The five-mile ride that changed everything

Dave used to be the kind of person who ran toward danger.

He worked in underwater construction, diving in places most of us would not willingly put a toe.

One story involved being lowered through a manhole in Brooklyn into a pitch-black flooded tunnel.

He was the first person in that tunnel in 110 years.

The water was 40 degrees. His air hoses got caught on debris. The machine pumping warm water into his dive suit quit.

He started getting confused from the cold.

They said they couldn’t send another diver in because it was too dangerous.

So Dave tried to keep moving.

Then he sat down and passed out . . . underwater.

That was Dave before MS.

Fear was not exactly running the show.

But MS was different.

After years of pain, numbness, and misdiagnosis, Dave learned he had multiple sclerosis.

At first, he did what the doctors told him to do: be careful, take it easy, don’t fall, stay inside.

And slowly, his life got smaller.

Then one day, he saw a picture of a friend on a bike and thought maybe that could work.

As Dave said, “I have foot drop. I trip all the time, but a bicycle is rolling.”

So, he went for a five-mile ride in Florida, in the middle of the afternoon.

Which is apparently how you make a hard thing harder.

His first thought was, “This sucks.”

His second thought was, “I’m going to ride 100 miles for MS.”

That is Dave in one paragraph.

I do not have MS.

But my back had been nagging at me, and one Saturday it got bad enough that I finally had to pay attention.

That day, even though Tom and I were the youngest people at lunch, I looked like I was 100.

Every time I stood up or sat down, I had to move slowly and hold on to things like I was auditioning for a medical alert commercial.

Before that, I had been running and lifting weights several days a week.

I loved trying to add a rep or a pound.

Then my back let me know it had not been consulted.

Running and heavy lifting had to pause.

And I had this uncomfortable question:

Will I get back to where I was four months ago?

I still want to. I’m still working toward it.

But I also had to find what I could do right now.

My bikes had been sitting in the garage quietly judging me.

The road bike was easy. I clipped in, and it all came back.

The mountain bike was not like that.

Years ago, I took an 8 week women’s mountain bike class because I thought everyone in Colorado loves mountain biking, I’m sure I will too.

Not true.

I felt like I was trying to pay attention to 1,000 things while failing at 999 of them.

I signed up again the next year, thinking maybe I would be the sophomore in the freshman class.

Instead, I made it to two classes and decided, “I’m done torturing myself.”

So I pulled it out of the garage and turned it into a gravel bike. I can have fun on the flat dirt paths near my house.

Around the same time, my physical therapist Bob suggested swimming.

I hated swimming when I trained for triathlons, but I decided to treat it like a science experiment.

Just get in the pool and see what happens.

To my surprise, I liked it.

Of course, because I am me, I immediately asked ChatGPT for swim workouts and technique drills.

So no, I am not exactly a “go with the flow” person.

But I loved seeing progress again.

A little farther. A little smoother. A little stronger.

That is what Dave’s bike gave him too.

After years of loss, cycling helped him feel like he was progressing again.

Not cured. Not back to who he had been.

But moving.

And that mattered.

One of my favorite things Dave said was about the days he does not want to ride.

He tells himself, “I don’t want to ride,” while he is swinging his leg out of bed.

“What excuse can I give?” while he is putting on his jersey.

“I have to take my daughter to school,” while he is filling his water bottle.

He lets the voice keep talking.

He just doesn’t obey it.

That feels like the lesson.

Find what you can do.

Do it.

Let it count.

And find the people who believe in you. As Dave said, if they don’t, they aren’t your people.

Because even if you don’t hit your goal, you will become stronger, braver, and more alive by going for it.

A week ago, I jumped onto my little step with one riser under it and felt no back pain.

Then I added another riser.

Still no pain.

No one cheered. But I was thrilled.

Because progress is progress.

And sometimes the thing that feels like a setback is actually the doorway into something you forgot you could enjoy.

So maybe ask:

What can I do today that would make me proud?

Then do that.

With love,

Ariel