Riding Uphill

If nothing else, what I have gained in nearly 3 years of recovery is a better perspective.

Some years ago, I trained for and rode in the MS 150, which is a 2 day 150 mile bike ride to benefit the Multiple Sclerosis Society. One of the things that I learned is that training for something physical is 90% mental. Part of training, as well as the ride itself, is hills. Now, on a perfectly flat surface, it's fairly easy, if one's muscles are used to it, to ride at a good clip for a long way. However, I don't live in Kansas, I live in Wisconsin; which means part of the ride is going to include some hills. Riding uphill is tough. It hurts. I did learn that riding as hard as I can to the top, where my chest hurts, I can hardly breathe, and I think I might have to call 911, is not the best way to train on hills. The best way, for me, is to not look too far ahead, gear down, and send conscious signals to my legs to pump, pump, pump. I don't enjoy hills. I do know that practicing on hills makes them easier to climb, but I still don't look forward to the challenge. They're tough, and I don't really feel like doing tough things. 

So why do it? Because it's part of riding, and overall I enjoy riding. That's just the way it is. Also, riding the hills gives me a sense of accomplishment, and it makes me stronger and healthier. Also, usually, once I get to the top of a hill, there is a downhill portion in which I can go fast and pedal lightly, or not pedal at all. The ride downhill is the reward for the ride uphill. Sometimes, after the top of a hill, there's a plateau and then another hill. Do I stop, get off my bike, sit down on the side of the road and cry? Sometimes I feel like it, but no, I don't. Somewhere down the line there's going to be the downhill coast, where I can go 25 mph (or faster) using only gravity. It's there. But I never would have found that if I had quit (like I felt like doing) on the uphill portion.

Often people on a spiritual path in recovery, like myself, find points in life where life seems so easy! It's wonderful! Everything's going my way! And then we come to a hill. Or maybe even something that seems like a brick wall. And we falter. Often, to someone who is new in recovery, this time of struggle can be a big enough letdown to cause that person to give up. But if one has the support of people who have been there, one may get enough courage to see the struggle through. Sometimes, if a person has God as their Higher Power, they might feel that God has abandoned them. Things were going so good! And then God just pulled the rug out! Wtf! If one doesn't at least believe there is a purpose to or a reason for the struggle, one can be inclined to give up. Or think they've lost their connection, or they're no longer spiritual, or they're not even in recovery because they're not feeling it. But the struggle is exactly like the hill on a bicycle ride, and if one shortens their vision to what is in front of them, and keeps moving one step at a time, that person finds their way to the other side, to the 'blessing'. And then they're feeling it again! Personally, I don't believe God hands out struggles. I think I have things to learn, that are mine to learn, on this journey. And I have come to the conclusion that I can learn them now, or learn them in the next lifetime. The next lifetime is unknown to me, so it's preferable (really the lesser of two evils right now) for me to learn in the here and now, where at least I have some idea of what's going on.

I went to a work function tonight. It was a really nice evening that turned out well. People enjoyed themselves, I was surrounded by a lot of really great people, many of whom are friends of mine, the food was good, awards were handed out, and it was as enjoyable as last year's function. And you know what? I wasn't feeling it. But, because of the experience I've gained in recovery, I didn't behave like I wasn't feeling it. Recovery teaches me to suit up and show up, almost without exception. I could show up and do my part well and not have to miss it or piss on anyone's parade because I wasn't feeling it. In the past, I would have taken the way I felt as a sign that I'm not really in recovery, I'm just a big fake, and I'm really a useless piece of shit that might as well not even be here. I don't have to take it that way anymore. Today I can recognize a symptom of my dis-ease - one of the symptoms of depression is not being able to get pleasure from pleasurable things. Anything that I would have done tonight to change the way I felt would have made things much much worse. Instead, what I've learned to do is to carry on - to continue that uphill ride, whether my body or my brain is telling me, "Give up! Stop! Lay your bike down, sit down, and cry!" Because my soul knows that after this hill, if there's not a downhill run, there's at least a plateau before the next hill.

We honored a lot of people tonight, and one of the awards we give is named for a person who died from his illness. His memory lives on. And, to be very honest, I considered whether it would be better for me to be a memory. My decision right now is that it would not; there are people in my life whose lives I touch in a positive way. There are living people who are genuinely appreciative of my presence. So even when I'm not feeling it, I know that my life - that I - make a positive difference on Earth today. 

And the way I felt, or have been feeling recently, is not indicative of the quality of my recovery. When first riding the bicycle, even the slightest uphill grade feels tough. After a few hills, we tackle bigger ones. I was out in Colorado once during some bike race, and these guys (and gals, too) were riding up and down this mountain. I can't even imagine! But I saw it, so it must be possible. 

Sometimes I wonder if my dis-ease it not so much battling or struggling through the lows as it is learning to get rid of the unrealistic idea that life should (there's that s-word, indicative of an unrealistic expectation) be easy. If someone else's life looks easy to me, it only means that I haven't bothered to investigate. In The Road Less Traveled,  M Scott Peck wrote, “Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult - once we truly understand and accept it - then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.” 

So, no, the way I feel is not necessarily reflective of the quality of my recovery, the quality of my life. It can be an indicator that I need to change something, or it could just be an indicator that I'm going through a growth period right now, and the (temporarily) easy ride is just over the hill.

The truth of the matter is that it doesn't matter what I feel like; what matters is how I show up. And I showed up today, and I'm very grateful I did. My feelings, in this case, do not reflect reality. Reality is in what I do. And, to me, that's recovery.

Namasté, 

Ken