Going to work was fun this morning. A strong wind blew me over to the restaurant and I arrived ten to fifteen minutes earlier than I expected to!
But what was a lovely tailwind coming into work became a raging headwind on the return trip home. (Funny how that works.) During the work day, I had a good idea of what I was in for on the ride home so I started mentally preparing myself.
“It might be tough, but it will be good for you. Build those muscles, kid!”
(I often call myself “kid” during internal dialogues.) Thinking back on some of my seemingly endless windy spring rides from last year, I hopped on my bike at the end of the day with some measure of dread. As a bike commuter, headwinds are to me what rush hour traffic is to a motorist. They guarantee a long commute home, the stronger and more persistent the wind is the more frustrating and impatient I can become to arrive home and “get stuff done”.
But I think winter biking has messed with my physiological makeup, somehow. No matter how hard the wind blew (36 mph with gusts nearing 50 mph) and how hard I had to fight against it, I could not find any shred of impatience or frustration to latch onto. I was fighting the wind physically but I didn’t need to battle it mentally. When there was an occasional crosswind, I found myself leaning and against it and grinning.
Winter biking taught me to accept the weather. To accept the road. To accept the time it takes to get home, no matter how long that may be. To make the journey an enjoyable thing, something worth remembering.
Rushing home, just getting those ten miles over and done with so that I can move on to the next thing isn’t my default anymore.
Have I ever told you that I love winter?