too comfortable. Too…stuck.
She clicked on the first email, and the static life resumed.
