23/09/2025
๐ฏ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐?
Eleven months.
That's how long it's been since I took a break from cycling.
๐ ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ฎ๐ฑ ๐ถ๐ป๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ป๐ . . ๐ฎ ๐บ๐ผ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ถ๐๐ . . ๐ป๐ผ๐ ๐ท๐๐๐ ๐ฐ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ, ๐ฏ๐๐ ๐๐ผ ๐ฐ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ต๐ถ๐ ๐ต๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฏ๐ฟ๐๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฎ๐ด๐ฎ๐ถ๐ป๐๐ ๐บ๐ ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ฑ๐, ๐ฎ๐น๐น ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ฑ๐ผ๐๐ป ๐๐ผ ๐บ๐ ๐น๐ฒ๐ด๐.
It wasnโt a bump or a scrapeโit was a feeling, a moment of physical contact that felt like a violation. In that split second, a part of me broke, not a bone, but the carefree confidence Iโd always had on two wheels.
For a long time, the trauma wasnโt just a memory; it was a physical weight. Every time I thought about getting back on the road bike, a cold dread would snake through me. I'd remember the sound of the engine, the feeling of that touch, and the terrifying, helpless thought that I had no control. My bike, once a symbol of freedom, became a source of fear. It sat in our living room, collecting dust and I even posted it for sale.
But time doesnโt just heal; it makes you restless. I missed the open road, the burn in my legs on a long climb along Sumulong Highway to Cloud 9 resto, the feeling of flying on a smooth descent from Antipolo City. I missed the quiet moments of solitude and the camaraderie of group rides. I knew I couldnโt let one personโs carelessness take that away from me forever. I had to ride again, not just for the exercise, but to reclaim my freedom and my sanity.
My first ride was a struggle. I didn't go far, and I didnโt go fast. I stuck to quiet, familiar roads I knew like the back of my hand.
I felt like a beginner all over again, wobbly and unsure. It was frustrating, and there were times I wanted to just turn around and go home.
But with each pedal stroke, something shifted. I started to focus on the feeling of the wind on my face instead of the fear in my stomach. I noticed the trees, the changing light, the small details I'd been too anxious to see. I started to trust my own instincts and my ability to navigate the road safely. I learned to anticipate, to be aware, and to hold my line with conviction.
๐ง๐ต๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฟ ๐ต๐ฎ๐๐ปโ๐ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐๐ฎ๐ฝ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐บ๐ฝ๐น๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐น๐. ๐๐ ๐บ๐ถ๐ด๐ต๐ ๐ฎ๐น๐๐ฎ๐๐ ๐ฏ๐ฒ ๐ฎ ๐๐บ๐ฎ๐น๐น ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐บ๐ ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ฒ๐
๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฒ๐ป๐ฐ๐ฒ ๐ป๐ผ๐. ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐ ๐ป๐ผ ๐น๐ผ๐ป๐ด๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐ฐ๐ผ๐ป๐๐ฟ๐ผ๐น๐ ๐บ๐ฒ. ๐๐โ๐ ๐ฏ๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ป ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐น๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฏ๐ ๐ฎ ๐พ๐๐ถ๐ฒ๐ ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ป๐ด๐๐ต ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฎ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐ป๐ฒ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ฎ๐ฑ.
Getting back on the bike wasnโt just about conquering a physical challenge; it was about confronting a mental one. It was about proving to myself that I am resilient, that I can overcome fear, and that I deserve to feel safe doing something I love.
The road is a little different now.
Iโm a little different now.
But the joy?
Thatโs still there. And thatโs what matters most.
09.21.25 | Back in the saddle | brain dump
