BIKE YOGA
Once I swing onto my bike the first thing I do is take a deep breath. I center myself by leaning over the handlebars, breathe deeply again, analyze the path ahead, the wind, the temperature, and exhale. I close my eyes and inhale. Then I sit, one leg straight, the ball of my foot pressing into the concrete, the other leg bent, the foot clutching at the pedal. And I breathe again, through the nose, filling every particle of lung tissue with sweet cool air, diaphragm distending into my belly to allow all pockets to be filled.
I push off, and marvel at the innate balance, the efficiency of effort, and begin to pedal, each foot falling one after the other like spins of a prayer wheel. The breath, again, deeper and stronger, in tune with the mantra of the legs pumping. Each inhale consuming two strokes, maybe three, each exhale strong and purposeful. A mantra, a rhythm, a chant to the sky above and the earth below as I pedal. My heart beating stronger and stronger, blood gushing to straining muscles, nostrils flaring to welcome in more precious succulent air, my body temperature rising until my pores trickle, then burst into a salty wet torrent.
In the moment, each moment. Aware of the sounds of traffic, cars rushing past me at an arm’s distance, a sneeze away from being crushed. The contours of the path rising and falling, shifting gears and muscle sets to compensate for the changes in torque. Eyes darting to avoid the glass and stones scattered along the path. The wind, the clouds, the sun hiding or radiating openly, the breath deeper, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Death passing by in a constant stream as with each turn of the wheel I sink into my mind, down past the cascading thoughts springing from each fold and tangle of my gray matter. Down to the core of tranquility only to be reached by acceptance of the discomfort, the inevitability of time’s victory, and life’s greatest joy being to just breathe.
Meditation is where you can find it. The breath. The focus to stay in the exact space and time you are in. The mantra, recited by calves and thighs, hips, knees and ankles, repeated into infinity. The spinning wheels. The breath, always the breath. Consciously expanding the diaphragm. Controlling the length of each exhale, keeping a rhythm in time with heart and legs. All while knowing your next breath could be your last. A tire blast, a lunge for a cell phone, a blood vessel tearing open, all possibilities to ponder, detach from, and let drift away. Failures, demands, abandonments, victories, sadness, injustices, dreams, triumphs, desires, successes, climaxes, defeats, happiness, inclusion, and all other forms of suffering float by unimpeded. Life’s illusions laid bare and discarded along the cracks in the concrete. And miles go by unnoticed.
My revelry is disrupted by the climb. In the distance, standing like a judge, the Grand Inquisitor, looming closer with every cycle. Breathing deeply in anticipation and dread. It is coming, there is no way around it, and as I reach its base the summit is lost among the trees and turns. Three sections rise before me, the first a long incline, I breathe deeper. My chest brims and burns, demanding more. The second is a steep turn onto a steeper straight grade, and I abandon my discipline as I gasp for air through an open mouth. But then I tell myself no and deny myself the pleasure of panic and return to my pattern in time for the final segment. It is a twisting torture, more vertical than the others, pain and fatigue fighting for my attention as I grit my teeth to close my mouth and force each breath through my bulging nostrils. I rise from my seat and bury my head in my chest and push on. The calm returns as the pain crests, the jaw unclenches, and my entire being is thrusting up, up, as the signposts pass and the summit emerges. The peak is conquered.
And then I descend. My engine switches from full power to full speed, the sweat which poured to cool me now chilling me to the core as it evaporates on my skin. My only salvation is to breathe. The decline is not so steep and requires turning the pedals, tongue squeezed between my teeth, gently. A turn reveals a blast of wind so strong it equalizes the downgrade, but the gale is filled with salty moisture from the sea, the ocean’s late day exhale which brings each evening to a close, and it pours strength into my chest as I fill it. Thoughts of dinner come to mind. The wind sings in my ears. The sweat returns, triggered by pressing hard against the invisible force pushing back at me. My muscles infuse with lactate. I breathe. The mouth waters. Soon there will be nourishment. But not so soon. There are still miles to go.
Another turn and I am climbing again. Not so steep, not so long, and so close to home I rejoice in each stab of fatigue. Then down again, giving back all I have just gained, to climb once again a little higher, a fraction steeper, but with no doubts of reaching my goal. I could walk from here. More hills follow, rising and falling in tune with the ebbs and flows of energy I am extruding from places unknown inside my fragile shell. Past the strolling golfers, the gated mansions, the retirees’ apartment blocks, the overhanging trees and finally to the turn into my cul-de-sac, over the cobblestones. Yes, someone knew this ride was foretold and would not be complete without them and placed a section in the road to remind me of those whose path is much harder.
The last pedals come and go, and I am home. I drape over the bike with my arms melting over the handlebars, marveling at what a supreme pleasure it is to just breathe. It is never deeper and more appreciated than now. Life is never more real than it is right now. I cannot hold back my smile as I dismount, the pain of lifting my leg over the saddle notwithstanding. The helmet I had not noticed for hours now squeezes my head and I rush to remove it. I retrieve my wallet and keys from my pouch. Soon I will replenish the water, salt, and calories I have devotedly sacrificed. I open the door and try not to forget I am breathing.
