Internal Monologue of a Potential New Cyclist
Chapter 3: Wobbly Beginnings
The exhilaration of that first, shaky pedal stroke lasted approximately three seconds. Then reality set in. Eleanor was, to put it mildly, terrible.
She hadn’t anticipated how much muscle memory had faded. Or how utterly uncoordinated she’d become. Each attempt to steer resulted in a near collision with the rose bushes lining the driveway. Her legs felt stiff and awkward, her balance precarious. She felt less like a cyclist and more like a newborn giraffe attempting to walk.
After five minutes of wobbly, erratic maneuvering, she’d managed to complete a full circuit of the driveway…almost. She ended her attempt by gently bumping into the garage door, narrowly avoiding a bruised shin.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself, dismounting with a slightly shaky leg. “This is… harder than it looks.”
She leaned the bike against the garage and sat down on the driveway, feeling a mixture of frustration and amusement. It wasn’t the graceful, effortless experience she’d imagined. It was clumsy, exhausting, and a little bit scary.
Just then, Mrs. Henderson, her notoriously observant neighbor, emerged from her garden, pruning shears in hand. Eleanor braced herself for a well-meaning but potentially embarrassing inquiry.
“Trying to get back in the saddle, dear?” Mrs. Henderson asked, a twinkle in her eye.
Eleanor flushed slightly. “Yes,” she admitted. “It’s been… a while.”
Mrs. Henderson chuckled. “A bit rusty, are we? It happens. My Harold hadn’t ridden in years before he took it up again. Said it was the best thing he ever did for his knees.”
“That’s good to know,” Eleanor said, grateful for the neighborly encouragement.
“You know,” Mrs. Henderson continued, “the park down by the river has a lovely, flat path. Much better for practicing than a driveway. And less chance of encountering rose bushes.” She winked.
Eleanor smiled. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.”
After Mrs. Henderson returned to her gardening, Eleanor spent another half hour practicing in the driveway. She focused on the basics – maintaining balance, steering smoothly, and getting a feel for the brakes. She fell a couple of times, scraping her knee and bruising her elbow. But each time, she got back on, determined to persevere.
She realized she needed a more systematic approach. YouTube tutorials were helpful, but they lacked personalized guidance. She remembered Sarah mentioning a local cycling group that offered beginner classes.
With a sigh, she pulled out her phone and searched for “Beginner Cycling Classes Near Me.” Several options appeared, including one offered by a local bike shop called “Two Wheel Adventures.” The website advertised a “Confident Cyclist” course specifically designed for adults who hadn’t ridden in years.
The course was scheduled to start next week, and the sign-up deadline was tomorrow. Eleanor hesitated. It meant committing to something, stepping outside her comfort zone, and potentially embarrassing herself in front of strangers.
But she also knew that she couldn’t do this alone. She needed guidance, encouragement, and a safe environment to learn.
Taking a deep breath, she clicked the “Sign Up” button.
The confirmation email popped up on her screen, and a wave of relief washed over her. She’d committed. She was officially a beginner cyclist.
She looked at the blue mountain bike leaning against the garage. It was a little rusty, a little worn, but it was hers. And it represented something more than just a mode of transportation. It represented a challenge, a new adventure, and a chance to rediscover a part of herself she’d long forgotten.
She knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be falls, frustrations, and moments of doubt. But she was determined to keep pedaling, one wobbly step at a time.
