Post Nubila, Phoebus
I'm going to a camp that teaches people with disabilities how to ride bikes. I never learned as a kid. Until yesterday, I'd never so much as been on a bike, ever, in my 32 years of life.
Apparently I am less elastic than a ten year old. I think I have bruises on my bruises!
But it's really, really awesome. It's so difficult it's terrifying... but just when I think "this is impossible, fuck it all," I get it and everything is suddenly awesome.
The training bikes we're on (they don't have training wheels, but they do have weird things like a roller instead of a back wheel) have a handle on the back that a spotter holds to keep you from falling. I thought that they were holding me up with it yesterday except a couple times when I wiped out. Then I saw the picture of me from yesterday and realized they hadn't been holding me at all.
Which made me proud, but then today when I was trying to do it all again I was terrified and almost frozen with fear even though I'd done it already: No one is holding me up. No one is holding me up. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.
The funny thing was, though, I was doing it. Petrified and convinced I'd fall again, doing lap after lap without wiping out on a single turn.
And I think that's something I'll remember: sometimes we do what we have to, even when we're drowning. Sometimes we're in the middle of doing it, even when we're still telling ourselves we can't. I just kept thinking Okay, okay, I'm afraid. That's all right, as long as I'm staying up.
And then, slowly, it went away.
Of course, just when I feel amazed and proud and like Yes, I can do this, they make it harder. And by harder I mean Fuck it, now I'm falling down every two minutes all over again flavor harder.
Tomorrow scares me.
And will be awesome.
It's funny. I read posts from people in the disability community who are all "Don't call me inspiring." And I get it. But when I do stuff like this every couple years -- stuff that seems crazy even to me, stuff that I do to prove to myself and others that I can and I will -- I do think it's inspiring. It reaches through my life and makes me strong, everywhere. For me, it's not about "trying to be like the ABs" or "trying to impress them." Even the two-wheeler I'll graduate to at the end of the week (oh God oh God that's insane and I must be crazy what the hell am I doing I signed up to do this I have to do this I want to do this to hell with giving up) will not be a standard one, it will be an adapted one so that I can safely mount it and dismount from it.
It is about liking challenges, about never feeling more alive than when I take them on. It's about living like I want to be living.
I like it when people tell me they see that, and like that, and admire that. I'm probably doing crip politics all wrong, but facing my fears makes me feel good, and I'm glad to see others feel good seeing me do it.
Apparently I am less elastic than a ten year old. I think I have bruises on my bruises!
But it's really, really awesome. It's so difficult it's terrifying... but just when I think "this is impossible, fuck it all," I get it and everything is suddenly awesome.
The training bikes we're on (they don't have training wheels, but they do have weird things like a roller instead of a back wheel) have a handle on the back that a spotter holds to keep you from falling. I thought that they were holding me up with it yesterday except a couple times when I wiped out. Then I saw the picture of me from yesterday and realized they hadn't been holding me at all.
Which made me proud, but then today when I was trying to do it all again I was terrified and almost frozen with fear even though I'd done it already: No one is holding me up. No one is holding me up. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.
The funny thing was, though, I was doing it. Petrified and convinced I'd fall again, doing lap after lap without wiping out on a single turn.
And I think that's something I'll remember: sometimes we do what we have to, even when we're drowning. Sometimes we're in the middle of doing it, even when we're still telling ourselves we can't. I just kept thinking Okay, okay, I'm afraid. That's all right, as long as I'm staying up.
And then, slowly, it went away.
Of course, just when I feel amazed and proud and like Yes, I can do this, they make it harder. And by harder I mean Fuck it, now I'm falling down every two minutes all over again flavor harder.
Tomorrow scares me.
And will be awesome.
It's funny. I read posts from people in the disability community who are all "Don't call me inspiring." And I get it. But when I do stuff like this every couple years -- stuff that seems crazy even to me, stuff that I do to prove to myself and others that I can and I will -- I do think it's inspiring. It reaches through my life and makes me strong, everywhere. For me, it's not about "trying to be like the ABs" or "trying to impress them." Even the two-wheeler I'll graduate to at the end of the week (oh God oh God that's insane and I must be crazy what the hell am I doing I signed up to do this I have to do this I want to do this to hell with giving up) will not be a standard one, it will be an adapted one so that I can safely mount it and dismount from it.
It is about liking challenges, about never feeling more alive than when I take them on. It's about living like I want to be living.
I like it when people tell me they see that, and like that, and admire that. I'm probably doing crip politics all wrong, but facing my fears makes me feel good, and I'm glad to see others feel good seeing me do it.