“It’s not about how many times you fall, but how many times you get back up.”
To this day, I remember the green lawn, with my grandfather standing behind me. I’m sitting on my white bicycle with a small handle mounted behind the seat. The bike has no training wheels. I’m scared, but also excited. If I manage to learn how to ride on two wheels today, it will mean the end of limitations — the end of riding only around the house. Once I learn, the world will open up to me. I’ll be free. I’ll be able to see places I’ve never seen before…
Okay, focus! I hear from behind. Grandpa grabs the handle, and I start pedaling. Faster and faster. The teacher can no longer keep up. I’m riding — but only until the moment I realize there’s no one behind me anymore. A second later, I’m lying in the grass with a bruised knee and elbow. It hurts, but right now that doesn’t matter. I need to shake it off. A few words of motivation — and once again, the same routine.
I don’t remember how many attempts there were that day. I only know there were many. I know that day was painful. But neither my grandfather nor I gave up, and that day I became a free man. I could finally leave the walls of my backyard prison and begin exploring the neighbourhood with other cyclist. Riding to the field, to the shop, to meet a friend — everything was suddenly within reach, just a few pedal strokes away. The world around me looked different somehow. More interesting.
What a wonderful feeling it was…
Now I’m 43 years old, and everything looks different. Take a look at the blog — everything is described there in detail. Maybe my story will be similar to yours, or maybe it will inspire you in some way. You’re very welcome to join me.
Luke M.