I am a sleek, strong, powerful athlete…

Something on the radio triggered a memory just now.

The memory was of riding my bike to work one April morning in 1996, training for a 500-mile ride from Minneapolis to Chicago to benefit AIDS. I’d been commuting 15 miles each way for two grueling, cold weeks in late March and early April.

I’d started completely out of shape and weighing 243 pounds, not having ridden a bike more than a couple of miles in my life. I was about to turn 50. Often during those first weeks, as my thigh muscles burned and my head sometimes pounded, I wondered why on earth had I thought this would be a good idea?

But that morning, the snow had finally melted and the sun warmed my skin. I didn’t need winter clothes any more. I was suddenly aware of the intoxicating fragrance of blooming lilac bushes along the side of the road. I breathed deep and turned to look at them. I saw an egret walking in stately grace in a shallow pond as I passed.

I hadn’t noticed until that moment that spring had arrived after a long Minnesota winter.

I felt an explosion of bliss

My mind expanded with gratitude for this amazing experience. Every morning as I passed those lilacs, I was reminded again of that wonderful blast of happiness, and expressed out loud my thanks: “Thank you, legs!” I said as I pedaled. “Thank you, heart! Thank you, body!” And with every stroke, I repeated the affirmation that a cycling friend had taught me: “I am a sleek, strong, powerful athlete.”

My struggles with exercise, which I had always hated, were over. I found myself looking for excuses to ride.

On weekends, I left my young son at his grown brother’s house and went on 30-mile training rides that a local bike shop hosted, along with workshops on how to change tires and chains. The last Saturday before the big day, we rode 60 miles, and I couldn’t believe how good I felt.

The ride itself took five days, some of them for 60 miles, then 70, and one day, 100 miles. It was July and the temps soared to 100 F at times but as long as I was riding, and occasionally squirting my shirt and face with my water bottle, the breeze cooled me.

At the end of each day, the event organizers provided porta-potties, shower trucks, and a big galley tent for a carb-loaded dinner. Two-thousand riders ate together, relaxed and crawled into our tents for deep, dreamless sleep. In the morning, we lined up for breakfast before heading out again.

It was like entering another dimension

How had I transformed into an actual sleek, strong, powerful athlete? I wanted it to go on forever. I wished I could do this for a living.

By the time I got back to work the next week, 15 pounds lighter and stronger than I had ever felt, I knew that I couldn’t continue my former life.

I hated my boss, a manipulative man who had eliminated the job I loved and “promoted” me to management without any increase in pay. When I had tried to refuse the promotion, he’d made it plain I could take it or leave. I took it but was completely out of my element.

Monday morning after the ride, I walked into his office and closed the door.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure,” he said, looking surprised.

I sat down in the chair placed a strategic distance from his desk in a way that felt designed to make whoever sat in it feel small and weak. But this time, I felt strong and sure.

“I’m not happy,” I began the speech I had practiced all weekend, “and I know you’re not happy.”

He raised his eyebrows but nodded. The confirmation stung but I continued.

“…I can’t afford to quit. I need severance pay. So, I want you to fire me, and tell everyone in the office that I quit.”

He agreed.

“I’m moving to Los Angeles, and I want you to help me get another job there.”

“Okay,” he said with — was that a glimmer of respect in his eyes? I wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter. I was free.

And that was that. I got two weeks’ notice and a severance check, along with a farewell party on my last day — which also happened to be my 50th birthday. The next day, I loaded my van with a few belongings, and drove west with my son and our collie. I’ve never looked back.

But it was a difficult transition

My career never recovered, largely because I had lost the drive to work my way back up; it just didn’t seem worth it any more.

I wish I could say that I kept up with riding but the Southern California traffic scared me and after a couple of falls on trails, I convinced myself that I was too old. I gave my bike away.

Then, the dream that began during that long ride so many years ago resurfaced, and I realized that what I loved most about it was the camping. I wanted to camp full-time.

And that’s what this nomad life is about for me, going where I want when I want, being in nature, and sharing the adventure with good friends. It’s taken me a long time to understand the connection but I can see now that the AIDS ride was a pivotal moment in my life that led directly to where I am: sitting here in El Milagro out in the Arizona desert, writing this.

Still, I want that bliss explosion again. I want to feel like the sleek, strong, powerful athlete I was for one brief week.

I’m going to buy a bike.