At 50 years old, I had never ridden a bicycle. I was able to get away with it as a kid because of a chaotic childhood, and as an adult, my social circle drove cars. “I rode my bike” meant someone had taken out the Harley.

But here I was at 55, about to learn to ride a bike. I’d managed to avoid it for 5 years. I’m still trying to figure out how I made friends with a bunch of beyond middle aged bicycle nuts. What the hell were they trying to prove with their spandex bike shorts and cute helmets and their discussions of resistance and chain rings and tubeless tires? All of a sudden, my fellow couch potatoes had become Lance Armstrong.

I’d avoided it for five years. As they went out on their “trail rides,” i stayed behind and made lunch…sandwiches and snacks and soft drinks for their return. They rushed home for my cornbread.

All that had changed a few months ago, when Sunny had brought her brother and his best friend. Joe’s friend Roy was funny, handsome, and best of all, single. But he loved to ride.

He kept trying to get me to join them, but I kept making excuses. Then yesterday he showed up with a brand new ten-speed bike, pads, and a helmet. “I’m going to teach you how to ride a bike.”

Sitting on the seat for the first time, I shook and sweated and almost cried. Roy held the back of the seat as if I was his six year old learning to ride without training wheels. But he was incredibly patient. All day, he led me around and around. Until he let go. “Noooo! Don’t let go!”

That was yesterday. This morning everything hurt. But I can’t wait to get back on that bike!