Fear of Falling

Last week I began telling my story about wanting to learn to ride a bike, and left readers wondering if I would ever actually get on one.  It was now Monday, and the New Bike Riders class was scheduled to begin on Wednesday morning.

At exercise class Monday morning my friend Ginny listened to my concerns about being unable to lift my feet to the pedals and keep my balance.  She offered to accompany me on a practice ride at Lighthouse Field, where the first class session would be held.  We met on a city street near Santa Cruz’s coastal pathway. When we arrived, however, I took one look at the busy bike/pedestrian/dog/baby stroller path, and declared there was no way I was ready enter that traffic stream.

“No problem,” Ginny said. “We can take residential streets to the park.” She shepherded me slowly toward Lighthouse Field via little-traveled streets, watching patiently as I tried to balance the bike and walk it along with my feet instead of actually riding. She didn’t rush me, or coach me to get on with it. Patient people. They are amazing.

I thought the problem of getting my feet on the pedals was because the pedals were metal, and kind of spiky.  The tread on my shoes seemed to be catching on them. Ginny climbed on my bike and demonstrated how to do it.  I tried again. And again. And again.  And eventually I did actually get on that bike and ride it. I was wobbly, but I was on board.

Unfortunately, one success wasn’t enough to extinguish my fear.  Just as in San Diego two years earlier, each time I stopped at an intersection or encountered an object in my way and came off the saddle, the hair on my neck prickled, my heart pounded, and I found myself holding my breath in anticipation of having to mount the bicycle again. Then there was this awkward pushing of the bike forward with my feet then scrambling to get both feet onto the pedals.

When we arrived at Lighthouse Field, Ginny led me along the pathways that criss-cross it, even through the mud puddles and muddy ruts that the recent rains had left.  The absence of cars allowed me to concentrate on the task at hand, and I managed to keep the bike upright. Most of the time.

By the time we rode back to my car, my legs were feeling a little rubbery, but I wasn’t hyperventilating, I wasn’t shaking, and I felt greatly relieved. I hadn’t fallen. I hadn’t been hit by a car.  Seven or eight times I had started from a stopped position, and got my feet successfully on the pedals.  I was going to be able to do this.

Fear of Failing

Apparently I forgot to tell my subconscious.  That night and the next I dreamed of a variety of unlikely scenarios, any one of which would prevent me from attending Wednesday’s class.  I accidentally rode directly into the surf and my bike floated away; I walked out my front door and found that my bike rack had been stolen; as I drove toward class a police blockade rerouted me to Half Moon Bay; it was pouring rain; the waves broke over the scenic pathway and washed me and my bike out to sea; an earthquake created a sink hole in Lighthouse Field and my bike disappeared into it.  I woke up each morning with a start, quivering with adrenaline from whichever nightmare had me in its clutches at the time.

Fear is a tricky thing.  It can twist your emotions all out of proportion to the risk you are actually facing.  I knew that I needed to my anxiety under control if I was going to get anything out of the class the next day, but how?  I went back to the bike shop and bought rubber pedals, and asked the technician to replace the metal ones.  Even if that hadn’t been the issue, it made me feel better.

Once again I watched videos of adults learning to ride bikes. I was comforted that the fear of falling, fear of failing, and difficulty getting both feet on the pedals were common. One video suggested taking the pedals off and learning how to balance the bike without them.  I was also comforted by the idea that I was going to a beginners class, and would have the opportunity to get over these obstacles before I’d be expected to ride on a street with cars.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.  When Wednesday morning arrived I drove to the appointed place and found two very cheerful and competent instructors, a rather large gaggle of “new” riders, but no-one except me who didn’t actually know how to ride.  After taking roll and checking our bikes over, the leaders took off down the road and everyone except me followed them.

That’s when I met Pete Pearson.  He was designated the “sweep,” and would be riding at the back of the pack. Which, it turned out, was me. This kind and patient man accompanied me along the bike path, rather than the road, prompting me to pass pedestrians “on the left” and change gears as needed.  His calm voice soothed my anxiety, and he offered suggestions for safely crossing streets, getting off and on the bike, using a bell to alert dog-walkers, stroller-pushers, etc.   As we rode, I began to feel more confident.  I was sure I couldn’t make it all the way to Wilder Ranch, the goal of the rest of the class, but he somehow got me to agree to leave the bike path and ride through city streets to Kelly’s bakery, where the class would gather later.  He left me there to sip a cappuccino and review what I had learned, then later, after the group joined us, accompanied me at the back of the pack to our starting place.  When we returned to Lighthouse Field he announced that I had just ridden five miles.

Overcoming Fear and Anxiety

Fear has a legitimate function – to act as a signal of imminent danger or threat.  Anxiety is a biological response which often accompanies fear.  D.H. Barlow described anxiety as “a sense of uncontrollability focused largely on possible future threats, danger, or other upcoming potentially negative events, in contrast to fear, where the danger is present and imminent.”

By accepting my fear at face value and patiently teaching me some skills to reduce the likelihood of danger, Pete quite effectively diffused the anxiety that had been getting in my way.  For that I am grateful, because if someone hadn’t shepherded me on that first ride, I would have climbed back into my car and gone home.

In anticipation of our second class I’ve been practicing balancing on my bike, riding around my neighborhood where I feel safe, and reading about bicycling safety on city streets.  (This article was particularly helpful:  Five Tips for Learning to Drive in Traffic.)

I bought a bell to mount on my handlebar; I researched and purchased a U-lock to secure my bike at our next coffee stop.  Gestures like this add to my perception of myself as a bike rider, and builds my confidence.

Just like last week,  I’ve been dreaming about bike riding.  But this time I am sitting on the saddle, riding along a beautiful trail, enjoying the wind on my face.  It might not happen this week or next, but it will happen.

Readers:  What have you done to overcome fear?  How did you feel afterward? Please share your experience in the comments section below

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