A woman of a certain age goes on a bike ride in the city with her family…

I had been avoiding doing this for a while now, but I promised my family I would do it on a day when the weather was nice. And so, today was the day. I mustered up the courage as best as possible, desperately trying to change my attitude, but sometimes, you can’t, no matter how hard you try. Look, it’s just not a thing. It’s honestly hard for me to grasp that people like to do this outdoorsy, adventurous shit. That is not me. I am not that. I have never been, nor will I most likely ever be. I’ll happily walk the island of Manhattan on foot, though, or ride for miles on an indoor stationary bike but getting on a wheeled thing for my mode of transportation in a traffic-congested city is not my idea of fun.

I remember in high school; I had to do this obstacle course at some sleep-away thing our class did before we graduated. It was supposed to challenge you to overcome your fears (I’m not too fond of heights either, in case you were wondering); anyway, it was called a ropes course. You had to get harnessed in, helmet on, climb to the top of some extremely high tree, then walk across this rope in between the two tall trees, climb some ladder thing, and JUMP to the ground. Trusting that you will survive (I guess) and let go of your fears in the process. Did I get over anything? No. Was I terrified the whole time? You bet your ass I was. Would I do it again? Absolutely not. Do I believe people can do physical things, adventurous things, challenging things that terrify them, and then change? Yes, yes, I do. For example, take my sailing experience (I literally still can not believe we all made it out of that one alive!). I had so many fears, so many “what if” and so many arguments with my husband (we honestly never fought until we got on that boat, and, for the record, we haven’t fought since back on land). Did I overcome most of my fears while sailing? Um, kind of. Did I surprise myself with my abilities when under pressure? Oh my, yes. Are there some fears that never probably ever will go away — yes, yes, there are! Like freely swimming in the ocean and night sailing in the high seas! But, I am not on that boat anymore (yippee), and I am talking about an adventurous city thing I did on land this time, so let’s get back to it, shall we.

Ok, the plan was to bike ride from our house to the playground in Central Park. This little trip was only about 25 blocks away. This task seemed very doable for me because most of it was in the park, so I didn’t have to worry about traffic (or so I thought). My husband and daughter were on his cargo bike (she was strapped up in the bucket), my son on his new bike, and me on the electric scooter. We all set off with our helmets on down the busy street. I wasn’t but a few blocks away from our house when I started cursing people on the road — ugh, these people. Don’t get me started on them. Not to mention, everyone is on their phone- seriously, how can you ride a bike or drive a car and pay attention while your head is down and on your phone. PUT IT DOWN. Like, it can wait. Cunts.

Anyway, my husband assures and encourages me that I will feel more comfortable once we get in the park since there are no cars. Cause, if I am honest, the cars, the taxis, the Ubers, the motorcyclists are what I am most scared of. Or at least I thought. So anyway, I am moving along the streets, inching my way down to the park at a snail’s pace, annoying everyone in my family cause I am going so slow. My son keeps yelling at me to hurry up, “Come on, Mama! You’re holding us up!” But I don’t care. I feel more comfortable going eight mph than twenty (!) I mean, what was the rush anyway, right?! And, let’s not forget, I am trying my best not to hit anything or make sure anything hits me or DIE in the process. I eventually met up with them at the beginning of the park. I was doing ok. Dare I say, mildly enjoying myself. Building up my confidence and pretty smoothly did the other 20 blocks, all downhill, to the playground. And yes, if you are curious, I exhaled a sigh of relief when I finally met up with them in one piece. I made it to the playground unhurt and in one piece!

The kids were already playing and having a good time, my husband comments on how slow I was going, to which I responded — I was doing the best I could, so please just let me be. It was hard enough for me to make it this far, or doesn’t he remember. He asks if I wanted to keep going and go around the park. (!!) It was such a beautiful day, and he assures me it doesn’t take that long to do, and the kids are having fun, and my son just got his new bike, and he wants to ride ride ride. FINE, I say. Let’s do it. So we head back to the bike path in the park at 90th Street. I am riding next to them on my scooter and annoying all of them because of my slow, cautious speed. They go ahead of me for a few blocks cause they couldn’t take it.

They pull over and wait for me at 79th street and tell me to speed up. I say, in a huff — just go on ahead of me if you can’t stay at my speed — I’ll eventually catch up with you guys. They say fine. But I didn’t take into consideration that I would be alone — all by myself scootering around the park along with the millions of other bikers, scooter riders, horses, and skaters as well. Not to mention, some of them were going, I might add, faster than a damn car! Zoom zoom zoom by me. And so, the deeper I got into the park, the more crowded it was getting, and the more I had to be very careful not to run into any of them. Did I mention that they go FAST. Jesus. Making it feel impossible to get over in a lane without getting knocked down.

I made it down to 65th Street in a white-knuckled panic, holding on to the handlebars for dear life, hoping I would make it to my next destination before I die! Not to mention, I had completely lost sight of my family. Now I feel abandoned and like, why the heck am I scootering the entirety of Central Park ALONE (even though it was my idea to tell them to go ahead of me but whatever!) But there I was — slowly going along, as best as I could muster, cautiously going down the hills, annoying now everyone in my path, trying not to weave through the crowds of wheeling people, doing my best to avoid being struck and injured. Yes, the weather was gorgeous. Yes, I am alive and healthy and in one of the most magical cities around, but I hated every minute of it. I somehow was able to gather up enough courage to inch my way over to the sideline to safety and FaceTime my husband, to see where the fuck he was (!!) He answers my call casually, in a joyful mood, riding his bike (the fuck!) He tells me he is right near the Plaza on 59th and 5th Ave and that they will wait for me. But, before that, he reminded me that it was just a bike ride and it was MY IDEA to let them go ahead of me. I asked why he decided to listen to me. He should have known better. HA!

I inched my way down to 59th Street, now dodging all the horses and carriages along the park (those poor horses). Then in the distance, I catch sight of my children playing with other children, having a jolly time, running around a large beautiful tree waiting for me. My husband is lounging to the side of his cargo bike, looking the epidemy of cool with his English wool hat, dark sunglasses, and jacket — like he stepped out of a British Vogue shoot. And then, I roll up. Limbs were all akimbo, my hair frazzled, my hands tense, my attitude high, and my emotions on my sleeve. I cautiously pulled over to meet him, attempting to turn off the damn electric scooter, but it, of course, went crazy and ran over MY FOOT in the process of trying to wrangle the thing (I hate everything!). What follows next is not something I am necessarily proud of. I proceed to lose my shit in front of all the sweet children running around the oak tree. Inappropriate words were spitting triply off my tongue, my kids looking up at me with mouths wide open in utter terror; or, more to point, wtf is happening to mommy!

I lost it. Full stop. End of discussion (if there even was one). I lost it so deeply that I honestly do not even remember what I said. And then, at some point, by some miracle, through my huffs and puffs and tears and sweats — I was somehow able to see myself. As if my spirit walked outside my body and objectively looked at this crazy woman (me) crying about my utterly ridiculous woes. And, even though part of it was justified (bitch, it was my idea to tell them to leave!), I blew up to such a degree, such an overwhelming, uncontrollable degree it could be only one reason. And it was then, and only then, I realized this is the historic moment I have been waiting for. This is it. Auntie P has officially arrived, unpacked her bags, and is here to stay (Ms. Peri-menopause if you’re nasty). The demise into the inevitable cycle of being a woman. Then, I immediately began to laugh hysterically through my tears of angst and started talking out loud to myself, which, of course, made me look even crazier. Anyway, I was a total nut job. So happy new year! This upcoming one already looks like it will be full of many uncontrollable obstacles, challenges, and a plethora of unknowns. May we all find outer body moments in times of overwhelming disarray, and always always be able to embrace the ridiculousness in it all and laugh at ourselves.