Twice today I have come around a corner to find someone paralysed. Frozen. Standing in the middle of a corridor or walkway, unmoving. Initial thought; Are they ok? Next thought…Is this a flashmob? Then they realisation that they are intent on their texting, downloading or whatever it is that they are doing on the phone in their hand that they have dropped the ‘mobile’ component of ‘mobile phone’ and suspended themselves. Heads down,eyes locked to screen. Total body inanimate except the deft stabbings of thumb. It’s like having breathing art around the place.
On two wheels
20 OctI have flirted with the idea of purchasing a bicycle that I actually want to ride for a while. Partially on environmental grounds. Mainly because I work 7.5 kms from where I live and driving daily seems downright lazy. Middle age spread seems to have been the thing that pushed me over the edge. Vanity wins out. But more on vanity and helmet hair, another time.
Yes, I have a sedentary job. And yes, I am starting (I am being kind to myself here) to look like someone with a sedentary job. So I committed. I did a bit of research (think: googling things like ‘cool bike helmets’ and ‘how not to look stupid cycling when you are middle aged and unfit’) and found some fairly inspirational stuff. Stuff that appealed to, well…my vanity.
A city bike, it seems, was what I was looking for. One with a basket. Upright and proud. My age will be an asset – a ‘ladies step through with upright seating’ entirely appropriate (the fact that the pics of chic cyclists are mainly of young model like girls in their 20′s is, of course, irrelevant).
And so, wielding my credit card and after spending a number of evenings trawling online bicycle stores, I bought one. (As an aside I did actually enter a non-virtual bike shop but was quickly intimidated by the vast amounts of gleaming metal and high visibility racing gear – the assistants with enormous calf muscles didn’t even register me as a potential customer!). 4 days later my Indonesian special arrived. Sans basket (but they have since rectified that). Batman happened to be on holiday and so kindly put it together (so much for “arrives fully assembled”) and pumped up the tyres (“we even put air in the tyres for you”).
It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t even sure I could still ride a bike. But it was, as they say, “just like riding a bike”. I still could and did. Around the block. Twice. What fun!!!! Shame about the other vehicles on the road..but seriously – when did I stop riding a bike…and why?! (Probably a bike helmet thing – found an interesting site about that piece of legislation)
The next challenge was a longer trip. I was confident now of my riding ability. Less so of the ability of my lady bits to cope with extended contact with the saddle. Friday morning had me out for half an hour, in the glorious morning sunshine before work. I even managed a steady incline homewards without a hitch. I began fantasising about my new biker lifestyle. How fit and trim I would be! I could sell the car!
Saturday heralded a new era. This would be the ultimate test. Could I ride to work (and back) without collapsing in a heap? This was to be my test run. A viability study into the daily commute on two wheels. Dressed in white shorts and a black and white flecked top (this is relevant – stay with me) I donned my helmet and set off humming the pushbike song to myself.
The first bit of unpleasantness was crossing a major intersection. I had to split it into 3 parts to do it without being crushed by a car, but it was fine and I was soon on a quieter road heading down to the path that would lead me around the lake. Bliss.
Once in the reserve the path was smooth, the canopy green and the morning sounds, just heavenly. Then I hit a midgie patch. Note to self: Ride with mouth firmly closed. I actually had to pick one out from between my teeth (all good practice for the advanced skill of riding with only one hand on the handle bars). Then came the dragonflies. Now, I am rather fond of dragonflies. And a few of them flew along with me as I freewheeled down the hill. This was much more fun than those that flew into my chest and got caught underneath my top. That left me feeling much too ‘at one’ with nature. But so far so good. One must expect such things along the lake.
I was really surprised by how quiet it was. While I did pass a few walkers (including some lost ones who were able to check who I had passed and how far away they were) and a number of cyclists – I found myself thinking that this beautiful walkway was remarkably under-utilised for a saturday morning.
The path then opened up onto a field, through some more trees to a public park. Whizzing past all of this (oh wonderful wonderful flat ground) I then had to start the incline up towards the road….from where I could access the university. Mastering my gear changes, I actually made it – but was glad not to have an audience (I was pedalling very fast for a very slow progression!). I decided that this part of the trip was the bit that would result in the need for me to shower on arrival – but I had suspected that would be the case anyway. Triumphant, I cycled into my workplace and paused briefly to sent a text message declaration to Batman that I was indeed alive and well, before setting off for the return trip. Deciding on a slightly different route I headed back towards the public park. Confident now, I sat smartly on my saddle spying up ahead a busload of tourists who were disembarking to feed the birds.
Suddenly…CRACK! I felt something hitting my helmet. Putting this together with the screeching I had only just tuned into, I realised I was being swooped by a magpie – something that hasn’t happened to me for years. This guy was serious. As I pedalled madly to get away, he continued dive bombing; swooping about 7 times and connecting with my helmet about 3 times ( I seriously expected to find gouges out of my helmet – but I think it was just the sound of his beak – there was nothing tangible with which to add relish to my tale of woe when I returned home). He finally quit – leaving me to ride blushingly past the amused/mortified tourists who started to anxiously eye the airspace around the coach.
Strangely, I was swooped a second time on the return trip in a spot I had previously ridden through without incident. I was cranky by then and shouted at the offending bird (who was not nearly as aggressive as his cousin in the park). A young bmx rider (without helmet) hunkered down as he passed me – he didn’t laugh (thank goodness) and I suspect he might have been pondering the wisdom of not wearing a helmet as he entered into the swoop zone.
By now I could sense my anxiety escalating as I approached any tall gums….and I almost made it home before collapsing about a kilometre short. Dear reader, I am embarrassed to confess I rang Batman to come and get me – in hindsight I think I wanted moral support after being attacked more than I physically needed the rescue van…but my adrenaline was spent and I was craving a ceiling.
And so this week I have been googling things like “when does magpie season end” and “how to avoid being swooped” (this youtube clip is REALLY interesting). And working on my courage to get back out there! To helmet or not to helmet (see that youtube clip)? That is the question.
In a hole
16 AugClearly there is a difference between angst and stress when it comes to creativity. While there is a strong link between angst and creation (think Sylvia Plath, The Smiths, Jeff Buckley), I am struggling to find examples of genius born out of stress. Stress has less focus than angst. There is no target. No clear object to project towards.
But perhaps someone once came up with a great political policy under extreme pressure. Or penned a tune that went on to soundtrack a thousand broken hearts – because their contract said they had to. By Tuesday.
This is a roundabout way of observing that I haven’t been blogging. And the reality is, I have so much to blog about. On the back of a whirlwind tour of Europe I should be putting up photographs under banners like “The Arno at Sunset”. And rambling about the fact that we were in the heart of London, just 11 days before madness descended upon it. Or reflecting on the delight and discovery that is spending 3 and a half straight weeks, 24/7 in the company of those nearest and dearest. And lamenting on the rude intrusion of real, post holiday life. And the weirdness of being tourist cattle.
But stress has had me bound and silenced.
And so….
The only way out is up. Walk the talk. Make the time. Find a space. Use it well.
(I can hear inspired show tunes in the distance can’t you?)
Islands
6 JunSteadfast was thinking out aloud the other afternoon; “Sometimes I think that this is all a dream and everyone is not real and I am the only real thing”. I vividly remember a version of this thought when I was about 8. My version was a little more paranoid; ‘What if everyone is a robot/alien and I am the only human and am part of some great experiment?’
Steadfast’s ponderings reminded me of this prepubertal thought and (33 years later) I feel less alone in having had it. Which is ironic really, given that such thoughts are about isolation.
It would be easy to attribute narcissism as the source of such questions – versions of ’I am the centre of the universe’.But I think perhaps it is rudimentary existential angst in recognition that we are all ultimately alone inside our own heads and our bodies. An understanding that our experiences are soley and uniquely our own. This, like many things, is equally thrilling and terrifying.
It reminds me of those social experiments with children about lying where the kids are left alone in a room with sweets and instructed not to eat them. The bright kids could lie because they could grasp that each person has their own reality. The less mature children thought that everyone saw the world as they saw the world, and so managed to control themselves and not eat the sweets (because everyone would know) or admitted that yes, they did eat the sweets.
There is enormous power to be had in recognising that we can be, at will, isolated in our thoughts and deeds.
