Almost Flight

I forget in the winter.

I forget, in the winter, all the wondrous things that warmer days allow.

I forget how my skin smells after a day in the sun. I forget the smell of a summer rain storm and the fresh, clean feeling it leaves in its wake. I forget the smell of cherry blossoms and I forget the feel of wind on bare legs.

But most of all I forget how it feels to almost fly!

Though some may remember me tossing myself out of a plane, to me, that was more of a controlled fall than an almost flight. For me almost flight happens, occasionally, when I'm riding my bike.

It happens on those rare occasions when the workings of the legs, feet, pedals, crank-arms, chain ring, chain and wheels all combine in a perfect symphony of sport. When it all feels almost effortless; as if you were soaring though space - untethered, unfettered and unbound - just you, your bike and the symphony of cycling. The wind in my face, wind that I'm generating in my seemingly seamless movement of body and bike. Feeling like I did when I was a child, cycling along pretending to be on the back of a horse or in my own Star Wars Landspeeder imagining effortless propulsion.

I forget about this Almost Flight in the bleakness of winter. I forget because it's better that way. I forget because in the bounds and confines of winter to remember would be too disheartening.

In the winter darkness when I soldier to spin class and cycle fettered to the spot - back wheel unable to propel me forward - I need to forget the freedom.

Instead, as we spin, we swap war stories...
"There was this time when I was attacked by red-winged blackbirds and had to fend them off with my bike pump..."
"There was this time when it was so windy and wet out that I was cycling along with my head down and rode right into the back of a parked truck..."
"There was this time when my husband and I were riding together and I crashed into a ditch and he didn't notice I wasn't with him for about 45 minutes..."
"There was this time when I was hit in the head by a stray golf ball from the nearby driving range and almost fell off my bike..."

Back and forth we would banter - a verbal reminiscent oneupmanship of the worst and the hardest that cycling and triathlon have to offer - the hills, the wind, the wild animals, the weather and the wipe outs.

But the freedom of almost flight is forgotten - like a dormant seed, it waits, waits until the weather improves, the snow goes, the roads are cleared of the sandy debris of the bygone winter, waits until, once again, rider and bike can be loosed and the joy of almost flight can germinate again.

And the day that I remember what it feels to attain Almost Flight is the day I remember all that is good and fun and freeing of cycling and it reminds me why I soldier to spin in the dark of winter.

And, in that wonderful moment of Almost Flight I also forget the hills, the wind, the wild animals, the weather and the wipe outs.

I forget because it's better that way!