PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Here, I am going to write about my experience with cycling. Though I don’t find it to be so interesting, or worth essaying about, when a specific subject that has the potential to be detailed comes to mind, we might fancy it as an opportunity to simply write. And that is the poet’s plight. The weather is nice this time of year, well worth exercising in the pleasant elements. Consider a health boost to get you through the rest of your life. Cycling is right for most everyone. Not only is it super good for you, it is very fun too.

I started cycling when I was a junior in high school. My dad used to be rather round, you see, like a big human balloon. The only difference was that he was nowhere near floating. Gravity grabbed his gut and pulled it on down to the ground. My mom tells me he liked going to bars on business trips and that is why he was so fat. Not because of the beer. Beer doesn’t make you fat. Trust me, I would know. But it was because of his craven inclination to gobble up copious amounts of the fried food you find in those kinds of scenes. He was quick with his temper and fists, so the story goes, and found himself in frequent fights. He didn’t appreciate the other guys who would flirt with my mom. Anyhow, he eventually resolved to turn his habits around and get in shape. Within a year he lost 70 pounds. 

When I reached the age requirement to play tackle football (I had already started flag, running fast and scoring many touchdowns), my dad also signed up as the head coach for our team, which he would lead to become #3 in the country. He would demonstrate the drills for us with impeccable form, high speeds, and supernatural dexterity. 

“Dude, your dad’s a beast,” I remember one of my teammates say to me. And it’s true. He was like a smaller, nimbler version of The Rock, whom he actually played football with in college. They were a really good team those years, and have their championship rings to show as proof, which my dad loved to do. He had two. They were like giant gemstone pieces to some gaudy gauntlet.

I somehow grew to distaste the sport. I call it a lack of ambition. Perhaps an act of rebellion.

I participated onto a few years through high school, but only because my dad demanded it. Although dispassionate, I still landed myself the best positions (first running back, first corner back). After a while I finally decided to quit. My father was very disappointed. And this was around when the cycling era of my life spurred into giddy, or rather pedaled into motion. After all, I still needed a way of exerting that youthful energy.