About Done?

The peloton of the Tour de France

Image via Wikipedia

It’s only Wednesday and already I find myself saying in my head: “What a week!”

I woke up yesterday with the strangest sensation- I was desperate to go for a ride (cycle).  Only I couldn’t because I was away for work, and even if I was at home, both my mountain bike and road bike are in such a neglected state it would be a small miracle to even get out of the gate!

Nevertheless with my new found motivation I decided to look up some possibilities for group rides that I could join on a Saturday/Sunday morning. My only stipulation was that although I have been riding for many years, I haven’t actually been on the bike in 2 so I am expecting to be a little slow. So, I wanted to find a group that would ride at a fairly easy pace for a returning triathlete to rediscover her cycling legs without having to face the traffic alone.

 I contacted a couple of ride organisers, but they were all “well if you can’t average xx km/hr then I’m afraid you’ll probably just get dropped, we don’t stick around to make sure new riders can keep up.  Sounds like you might need to do a bit of riding on your own first”. Now the old Serene from a few years ago would not have been at all put off by the prospect of getting dropped off the back of a peloton, but all of a sudden I just wanted to burst into tears! Stupid really, all of a sudden I had the urge to email Mr X and though I think of him every day still, I hadn’t felt upset about him in a while. 

I think it’s the prospect of cycling again, in the absence of Mr X.  The last time I had been out of the cycling scene for a bit, it was Mr X who got me back into it and he was always supportive.  I associated two main activities with Mr X: diving and cycling, this was how I got to spend most of my time with him, and how eventually, I fell head over heels for him. 

Perhaps if I just push through the emotional discomfort and start riding again, I will realise how much I miss it and I will discover a new, non-Mr X-associated, love for it.  I feel so silly.  But the insecure part of me wanted someone to be as encouraging about my getting back into a sport I once loved, as he had been.  I wasn’t feeling the love, nor particularly welcomed and it just made me miss him all over again.

Add to this a lovely 2 hours on Sunday spent cuddling with my friend’s newborn, followed by a horrifying baby dream on Sunday night, and I am more than a little shaky about where I find myself at the moment. 

Sure, I may have had a cute 27 year old give me his number on Friday night, and he may have flattered me by guessing my age as quite a few years junior than I actually am.  My ego was suitably boosted in light of The Crush having gone MIA again for a few days.  However, despite my frustration with him, and his hot-cold tendencies, seeing The Crush at the airport Monday morning resulted in my stomach somersaulting wildly and I found myself slipping back into “smitten” territory. 

I spend so much time worrying about what has gone wrong in the past and what might go wrong in the future if I make certain decisions. Living in the “now” is definitely proving a challenge, but I will persist.  All I can do is be honest with myself and those around me. I have no control over what The Crush may choose to do if I reveal that I am feeling a little clucky and that this might be an indication that I might want to have children of my own someday.  Part of me thinks that perhaps I should not rush to tell him, as I enjoy his company so much when I do see him.  However, I also don’t want to waste his time, but I’m just not sure I’m done with this yet.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s