I would consider myself an outdoorsy person – I love to be outside. After a late night out, myself and two others decided to wake up early and sweat out toxins while gliding through the meadows of Central Park. The idea sounded perfect to me, even though part of me wanted to stay in bed.
Growing up in the middle of nowhere has some perks. My brothers and I used to ride our bikes freely on the main roads of my town, and there wouldn’t be a car in sight for miles. It’s things like this that really make me miss my hometown, but I am grateful for the fact that parks in New York are set up for fellow bike riders, like myself.
We biked around the entire perimeter of Central Park. It was so big, that even after an hour we were still making our way uptown. After a few water breaks, we were getting ready to go downtown.
Exhausted, I was still peddling with force, until I saw the biggest hill I have ever seen in New York City (I might have been hallucinating – I was that tired). While the two others I was with steadily made their way up, I gave them the universal hand wave for “Go on without me” and slowly started peddling. In the middle of my concentration, I felt a sharp tug on my back tire, and all of a sudden, I was down. I just fell off a bike in the middle of central park; bleeding, and my hit-and-run partner had biked off like it was no big deal. The guy selling $1 bottles of water offered me some ice, however, I decided to just look straight ahead and march up that huge hill so I could go home already.
When I got to the top, the two others with me were sitting under a tree. They joked “What, did you fall?!” I smirked “Yeah actually I did.”
When we returned our bikes that day, I seriously questioned my love of the outdoors. Did I actually enjoy that? Is the blood on my hands worth it?
But it was. I got to spend the day with two awesome people, and I toned my thighs. Worth it.
By Chelsea Buranich