The phrase “it’s like learning to ride a bike” is one I don’t think I have ever uttered. It’s a common phrase used to explain how easy it is to master a skill. Everyone can ride a bike, can’t they?
No, they can’t.
I’m 31 years old and have never learnt to ride a bike. For various reasons I didn’t have one when I was growing up, and by the time I was an awkward, overweight teenager it was just too embarrassing to even consider trying to learn. I did briefly have a go once, but failed quickly and found trying to teach myself was actually really hard. I’m not usually one to quit something because it’s hard, but I just figured I would muddle through life without wheels, and I’ve managed pretty well until now.
I haven’t written this blog for a while, but if you follow my other blogs you’ll know I’ve been settling in to my new life in Bristol really well and loving every minute of it. I can now walk to work (rather than using public transport), and it only takes about 30 minutes, so I spend a lot of time marching across town, getting lots of exercise. Every day I’m passed by countless speedy cyclists, whizzing along without a care in the world, and I admit I do sometimes feel pangs of jealousy. Not only is it a fast way to get from A to B, cycling looks like fun.
But I’ve lived in places with lots of cyclists before. In Japan people can cycle on the pavement and pretty much everyone rides a bike, it seems. I was a bit jealous then too, but I managed fine on my feet. By the time I had become an adult I had well and truly convinced myself that I wasn’t meant to be a cyclist. I was too big, probably had no sense of balance, and didn’t really need to cycle anyway.
Then, a few weeks ago something snapped inside me and I realised I was missing out. I was reading about an island in Japan that I’d like to visit someday, and how you can have so much fun if you just hire a bike there and cycle around, and I just thought “this is ridiculous”.
A quick Google led me straight to Life Cycle, a “small, energetic, innovative and committed Bristol-based charity helping local people transform their lives through cycling”. It said they offered free cycling lessons for adults living, working or studying in the Bristol City Council area, and I immediately signed up.
Signing up alone took a lot of nerve – this was a hell of a mountain I was about to conquer – but I knew I still had to actually go through with the lesson. In order to make sure I didn’t chicken out, I told everyone I was going to the lesson. It was embarrassing to not be able to cycle as an adult, but it would be worse to not even try to learn and have to tell people I hadn’t done it.
So, tonight I went along to a park to meet a woman with a bicycle. I was terribly nervous – scared that I would fall off and hurt myself, worried that I would look a fool, embarrassed about being an adult who couldn’t ride a bike. Fortunately my teacher was really kind, and reassured me that hundreds of adults can’t do things that other people take for granted, like cycling and swimming, and that she taught adults to ride bikes all the time. She really put me at ease and, although I was quite distracted by how silly I thought I must look, I managed to get on with it and have a go.
And, do you know what? I can do it!
I actually managed to ride a bike today, for the first time in my life. Of course, the teacher supported me at first, but before even half the lesson was up I was able to do it on my own (albeit with a bit of a wobble, and not necessarily in a straight line). I have two more free lessons, and I intend to make good use of them! Of course, at some point I shall need to buy a bike too, but I’m not going to try and run before I can cycle. 😉
I feel so proud of myself, not just because I could ride a bike, but because I was brave enough to have a go. I’m not writing this blog post to blow my own trumpet though, I’m writing it because I’d like to inspire others to get over their fears and jump the hurdles in their lives. Yes, it’s embarrassing if you can’t do something, for whatever reason, but there’s bound to be someone out there who can help you learn that skill or get over that fear. I’m so pleased that I didn’t just bookmark the page as “something to do one day” but that I actually went straight ahead and booked a lesson.
I’ll end with one of my favourite inspirational quotes:
“Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it… Boldness has genius, magic and power in it, begin it now!”
(Quote attributed to Goethe, but possibly from another source)
If you’re a follower of my daily photo blog, Picturing England, you will know that I have been a bit egg-obsessed for the last month. The Faberge Big Egg Hunt took over London from 21st February to 31st March, dividing the city into 12 zones and “hiding” 210 eggs for the public to go and find. When you found an egg, you were supposed to send a text message with the unique code in order to enter the competition. The prize? A £100,000 golden Faberge egg.
When I started, I had no intention of trying to find them all, but I quickly became addicted. Searching was eggsellent fun, and completing a zone was a real thrill. But there were other benefits too.
One thing I loved about the Big Egg Hunt was the sense of community it conjured up. These days, and especially in London, people don’t talk to each other. But the eggs changed this. Over the course of the hunt, I spoke to all kinds of people, young and old, families, couples and solo egg hunters. We compared notes, gave each other hints, and generally just egged each other on (sorry, egg-related jokes are one of the side effects of too much hunting). I heard stories of friendships forming over eggs, of people deciding to join forces and hunt together. I saw children talking to children they didn’t know and peering through windows together to try to spot eggs hidden in shops. Everyone I spoke to was caught up in the thrill of the hunt.
Another benefit was the “eggsercise”. Of course I did take Tubes to reach some destinations, but then I walked, and I walked, and I walked! I have no idea how far I walked, but my legs tell me it was far. It was great to be above ground and see how London fits together. I realised on a few occasions that Tube stations were much closer together than I had thought. While I was out and about, I also saw children on scooters and running up to eggs. It was so nice to see people enjoying the fresh air and being outside.
One other major benefit of the big egg hunt for me was going to parts of London I would never normally go to, and seeing things I didn’t know were there. I found art and sculptures on the streets and in parks, I went in eggstremely fancy shops like Liberty and Fortnum and Mason, and I saw the modern buildings of the City towering next to the ancient buildings that remain. London really is an amazing city, and I hadn’t realised how lucky I was to be living here.
The big egg hunt was time-consuming but worth every minute. I had so much fun, found out a lot about my city, spoke to some lovely people, and feel like I really achieved something. I know scrambling around London looking for eggs is probably not everyone’s idea of fun, but it’s certainly mine!
Amazingly, I managed to find 209 eggs! The only one I couldn’t find was the elusive #57, which no one has been able to find yet because it hasn’t been delivered by the artists (the Chapman Brothers).
Here are the 209 eggs I found, which I consider to be a complete set:
All eggs will be on display together in the Covent Garden Piazza from Tuesday 3rd April until Monday 9th April. They really are eggstraordinary, so do check them out if you can!
A bunch of pink, sweaty women, writhing around in a school gym on a Tuesday night – what must we look like? Every week (well, almost every week – you know, unless there’s an offer of something better to do) we gather to shake our booty to the Latin-inspired beats of what is known as “Zumba“.
We wiggle, we shake… we even try to shimmy. The toned and tanned instructor smoothly moves from dance step to dance step, encouraging us to be sexy. Sexy? In an exercise class? Yes. We’re supposed to be sexy women, proud of our bodies, shaking our butts and sticking out our boobs. Calling out to imaginary men to come and dance with us.
We try. In our minds, we all aspire to look something like this:
In reality, we actually look more like this:
The class is entirely female, although men are welcome. Men do do Zumba, but not here. Our class is made up largely of middle-aged women – some younger, some older. There are certain stereotypes you will find in every exercise class. There’s the ever-so-keen one who always arrives first and stakes her place at the front, chatting with the instructor. Self-tan woman, who is an interesting shade of orange. Awkward girl, whose body is really stiff and robotic. The older lady, whose boobs occasionally brush the floor. And me – the hopelessly uncoordinated yet still enthusiastic one.
I generally stand somewhere around the middle, but to the side so I can dash out for water when I start choking on my own sweat. I try to watch the instructor and ignore everyone else around me. I try to “dance”, rather than “exercise”. I try to forget aerobics classes and think salsa, merengue, hip hop. I try to “zuumbaaaah” but, being British, I do find all the shouting and “yee hah”s a bit much.
Still, at least I earn my dinner on a Tuesday night.