There is a certain psychological aspect of cycling that I’ve always felt deep down and have recently begun to analyze. As I think about it and put the feeling into language and words, I realize that this feeling applies to more than just cycling; to varying degrees it applies to my every action in my life.
For analytical purposes I have given this feeling a name: The Fear.
I feel it before and after I ride. I feel it when I think about being on the bike, thinking about my past experiences and the unknown experiences that await me. There are so many factors that present real mortal danger to a cyclist, from vehicle traffic to road conditions to mechanical breakdown. A sudden unavoidable patch of sand and dirt or a blown front tire or a brake failure could be disastrous on a 40+ mph downhill. Inattentive drivers, drunks, and event the occasional bike ninja are constant hazards.
Yet as soon as I mount my bike, The Fear is gone.
When I’m riding, brain cycles that might be used to process The Fear are instead dedicated to constantly evaluating my immediate environment, analyzing possible hazards, calculating escape routes, and somewhere in there enjoying the simple fun of cycling.
This whole week I’ve been feeling a strange anxiousness, like a mild but chronic panic attack. I have the feeling that something is very wrong, that terrible events are unfolding but I have no idea what’s happening. Last night when I got home from my commute, this feeling became more and more intense. I could barely pay attention to the TV because the stress was so great, and I realized I was sitting with all of my muscles tensed. I finally told the wife how I felt and part of the stress seemed to go away. Verbalizing the feeling helped to neutralize it.
I think what I was feeling was The Fear.
Moreover, I see that The Fear pertains to every aspect of my life. While I was sitting on the couch watching TV, I should have been decompressing. Instead I was thinking ahead to tomorrow’s workday: the vague constant social awkwardness of cube farm life and a very real conference call to discuss project status. I was also thinking of the stress of the day: once again the constant social awkwardness of work, stuck in a cube with no way to escape lame coworker conversation, and the little annoyances of commuting with drivers who don’t want to share the road or acknowledge my right of way.
And instead of actually doing these things, I was living them through the complicating filter of my many neuroses. It’s not that my brain is complicated; it’s that my brain adds complication, and sitting at the base of all that complication is The Fear.
I think The Fear is an overdeveloped reptilian brain function. It’s a fight-or-flight response to the modern technological society in which I live my life. And it’s getting in the way. If I am consumed by The Fear, I can’t focus on anything productive. When I’m focused on a specific activity, The Fear is gone.
