The Easter weekend just past was the first weekend I didn’t have a deadline to worry about. I felt free.

Too free.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. So, went to see The Greatest Showman (now my new favourite musical album), tried to see Winnie the Pooh exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum but it was sold out, but gave me a chance to check out the museum and surrounds anyway. Took the chance to meet up with a friend or two.

One thing I didn’t want to do, was to write. Sorry.

Why I haven’t written for so long

I’ve just had a dream month. I’ve always dreamed of being able to earn more than my monthly rent from writing, and not only did I meet that in March, I exceeded it, thanks to a bunch of work that came in all at once.

I’ve had a total of 7 commissions, all due within a three weeks time frame. That’s the most I’ve ever received in one month and wow, did that test my ability to work under pressure.

I filed the last story very late at night on the Wednesday before Easter (while being *slightly* tipsy) and that felt like finally making it up a tough hill on my bike. I could see the horizon in the distance and the downhill ahead. It had felt good.

However, I also recognised that too much of a good thing came at a cost. I was doing a full time freelancer’s workload with a full time job. I was tired, unmotivated and eventually I ran out of words.

I. Ran. Out. Of. Words.

I never thought I would think to myself: “I cannot wait to take a break from writing!”

Spinning out my stress and keeping my sanity

We all deal with stress in our own ways. Some punch it out in the gym, others go on a drinking binge. This is when I am glad I found cycling. Every time I get on that saddle, every minute I am on the road; in that moment of inertia, I am happy.

Science and health experts have long talked about both the physical and the mental health benefits of cycling. Just googling mental health benefits of cycling brings up stories of people who has overcome anxiety and depression by riding their bikes.

And I felt that benefit on the recent London to Reading charity ride with the British Heart Foundation.

I’ve not been too well. Other than the stress from a mad March, I’ve been dealing with some personal issues. It was a major battle between my usual optimistic self and the realisation of my sanity was slipping away from me.

It was history repeating itself and I didn’t like it.

My mind was full of thoughts and my heart burdened with indecision. So on the day of the big ride, I took off slowly. It was a race but not a race. All I wanted to do was to finish by the time the event packs up for the day!

However, the further I rode out of London, the more I wanted to get ahead. My competitive nature took over and I was spinning faster and shifting to higher gears. At the same time, it was as if the wind that pierced through my helmet was cleaning out everything in my mind, and I’ve forgotten all the things I was thinking and began to focus.

It wasn’t all smooth pedalling of course. Not only did I get lost for 1/2 hour (you’d think on a fully sign-posted route throughout no one would get lost? Obviously, I wasn’t paying attention), a twig got stuck to my back wheels I tried to kick off while riding, accidentally kicking something in my gears and it stopped shifting (thankfully there were volunteer mechanics along the way!); then muscle cramps at a busy intersection caused me fall off and panic a few drivers pulling up behind me and towards the end, a hill too many and fatigue hit in where I almost crashed into other riders as well.

At some point on the bike ride, it was no longer about what I physically could endure, but how much I could mentally push myself.

Often, the closer you get to the finish line, the more you needed that extra push. So somewhere around the 30 mile mark, I put my earphones in and simply went for it. As I started seeing Reading on the road signs, I knew I had to push that extra harder. Around one last bend, over the blasting of music from my earphones, I heard an event assistant on the sidelines shout out to me…

“2 more miles! All downhill!”

The sweetest 5 words I’ve had someone say to me for a while.

When I crossed the finish line at the end of that 41 miles, the sun broke out over Reading and it was glorious.

I (may have) cried. It wasn’t so much that I’ve done anything extraordinary – I mean, this is the sort of distance some cyclists do as practice on a weekend – but for a charity ride that was fundraising for heart disease research, it did wonders to my heart in a different way.

Falling off. Getting back up. Keep going.

Since the big ride, I’ve installed SPD pedals and got myself proper cycling shoes with cleats. It means, I am starting to clip in and learn to become a (proper) cyclist.

I’ve been warned it would take me a while to get used to having my feet stuck to the pedals and remembering to clip off when I stop. I’ve been warned that I am going to fall off a few times and get a few bruises.

I’ve managed to fall three times on my first day, scraped my knee and bruised my thigh. What hurt me more was the tear on my saddle, the big scratch on the side of my bike.

However, I’ve also been told, once you get it, you get it. You fall off, you get back up, you keep going.

Practice makes perfect.

And I think I’ve got it now.

My pretty new bike now bears the battle wounds of my progress, just like somewhere deep in my heart there will always be a few tears hidden from sight. Instead of seeing them as failures, I’ve learned to recognise them as proof to my growth, my existence. A lesson that as long as I keep getting back up everytime I fall, I can keep going.

And when I get sad again, I know I can just go and chase down some cyclists in Richmond Park and I’ll be alright.