You Can Work Hard, But It's Never Hard Work

There’s a first time for everything in life. We don’t always remember every event, but there are certain moments that remain with us as memories throughout life. Everyone has a special and unique story to tell about the things that are near and dear to them, events of the past that upon reflection, seem to have such a direct influence upon who we have become.

I honestly do not recall the first time I learned to ride a bike, but it does appear on a family video somewhere. Unfortunately it does foreshadow my tendency to become upset with inanimate objects when I collide with them, but at least I knew how to be safe, with an oversized helmet, knee pads and elbow pads. Sure I looked ridiculous but mom would have it no other way.

Moving forward now to a certainly more vivid memory, my first “real bike.” I was thirteen at the time and I felt as though I would like to get serious about cycling. At this point, the sport was still a foreign concept to me. I did not know any cyclists, but I simply enjoyed riding around town or along the local bike path and I thought that a new road bike would simply be great.

My first road bike, which satisfied the whims of a thirteen year old.

Weighing in at thirty pounds, with stem mounted lever shifters, plastic Shimano componentry, and a beautiful Chinese crafted aluminum frame; I had found the bike of my dreams. Yes, it was a department store “NEXT” road bike, but it was the only thing I could reasonably afford. After all, I would have to invest in some real bike shorts and jersey along with a slick helmet to match this beauty. Priced at $150, I knew I could get this bike, but first I had to earn it.

I got a job working for a landscaping company, illegally employed at the age of thirteen, earning five dollars an hour, paid in cash. My parents did not know I had taken the job and when I would go in to work, I told them I was hanging out with friends. It was a tough time in my life, but I knew I had to make the money somehow if I were to afford the things I wanted. I worked for about two months with this job, quitting before summer ended. Before school began, I bought my bike and my gear with the money I earned and I just remember how happy I was to have what I thought was a really awesome bike at the time.

I actually still have that bike, or at least the frame and some pieces of it. It’s quite literally a piece of shit as I have now come to realize, but I’ve held onto it because it has such sentimental value to me. It reminds me of who I am and where I come from. It serves as a reminder for me to realize just how fortunate I am to now have the things I once only dreamed of having, even though they may not even be the best. It’s simply having the opportunity and the privilege to do something I enjoy that makes me happy with what I have.

I have always thought that you can work hard on the bike, but it’s never hard work. Sure, some elite cyclist might spit in my face and tell me otherwise, but from my perspective, if you’re working for or doing something that you love and enjoy, then it simply isn’t hard work. Although at times it may feel like a struggle, life could be very much different. The simple fact that you are lucky as to be able to engage in something you enjoy when many others may not be, is provoking enough for me to shut up and stop complaining about any race or event that did not go my way. I’m simply content with riding my bike.