masshysteria
08-28-2003, 02:55 PM
What better way of saying hello to the group than standing up and saying, "Hi, my name is Russ and I'm an alcoholic." Err, than telling a story?
Here goes...
Salvation comes in many forms. In high school, I stopped trying to be someone else. In college, I discovered God, beer, girls, and twin-tip skis. Tonight, I’ll ride again.
My first bicycle was my older sister’s. It was brown and cream colored and had a banana seat. It was speed and freedom, for the block away from our house I was allowed to ride. In my later grade school years came a blue Schwinn ten-speed. Gears and handle-bar breaks! Never squeeze just the left one. A few years and many scrapped knees later I got a used silver mountain bike. Its fat knobby tires just screamed, “Ride me through the dirt.” And I was more than happy to oblige, zipping down the sledding hill in the middle of summer with a teeth rattling smile on my face. Suffice to say, my new bike didn’t last long. It was plagued with trouble due to, what future riders would call, my aggressive riding habits. Fortunately, summers of mowing lawns paid off and in junior high I made my first big purchase of my life: a brand new red Schwinn Hurricane mountain bike.
We moved the next summer and gone was the sledding hill, probably the reason I still can ride my Schwinn. My brothers and I quickly explored the new neighborhood on our bikes and found a rare gem: a wooded lot with a small dirt path to ride around on. The lot was on a corner, just after a small hill. We’d ride down the hill gaining speed, turn quickly to the left, go through a small break in the trees, and onto the path. It was fun, it was slightly dangerous, and we were boys on bikes.
Fast-forward and few years and I was off to college. My bike stayed at home, spending most of it’s time hanging upside down from the ceiling of the garage. Riding soon became a thing of the past, a childhood memory. I ran for exercise. I ran because that was supposed to be the mature way to stay in-shape.
When I graduated from college, I didn’t have a job waiting for me. I spent the first two months of summer with a lot of time on my hands. I went running to stay in shape. I’ve always like exercising and pushing myself, but running never was my thing. It was predestined that I dust off my old red Schwinn and start riding again.
And I rode. I felt that familiar burn in my legs as I pushed myself to go faster and climb that hill like the finish line was just on the other side. It was salvation. I was in my element and I knew it. How could I have strayed for so long? Could I have forgotten the joy of riding so easily? I rode for over and hour that day and loved every moment of it.
Tonight, I’ll ride again. Tonight, I’ll have freedom from claustrophobic cubicle walls and the glare of a computer. Tonight, I’ll find release in pumping legs and navigating dirt tracks. Tonight, I’ll find salvation again.
Here goes...
Salvation comes in many forms. In high school, I stopped trying to be someone else. In college, I discovered God, beer, girls, and twin-tip skis. Tonight, I’ll ride again.
My first bicycle was my older sister’s. It was brown and cream colored and had a banana seat. It was speed and freedom, for the block away from our house I was allowed to ride. In my later grade school years came a blue Schwinn ten-speed. Gears and handle-bar breaks! Never squeeze just the left one. A few years and many scrapped knees later I got a used silver mountain bike. Its fat knobby tires just screamed, “Ride me through the dirt.” And I was more than happy to oblige, zipping down the sledding hill in the middle of summer with a teeth rattling smile on my face. Suffice to say, my new bike didn’t last long. It was plagued with trouble due to, what future riders would call, my aggressive riding habits. Fortunately, summers of mowing lawns paid off and in junior high I made my first big purchase of my life: a brand new red Schwinn Hurricane mountain bike.
We moved the next summer and gone was the sledding hill, probably the reason I still can ride my Schwinn. My brothers and I quickly explored the new neighborhood on our bikes and found a rare gem: a wooded lot with a small dirt path to ride around on. The lot was on a corner, just after a small hill. We’d ride down the hill gaining speed, turn quickly to the left, go through a small break in the trees, and onto the path. It was fun, it was slightly dangerous, and we were boys on bikes.
Fast-forward and few years and I was off to college. My bike stayed at home, spending most of it’s time hanging upside down from the ceiling of the garage. Riding soon became a thing of the past, a childhood memory. I ran for exercise. I ran because that was supposed to be the mature way to stay in-shape.
When I graduated from college, I didn’t have a job waiting for me. I spent the first two months of summer with a lot of time on my hands. I went running to stay in shape. I’ve always like exercising and pushing myself, but running never was my thing. It was predestined that I dust off my old red Schwinn and start riding again.
And I rode. I felt that familiar burn in my legs as I pushed myself to go faster and climb that hill like the finish line was just on the other side. It was salvation. I was in my element and I knew it. How could I have strayed for so long? Could I have forgotten the joy of riding so easily? I rode for over and hour that day and loved every moment of it.
Tonight, I’ll ride again. Tonight, I’ll have freedom from claustrophobic cubicle walls and the glare of a computer. Tonight, I’ll find release in pumping legs and navigating dirt tracks. Tonight, I’ll find salvation again.