For the purposes of this blog, I'm separating them out. Kind of like teasing out the separate strands of knotted yarn. Especially when they're all different colours connected to different skeins each of which will be used (eventually) for a different purpose.
So right now, we're looking at one skein, one colour of yarn. A vibrant one. A necessary one. One which brings joy to my life. One which makes me feel vibrant and alive.
A happy place.
One which has been significant on my personal road to recovery post workplace abuse.
Cycling.
*****
In my life I tend to go with the flow. I start out with a plan but then it kind of morphs into it's own thing.
Take cycling for instance.
What started as a simple goal to get out of my house and become more active morphed into a journey of sorts.
A journey of adventure.
It began with a parking lot cycling round and round and round again - in both directions.
Then it morphed into challenging myself to master what we locally call the Lancaster Hill - because it's a steepish hell on Lancaster Street.
I mastered that hill - once - two years in succession. On my first mastery, I found myself sitting on large rocks outside the Tim Hortons which sits at the top of this hill breathing heavily, resting to get enough strength to go back down the hill and home.
I stopped a passer by who gladly agreed to capture this moment of victory on my cell phone.
I'm inordinately proud of every milestone I make on this road to recovery. Especially this one on this bike.
She's exactly what I need to be able to ride again, but she is one heavy sucker. She's also not as manoeuvrable as a two-wheeled bike.
What can I say?
She gets the job done.
By the way, she now has a name: Freedom Hope.
Just in case you're interested.
What started as a simple goal to get out of my house and become more active morphed into a journey of sorts.
A journey of adventure.
It began with a parking lot cycling round and round and round again - in both directions.
Then it morphed into challenging myself to master what we locally call the Lancaster Hill - because it's a steepish hell on Lancaster Street.
I mastered that hill - once - two years in succession. On my first mastery, I found myself sitting on large rocks outside the Tim Hortons which sits at the top of this hill breathing heavily, resting to get enough strength to go back down the hill and home.I stopped a passer by who gladly agreed to capture this moment of victory on my cell phone.
I'm inordinately proud of every milestone I make on this road to recovery. Especially this one on this bike.
She's exactly what I need to be able to ride again, but she is one heavy sucker. She's also not as manoeuvrable as a two-wheeled bike.
What can I say?
She gets the job done.
By the way, she now has a name: Freedom Hope.
Just in case you're interested.
I have a fertile imagination. That fertile imagination led me - and my bike along with my long sufferin', ever lovin' husband - to Tobermory, Ontario at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula.
No major reason except that I just wanted to and that Tobermory is part of my "comfort zone" in ways as we've been there many times over the past
The weekend that worked for us turned out to be the weekend of Tobermory's annual ChiCheemaun festival named after the ferry which takes people and vehicles across Georgian Bay on one side and Lake Huron on the other to Manitoulin Island and from there to the Trans Canada Highway.
Cycling Tobermory was more of a challange than I had bargained for.
For one thing there were hills. Lots of them. All over the place.
Riding an adapted bike has it's good qualities - and it's negative ones. It's not as maneuverable as a two-wheeled bike. It's not lean and mean. More like overweight and clumsy.
It does get the job done, but has it's own challenges. I discovered much to my chagrin that some of the roads are built on a slant.
My bike with that extra pair of wheels on the bike doesn't do slants. It tends to develop a mind of it's own and go one way or the other. Hence the middle picture. Freedom Hope bucked me off. Fortunately it was a soft landing.
It was hysterical.
One of the best experiences I've had in my journey of recovery.
In addition, while talking with the family who built the duck boat, I discovered that a huge, six story tall rubber duck was coming to Toronto Harbour for Canada's 150th anniversary of Confederation.
Which led to another adventure.
Not to Toronto. Oh no. Hubby does not like big cities. However, we discovered that this giant rubber duck was going to make a short tour of Ontario.The next stop after Toronto was Owen Sound which is a day trip for us.
We got there early. And just walked around. Me with my camera around my neck taking pictures of anything that caught my fancy.
No, I didn't have my bike with me. I did have my camera and my hubby - which were just as good. Actually, even better.
Just going out and doing things makes a huge difference on the road to recovery.
Looking at the pictures aka memories aka endorphins of that day keeps the journey alive.
The journey that is not just about cycling but about reclaiming what I lost in the workplace: ME!
After all is said and done, I can definitely say: "I saw the Rubber duck".
And I'll even let you touch me.
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