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Health & Fitness

Betrayal and Forgiveness

When things you trust let you down

Betrayal is a harsh reality. You never forget it.  If you’ve ever been in a house fire, you are already familiar with that painful stain on your memory. On three separate nights in my childhood I was awakened by family members screaming and yelling to leave the house because it was on fire. I will never forget the feelings associated with those nights.

Perhaps the biggest feeling was betrayal. As a young fourth grader, I surprised even myself at how in touch I was with such a strong emotion, but there was no denying it. I felt miserable because the only home I had ever known, the only house I had ever lived in, had let me down by catching on fire. I stood on our front lawn that night shivering with fear and knowing that it could never be the same sleeping in that house. To this day I am puzzled by the clarity of those thoughts from such a young mind. After we moved and that same scenario played out on consecutive nights a few months into our residency in the new house, I felt the betrayal again. I didn’t like it.

It was much the same scene on that crisp, but enjoyable October morning last fall. Everything was so right on that bike ride. The only wind was a slight breeze to dry my brow. The Bucks County scenery was the stuff New Yorkers come here to witness for themselves. Autumn leaves, covered bridges, cows in their pastures, rolling hills calling me to climb and descend them. It was all so perfect. Ridge Road laid out in front of me with its vistas falling away to my left and right. Bucolic farms and sugar maples filled my eyes.  With every pedal stroke I appreciated the gifts that my bike was giving me that morning. But those pedal strokes got a little tougher with each spin. The strokes became harder, my speed lesser.

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That sensation usually means only one thing to a bike rider. Moments later, I stood over my bike and studied that flattened rear tire and felt two feelings: I was lucky because I had ridden spring and summer without anything more than a minor mechanical incident. But I also felt betrayal. My new bike hadn’t let me down in the five months that I owned it. It was solid. It was safe. I knew I could trust it. Yet here I was 20 miles from home sitting on frost covered leaves on the side of Ridge Road getting ready to change the tube for the first time on what I thought was my dependable bike.

Of course every rider expects to change or patch a tube from time to time. I knew that day was coming. But there was no way to suppress that feeling of betrayal. Up until now that bike and I had been close. We had an understanding. I’d take care of it, and it would take care of me. I lubed its chain and cleaned it and filled its tires and hung it up on the ceiling of the garage out of harm’s way. I held up my end of the bargain.

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Yet here I was getting my fingers greasy changing that darned tube, wasting time on the side of that country road instead of careening down its ample shoulder.

But then a funny thing happened. I changed the tube in a reasonable amount of time, despite the long passage of time since my last tube mishap. I filled it as best I could with my on-board pump. I got up in the saddle and pedaled those first few tenuous strokes keeping a close eye on the tire’s relationship with the pavement, watching to see if their union grew in size. Nope. The tire remained firm and thin against the street.

I would rely on that bike to get me home again, but part of me wasn't sure I could trust it. What choice did I have but to forgive it and hope for the best? I kept going and for about a mile I wondered about everything that can go wrong when changing a tube. Was it pinched against the rim? Did I damage the stem upon filling? Was there still glass inside the tire that would lead to another flat? Nope. Everything seemed to be going well for the time being.

As I made my way over the ubiquitous Bucks County hills toward my home, only once more did I think about that new tube and its continued inflation. I managed to enjoy the rest of the ride.

When I got home and dismounted, I almost forgot about that emotionally dramatic incident on the side of Ridge Road. I only remembered long enough to pull out the bad tube from my saddle bag and set it aside for a patch job.

Later that afternoon my drained aching legs wouldn’t let me forget about the long ride and its trials and travails. But the one feeling that wasn’t there anymore was betrayal. My bike managed to get me home safe. With a little tender loving care, it mustered up the strength to once again deliver me over those hills and back to my door.

It didn’t take long for me to feel safe on it again. In the following weeks I spent many hours on it, again calling for it to guide me down fast descents or stay firm as I punished it up a hard climb. It was there for me each time. It was like the comfort of my childhood bed on those nights after those close-call house fires. The fires hadn’t done enough damage to condemn the houses, so I was right back to sleep there within a few nights after standing on the front lawn shivering with betrayal. Betrayal, it seems, is a strong feeling with the power to get its point across to even a young mind and stow it there for a long time.

However, necessity taught me this lesson...the lesson that forgiveness gets you home.

This post originally appeared on my Livestrong.com Blog at http://tinyurl.com/yexut56

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