Grief and joy

Woah, this the longest I’ve gone without writing my blog, I never even realised until I logged on to start writing. Boy this grief stuff really pulls the rug from under you. This time around, with the death of a very dear lifelong friend, I’ve been paralysed but didn’t even realise I wasn’t moving. Of course I’ve been out on my bike every day, but now it feels as routine as brushing my teeth. So my legs might have been moving but I’m not sure the rest of me has. At some points I’ve felt like my breath paused too.

It seems ironic, I’m the one left behind, I’m the one that’s still alive and yet I can’t find my breath. To say I’ve felt a little wonky would be an understatement.

Grief is a universal experience and yet when we feel it, really let ourselves feel it, it’s one of the most isolating emotions. And as I write I am acutely aware that this is only my own perspective on my grief, I can’t speak for others. It is not comforting to see others grieve, even for the same loss. It’s an internal journey, a pain that cannot be lessened by sharing or saying out loud. It is jabby, prickly, razor sharp and suffocating all at once. It subsides and moves into the background and then jumps back into sharp focus. It cannot be digested in one go, it is too big. So the incremental release of it drags on and on and on. Until you pause, and remember to keep breathing.

Maybe it seems odd to hear a therapist say the pain isn’t lessened by sharing, does that mean we shouldn’t talk to someone when we are grieving? No it doesn’t mean that. There is relief in sharing how we feel but there are no shortcuts for grief. We absolutely need to talk about it because grief needs an outlet. Yes, it really is too big to get it over and done with in one big crying session. So we have to truncate our grief, let it out a little at a time. And every time we do, we have to feel the pain again. Is this tedious? Yes. Is it exhausting? Yes. Is there any way of avoiding it. Yes, of course there is, but only for a time and eventually it will come and bite you on the ass until you deal with it.

I have just completed my tenth 100km gran fondo ride this year. That’s a lot of pedalling and a lot of thinking and processing time. There are many parallels between grief and these long haul rides. I absolutely wanted to give up. It’s cold now and weather has been miserable so I left it and left it until the last day of the month. I backed myself into a corner with nowhere to go except get it done or give up on my goal for this year. The “something” inside me that would not let me give up, that’s the same something that keeps me going through grief. And to know that there will always be a beautiful sunny day in the middle of life storms.

Grief and joy can co-exist. You can, in the pain of loss, still laugh, still love even when your heart is broken. We are designed this way, otherwise grief would kill us too. Laughter and joy are pain relief for grief. You can find pleasure in the world even when a loss has left a gaping hole. That is not disloyal, that is not a betrayal of your grief feelings, that is not distasteful, that is survival. And the strength inside comes from the deep love we still feel for those who are gone because that part will never be lost, we will always carry that love inside us.

So I keep on cycling, even when I don’t feel like it, when I would rather hide from the world. I find a way to engage with the parts of the world I can tolerate when I feel raw. For me, that is seeking out nature and my bike takes me to the most incredible places. It also means gravitating towards kindness and gentleness, people who will accept where I am at in all my wobblyness. For a time, it might also mean staying away from those I find harsh and difficult or letting go of situations that I have limited capacity for. Many of my recent rides have been short or opting for the indoor bike. In times of grief I need to find a way to be kind and gentle with myself while still creating opportunities for connection with the world, other people and my cycling.

Refuge from the storms

Writing my blog has been a bit far down my list of priorities the past few weeks with various life and work stuff happening. But I have had the chance to cycle in some new places and have some mini adventures as well as cramming in my August gran fondo. In challenging and uncertain times, my bike remains my constant companion, my refuge.

Isle of Whithorn

When things feel difficult there is a comfort in the familiar feeling of feet grounded firmly on pedals, the turning of wheels, the sound of tyres on tarmac, muscles stretching and working hard – body and bike are a team and while they do their thing the mind can rest.

I actually get so much from cycling alone, there’s no demands on me, that feeling really fits with the word refuge – “shelter or protection from danger or distress”. It’s not just the bike, but its ability to take me to places where I feel comfort.

Glen Fruin

But I don’t always have to be alone and after getting my son his new to him bike, we had the chance to ride together up at Gravelfoyle. Darn it, why did I have to get him a cool bike? He was totally beasting me on the hills and I only managed to pass him on the downhills because I’m braver, or maybe dafter, than him. it’s hard not to get competitive when you cycle with other people. When we stopped for a rest, a wee mouse ran and hid under his bike wheel. It seems bikes are a refuge for smaller creatures as well as humans.

Gravelfoyle

Back to my solo adventures, time was running out to get my August 100km ride done. I really struggled to muster the motivation for this one. The only day I could fit it in started off with a bit of drizzle which became a downpour. By a quarter of the way there I was already thinking about turning back. The first half felt gruelling, with a 10 mile stretch of gradual uphill and the wind was not my friend. I stopped at the famous “Big Bike” on route 7 and honestly felt like I had actually been riding a concrete bike.

Big Bike, Kilbarchan

But like everything in life, things eventually turned around. The sun came out, the ride back was mainly downhill and the wind became my friend once again. Of course by this time my legs were completely done in, but I was determined to finish my miles. Even though they seemed to go on and on and on.

In every long ride there are difficult moments, boring stretches and moments that are completely uplifting and inspiring. My favourite moment from this long ride was finding a mural of a girl working on a bike. I though heck yeah, I feel like her, I’ll give it a go and I’ll be as bright and funky as I can.

And when I think of refuge from life’s storms, which inevitably come, I am reminded of the words of Alexandre Dumas: “Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes.” Although of course I’d swap out man for woman, the essence is the same for me. I believe whatever it is inside me that can keep me pedalling for 100km is the same stuff that can keep me going through life, especially when the storms come.

He ain’t heavy

Being that this is my blog and all that, I only like to tell stories that are my own. It’s not right to tell other people’s stories unless they are okay with it. I’ve started writing this without permission because whether anyone reads it or not, my heart needs to put it on a page. If you are reading this, it means it’s been approved. It’s a love story. And it’s entwined with my love for cycling.

It’s a love story about two brothers. One is vibrant, imaginative, inspiring, fun, with a huge and sensitive heart, a little bit wild and sometimes struggles to wrap his head around the insanity and injustice in the universe. The other is funny, sensitive, playful, stubborn, wickedly sharp and heart-breakingly innocent, and sometimes very angry at being dealt a rubbish deal with his body and brain. Both are very handsome men.

One brother has always taken care of the other brother. He looks out for him because he can’t look out for himself. One brother is not the same as everyone else who walks the earth. The other brother treats him like he is the same. He takes him to the pub and helps him live like other people. He fights for him when the world treats him unfairly or ignores his value. He knows he is not the same. He knows it can be challenging to live with him everyday, so he gives his mother a break.

He lifts his brother up 3 flights of stairs to his flat, so he can hang out with him and their mother can get a break. He ain’t heavy, he’s his brother.

This brother deserves a bike that ain’t heavy. A bike he can easily carry up his stairs. A bike that can make him feel free in the world, because let’s face it, you never really feel free when you have people who need you, I mean really need you. These brothers need each other. One to take care and the other to love unconditionally. Any brother like that deserves a bike. Something for himself, something to make him feel light and less weighed down by the relentless struggles of life. So we bought a “new” recycled bike. You gotta love a new bike day.

And yes these humans are my humans. Our lives have not been easy in a world where you have to fight for everything. No wonder I get full of rage sometimes, I can’t blame menopause for all the rage I feel, it’s been there a long time. There’s also so much sorrow and incredible joy too. Those feelings have to go somewhere. When I say cycling saved my sanity, it’s because of this difficult life. It’s because it gives me a breather from all the things I have to do when you are responsible for caring. Cycling gives you a sense of freedom that nothing else can bring.

I hope the brother who now has a bike will ride the hell out of life, enough for both of them. I hope he will have epic adventures and feel free. I hope his bike will take him to new places and meet people who will see how special he is. I hope he feels completely alive and gets to soak in every glorious moment. I hope his bike gives him what mine gave me.

Even more poignant that he got his bike on the seventh anniversary of my mum’s passing. She loved these brothers will all her heart. She wanted life to be easier for them, for me, but it’s not. Sometimes it broke her heart, which broke mine. But this huge hearted brother was a beacon of light to her even though she also worried so much about him. She was immensely proud of him, as am I.

Adventure revolutions

I read a book last year called the Adventure Revolution by Belinda Clark. It resonated so much with every fibre of my being. With every page I read, I found myself shouting yes! This is what human beings were made for.

The book is full of stories about triumph over adversity and research and science about why humans need adventure, why we need adversity and uncertainty because our design dictates that. Without it we become mentally and physically unwell. Adventure is in our DNA. If you want to know more, read the book, but my take away is that survival is inherently risky, unpredictable, exciting, soul-nourishing and full of meaning. In our modern world survival looks different and is more often based on social survival than physical survival. The way we live now does not naturally give us opportunities for the kind of adventures we really need. So we need to create them and that can actually revolutionise the way we live our lives the rest of the time. It changed the way I think about the tough situations I face in my life.

Since reviving my cycling habit I have discovered many things about myself. When I set myself challenges that I have no idea whether or not I can complete, I thrive, I am forced to problem solve, to be creative, to soul search for the meaning in it all. When I only do the things I know I can do, there’s no opportunity for that. Not only is my body pushed to and beyond my limits, but so is my mind, so is my spirit and soul.

Of course, if things are just hard with no reward, that’s different. That’s the kind of adversity that makes us unwell and burnt-out. That’s why it’s not adversity alone that’s helpful but when it becomes an adventure, then the magic happens. Being cold and wet isn’t fun, but if you get to the top of a hill with an incredible view then it is. If you find yourself completely alone in the woods with birds chirping and a beautiful gentle deer runs in front of you, then it’s worth it. If you get to the end of a tough cycle or walk or climb and feel proud of yourself, then it’s worth it.

I find my adventure revolution with each revolution of my bike wheels. I find it on the new paths and trails I’ve never taken before, I find it at the top of difficult rides up hills, I find it in forests, I often find it when I’m alone because I have to answer my own questions and find my own way out of things. But adventure in groups can be even more thrilling. Everyone has different skills, strengths and unique ways of thinking about things. When we work together with people who are different from us we can overcome so much more.

Can you incorporate more adventure into your life? It doesn’t have to be huge like climbing Everest. Adventure can be found by going down an unfamiliar street or path, by following a road all the way to the end, by trying something new, even sticking your feet in the water near where you live could be an adventure.

Adventure can bring joy into your life. Stay safe, but not too safe. In the suicide intervention training I deliver, we talk about safety and challenge being the two sides of learning. It can be hard to find the balance, but when we do, it can be incredible and transformative.

Perspective is everything

This week’s blog is powered by feet and just a little bit of wheels. Where I live there’s a castle at the end of my street, which is exceptionally cool. But it’s been shut for about a year with safety work getting carried out. It finally re-opened and I was so excited to get back up there. It’s a big climb with hundreds of steps, so there’s no way I’m hiking my bike up there without an oxygen supply at the top. So back on two feet instead of two wheels.

I actually love walking too, it’s just hard to fit in a walk and a cycle every day. The castle is the same as always, the history and stories are so familiar to me I guess that bit isn’t as exciting as it is for those visiting for the first time. What I love most is the view from the top. I can see my house and I can see my whole town and way up the River Clyde in both directions. I can see the hills up towards Loch Lomond. It’s those views that I find exciting.

Especially seeing my town from up there, I get a new perspective on where I live. My sense of space is altered by being able to see the whole thing. So different from looking up my street or just seeing things in front of you from the ground.

You can see patterns in the streets and things that seem huge from the ground become smaller and in proportion somehow. People often talk about the bigger picture, but it’s hard to grasp that when you’re on the ground. You literally have to change your perspective.

In psychology I find that existential exploration does that for people. We get so focused on the problem we have right now, in this moment on the ground we can’t see how it all fits together, what it means in the context of our lifespan. But if you have someone to help you metaphorically get up a hill to view your life in its entirety, you can begin to see what it all means, make sense of it.

You might be able to see something beautiful, some strength that survived the storm of your life. You might be able to see how the terrible unfair things that have happened to you, have transformed you in ways that you didn’t even realise. We call that post-traumatic growth. I feel like that about my diabetes sometimes. Right now, in this moment, I’m struggling to regulate my blood sugars. But if I look at the bigger picture, wow! I’ve been keeping myself alive for almost 30 years from a malfunction in my own body that is literally trying to kill me.

Cycling every day is part of what is helping me to stay alive, to be healthy and strong and to manage my diabetes. It’s still really frigging hard to do that some days. But when I go up that hill at the castle and see that view, I can see all those roads and hills and forests that I cycle every day. I can see what I’ve achieved and for a moment, just a moment, I feel in awe of that.

We are stronger than we think we are.

Merits of mistakes

I’d like to talk about how beneficial it can be to completely cock things up sometimes. We can become so focused on “getting it right” that when we mess up it can feel like the end of the world. But we are missing something vital – how much we actually learn when we don’t get everything right. Sometimes it’s a chance to learn exactly how bad-ass you can be.

The photograph above is my anchor for this long and eventful story. Most of the pictures I took this day are lost now forever. Glorious weather, research done in advance, plenty of snacks and water, extra clothes in case the weather changed. I had everything I needed for an epic gravel ride up the hills in Argyll. This was the start of my ride, full of optimism and ready for the challenge.

It was going so fantastically, I saw birds, a red squirrel and deer and spectacular views, the sun was shining on me, the hills were hard but I was managing. I propped my bike up on a bridge for a cool shot, thought it was secure only to see it tumble over into the river below – all in a split second.

You know those slow motion horror moments, this was it. I saw my bike disappearing under the bridge and into the flow of the river. There were thick bushes and trees on every side, I couldn’t see how to get down there. I scrambled through and found a place to slide down into the freezing water, wading – now up to my chest in a deep pool between rocks where I saw Ruby’s handlebars bobbing in the water.

I had to lift her out the water and up the slippy moss-covered rocks of a mini waterfall, then up to the bank and through the thick undergrowth. It was at this point I realised my phone had slipped out of my water-logged shorts. I went back down into the water to search for it, but the water was too fast flowing and my guess is it sank right down. There may have been some sweary words uttered.

I then assessed the damage to the bike, it was still working but everything in my bike bags was sodden, including my diabetes pump handset. And with my phone gone I could’t use my libre sensor. So I had no way of checking my blood sugar or giving myself insulin and my fruit pastilles were liquified.

I was at the top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere, with no phone to get help and going “commando” with my diabetes, dripping wet and freezing. I had to get back on the bike or sit there feeling sorry for myself. So I cycled down the hill and along a forestry road for about 10 miles, eventually coming to a village. I did see a phone box and I still had proper money in my bike bag, but of course – I don’t know anyone’s phone number because they are all in my phone! ITOH (Incredibly Tolerant Other Half) had arranged to pick me up, but I was now another 20 miles away from our rendezvous point and had been off radar for about 3 hours.

I chapped on someone’s door and she was a life-saver. A kindly fellow cyclist who let me use her iPad to contact ITOH by messenger. Her three beautiful sheepdogs licked me till I was warm and she gave me a hot cup of tea while we waited on ITOH to come to the rescue.

It wasn’t until I was in the car that the shock set in. I kept having flashes of it all and realised just how much danger I was in. Going in the water didn’t feel like a choice, it was instinct. I don’t know where I got the strength to save myself and my bike but I felt my body mobilise something incredibly powerful. The need to survive. The ability to find solutions in a desperate situation.

It would be easy to focus on the mistake, give myself a really hard time about not being careful enough. But in a conversation a couple of days later, someone said – that’s totally bad-ass. And I thought, yes it freaking is. I got myself out of it and realised I’m much stronger than I believed I was. They also pointed out to me, if I wasn’t cycling every single day, maybe I wouldn’t have had the physical strength and fortitude to rescue my bike and get myself to safety.

Ruby got a thorough going over by a bike doctor (massive shout out to the fantastic Balloch Bicycle Repairs). She is relatively unscathed. My knees are a bit banged up from the rocks, but what’s new?! I will now print out some key contact numbers and laminate them.

Another learning and metaphor for life is, sometimes we lean on things that seem solid, only to find they are not – it can be like that with people too. It doesn’t mean we’ve been stupid, it just means things are not always what they appear. We can never avoid all danger, accidents and mistakes. What is far more important is how we deal with them when they happen. Can we mobilise? Can we find strength? Can we be resilient and bounce back from disaster? Can we get back on a bike when we’ve fallen off? Or do we sit there crying and put our bike in the shed because we are scared now? Do we beat ourselves up horribly for messing up or do we take important lessons from every experience? And say to ourselves – look at me, I’m a total bad-ass.