Riding Past Fear
A bike ride reminder of how action and process turn “I can’t” into “See yaaaaa!”
“You can do it, AJ. You can do it, AJ. You can do it, AJ,” I heard my son whimpering quietly behind me on the tag-along bike attachment. He was scared of biking, and this was our first attempt on the tag-along after years of trying to get him on his own bike with training wheels.
We had given it valid attempts, and after two mildly hurt-filled spills—that he recalled as severely memorable—he refused to get back on a bike. I couldn’t blame him. The thought of falling from my bike at speed and gashing road burns along my arms and body had crossed my mind many times. The only difference between AJ and me was that I had taught myself to ignore these images.
I didn’t want to force him, but the girls and I are bike riders. The activity fills our warm days as we trek around our rec trail community—to school, to parks, to ice cream shops, and to friends. I was making it work with AJ towed in a Burkie, but he was nearing 60 lbs in weight, and pulling him—especially uphill—was getting ridiculous.
I was hopeful when purchasing the tag-along, but the thought of balancing on a bike terrified him. When I showed him the setup, he sobbed. I coaxed him onto the frame while gazing at his tear-streaked face.
“I promise you we won’t fall,” I said. “I promise you I won’t let you fall.”
I had never biked with a tag-along before. I prayed I wasn’t lying to him.
Now, slowly and steadily riding down the path with him at my back, I heard him repeating the mantra I asked him to say if he felt scared: You can do it, AJ. His voice, whispered and shaking, clung to the words like a life vest on stormy waters.
We were on our way to the library, less than a mile from our house—a reasonable goal. We’d bike there and back, with an option to stop half way at Ms. Emily’s house to ride the zip line if we needed it.
We needed it.
Later, we coasted into our driveway and AJ hopped off the bike. We had visited Ms. Emily’s zip line and the library and made it back home without any spills. Still, he was shaken.
“Mama, I don’t want to do that again.”
I dropped to one knee and took him in my arms. “Hey, bud, that was a lot of hard work, and you did so well! Let’s eat some food and see how you feel after sleeping tonight. I think your brain needs some rest.”
Of the things I’ve learned from managing MS Run the US—and the plethora of challenging experiences that happen when a person pushes themselves to their physical and mental limits—it’s this: there’s not much that can’t be managed after a heaping plate of french fries, a shower, and sleep.
The next day after work I saw his bike with training wheels out in the driveway. He had been practicing on his own, Aaron told me—and that’s when I knew we’d made it to the other side of his fear.
Overcoming fear doesn’t have to be complicated—here are a few steps that helped us:
Lower the bar for your first few attempts. Take your overall goal and break it down. If you want to bike to the park, which might be a four-mile round trip, start smaller. Choose a closer destination and work up to your goal. We wanted to bike to the park, and to get there we started with a closer destination—and even that took longer than I thought.
Use words to your advantage. Action moves us through fear, and positive reinforcement helps. We can do things that scare us, and picking a mantra to repeat when the doubting voice gets too loud only accelerates our success.
Replenish, rest, and recover. Our brains need time to reset. Often, the urge to quit shows up when our nervous system is stretched too far and overstimulated. Quitting when you’re exhausted and shaken is easy. I encourage you to wait. Give yourself what you need and revisit it once you’re in a better spot.
Now, AJ begs me to go biking and skips happily to the frame while he buckles on his helmet. He sings from behind me and hollers, “See yaaaaa!” to his sisters when we pass them on the left. He calls himself my “motor motor” while he pumps the pedals and laughs for us to go faster. I can tell he’s proud of himself and is also having a blast.
I feel proud, too.
And each time we bike, I’m reminded that fear shrinks with action, process, and rest. When we create boundaries, consistently take small steps, and create space for recovery, we often find strengths we never knew we had—inside stories we once thought weren’t for us.
