Motorcycle Mama!

Earlier this summer, and under some influence from my boyfriend, I decided to learn to ride a motorbike. This was not something I had ever seriously considered but Marc had recently purchased a dual sport bike (read: street and logging roads) and was looking for another riding partner. We started dreaming about what was possible if I got my license – new adventures for camping, possibilities of touring the country by bike, saving money on gas, etc. We had a month of vacation coming up and the idea of buying me a motorbike instead of buying plane tickets really made sense. We would simply do some touring within the province, maybe head north to the Alaska if time permitted.

It seemed the time had come for me to learn to drive on two wheels. I dutifully went down to Motor Vehicles and got my “Learn to Ride” manual. Two weeks later I was the proud recipient of my learner’s permit, and two weeks after that, I was standing in front of a Honda Nighthawk 250 with 4 other people, ready to take on learning to ride these machines. We had already completed 2 evenings of classroom learning, where I not only reviewed the rules of the road, I began to deal with a lot of noise in my head that sounded a lot like “OMG, what am I doing here? This is WAY TOO DANGEROUS for me!” Because this was a safety course, there was a lot of emphasis on risk management, and how to avoid potential dangerous situations. This meant there was a lot of discussion of dangerous situations! No wonder I was beginning to have a minor freak-out. Each night after class I would drive home, keenly aware of signs, lines and potential hazards. I was beginning to drive like a biker. 

On the actual riding days, we began in an enclosed parking lot. Nothing but some painted lines, some chalk drawings and a few pylons. Seemed safe enough. We began with learning how to get on a bike. Strange though it seemed at the time, there is a way, and then there is a safe way. I was beginning to see the pattern here. From mounting the bikes, we learned how to work the clutch and throttle together, slowly moving the bikes around the lot. From there it was figure 8’s and u-turns, all in first gear, all going very, very slowly. Meanwhile the noise in my head was getting louder and louder, and the pressure to get it right became so unbearable at one point, I stopped the bike, took off my helmet and burst into tears in front of my instructor. A short break, a coaching conversation by email with a good friend, some food and water, and I went back to the bike with a new attitude. This was supposed to be fun, and I wasn’t giving myself any room to experience the thrill of learning to ride. I had been too focused on getting it all perfect because of our impending trip. Inside of the coaching I received, I saw that I was afraid of disappointing Marc - if I didn’t learn enough in the course, we wouldn’t be doing a bike tour. I also saw how ridiculous that was, because really, if I wasn’t confident enough to take on a ride like we planned, I needed to be able to say that without fear of repercussion. Ultimately I knew Marc wanted me safe and alive, not lying in a ditch somewhere because I hadn’t successfully navigated a corner or something else. What I also saw was that we could still have our holiday, it would just be on 4 wheels instead of 2 and it would still be great. With a deep breath, I got back on the bike, and spent the remainder of the day focused on the instruction and putting it all together. By the end of the afternoon I was successfully making tight u-turns, gearing up and down and practicing emergency stops

Midway through Day 2, we had our ICBC Skills Assessment test. This involved riding through a course of pylons set up for slow riding, u-turns, zigzagging (so much fun!), 90 degree corners and emergency stops in 2nd gear. Although I didn’t score a perfect mark (what is that about perfection??), I did pass the first time through. My second test was now complete; all that remained was the road test.

That afternoon we went out riding on the road. Along the coastline and through the city we navigated tourists, pedestrians, buses and construction. We went around blind corners and up and down big hills. We merged onto the highway and used the off ramps. We took turns leading the group, and riding in other positions of staggered formation. Just when I was feeling super confident, I was involved in one very short moment of terror. Thank goodness for me I was the only one involved, but it was enough to have my confidence shaken, and again, have to deal with that dreaded voice (which was beginning to sound more and more like my mom every time!). A short moment to breathe, my riding buddy and I assessed the situation and got back out on the road, riding to catch up with our group. I finished the ride, but when we got back to the parking lot where we had started, I was done for the day. And when I got home, I burst into tears, allowing the shock of the incident to hit me. Talking it out with Marc, letting the tears flow, I figured I was over it. Not quite. Two days later, after a couple of sleepless nights, I was overcome with tightness in my chest and a strong urge to cry off and on throughout my workday.

Now I know that in the past, that would have been it. I would have called it quits and shut down any possibility of even riding a motorbike again. I would have blamed Marc, there would have been a fight, and I would have effectively put a wedge in my relationship, driving us apart. This time, however, I called another coach, one who drives a motorbike. He gave me an exercise to do, a meditation that would allow me to dissipate the charge of the situation. When I was finished with the exercise, I tested it by talking to Marc about it – no tightness, no tears, no charge. Later in the evening a conversation with another rider (and coach) got me to see that stuff like that happens on bikes, and it wasn’t about me or my riding skills. I woke up this morning filled with a sense of freedom and joy, and astonishment that I had actually really truly learned how to ride. What there was for me to do now was practice! Reframing my incident from “scary” to “a story to share with other riders over beer” has not only taken 95% of the charge from the incident, it has given me a new and healthy respect for motorcycles, as well as a reminder to never take my safety for granted.

So here I am - a hot, wild and powerful motorcycle mama and I have the scarf to prove it! Ride on!

Creating a Life Dreamline

I had a realization earlier this week that my sense of adventure had gone to sleep, I had become an “armchair dreamer” and I was living life in the safe lane again. This actually really distressed me as I thought I had really taken big steps forward in being powerful in life and no longer letting fear dictate what I do and don’t do. And when I reflect on what I have accomplished in the past 2 or 3 years, I can see that I really HAVE taken some pretty big steps forward. I recently completed a Masters Degree in a program I have been wanting to take for almost 15 years, I have created an amazing and wonderful relationship with the man of my dreams (and that was NOT going that way), we bought our dream home over a year ago, and I’ve taken trips to New York, the Bahamas, and Mexico. I’m also currently working on getting my motorcycle license, buying a motorbike and planning a road trip (on our bikes) throughout BC in September.


But, (there’s that word again!), it kind of occurs like those accomplishments are just business as usual for me, and I know there are things that are important to me that I have NOT done. A few days ago I had a conversation with my friend Rita about my sleepy sense of adventure and she asked if I had a written list of what I wanted out of life. You know, a bucket list. I remember starting one a couple of years ago, but after diligently writing out a short list, it got shelved and forgotten about. That’s not to say I haven’t been thinking about those things that I want out of life, I had, but I just hadn’t written them down. Funny thing is, I always think I will remember what it is I want so I don’t need to write it down (just like I thought I would remember all those sweet moments I had with my children!). Yet, when it comes time to putting pen to paper, I am hard-pressed to recall my dreams.

Rita, being someone who is a dream supporter (and someone who is always working on her own list), requested that I immediately begin writing out a list. Her instructions were just write everything down on a piece of paper, and then later, get a journal just for the list. So I did, I started writing out the list. And, true to form, I couldn’t remember all those things I knew I had said I wanted to do in my life. However, knowing I had shared some of it with Rita, I asked her to remind me of those things. (PS. this is another reason for writing your own list ongoingly. One shouldn’t rely on others to remember your own dreams!) The goal is to hit 100 items, and then while you are crossing things off, keep adding to the bottom.

So now I have my journal, and I am calling this my “Life Dreamline.” I found the original list I started a while back and transferred those dreams into the new book. I’m up to 40 items, and without realizing, I had already accomplished 4 of those things and can cross them off. I climbed the Empire State Building and attended a play on Broadway in October 2008. I got my MA in Leadership earlier this year. I started a blog. And there are 36 more items (and counting) to take on.


This is actually really fun and I’m excited to keep adding to my list. The journal travels everywhere with me, ready to be added to at a moment’s notice. Just this morning I wrote down “See the Northern Lights in Alaska.” And now that I’ve been bitten by the dreamline bug, I’d love to know, what is on your dreamline? Go ahead, write it down. Write it down and then make it happen.


PS. If you want to read about some of Rita’s list, have a look at her blog here: http://cinderitaadventures.blogspot.com/

Return to the heat

The alarm goes off at 5:00 this morning. A 6 a.m. hot yoga class was in my plans for the day. I haven’t practiced in over two years but since my wipe-out at the gym last week, I needed something a little less strenuous on my ankle and still get the benefits of a good work-out. Bikram yoga was what I wanted.

The first thing that hit me as I climb the stairs to the studio was the heat. Of course I knew I’d be working out in a heated studio, but somehow that fact had failed to register in my consciousness until that moment. I enter the quiet space, many people already there ahead of me, lying quietly on their mats, preparing their minds and bodies for the next 90 minutes. I choose my space on the floor and lay out my mat and towel. One last sip of water and the class begins.

Bikram yoga begins with a pranayama breathing exercise designed to oxygenate your body and prepare you for your practice. Counting to 6, we breathe in, locking our hands together under our chin and stretch our elbows to the ceiling. We hold for a second and then expel, also on a count of 6. As I breathe in and out, I feel my lungs expanding, taking in more air with each breath. I wonder why I don’t breathe like this everyday. I mean, I breathe of course, but for the most part, my breath is short and shallow. Nothing like the deep, life-giving breaths I was taking in during the first 90 seconds of my 90 minute class. From breathing, we move to stretching, beginning with our spines. The first few stretches are painful, my body is stiff from sleep and the blood is not really moving very much. However, with each pose, I feel strong, my heart beats faster, and how I breathe throughout the class determines how my practice goes.

The studio is heated to 105ºF with a humidity of 40%. My body is dripping with sweat before the first breathing posture is complete. The whole class consists of only 26 poses, everything done twice. There is a standing series followed a series of poses on our mat. Each pose is designed to stretch or contract different parts of your body. The teacher talks you through each pose and I hear her say the same thing over and over – lock out your knee, suck in your stomach, breathe through your nose. Of course there is a lot more being said, but this is what I mainly hear today. I find the floor series more challenging than the standing poses. As we stretch backward, and then forward, I feel my heart beating a little faster and I must concentrate hard on my breath or risk getting dizzy and nauseous.

My least favourite pose today is Camel. As I lean backwards on my knees to grab my ankles, my rib cage expands and it feels like I am going to pass out. This doesn’t surprise me. Camel pose exposes your heart; it is the most vulnerable pose of all. This morning I talk myself through the stretch – there is no risk, nothing is wrong. After the second time, I lie down for savasana and my heart beat slows slightly. This is my favourite pose – savasana, or dead body pose. It’s a 20 second rest period between each floor posture, allowing the blood to rush back into the area we have just been working on. I am really good at this one. In fact, the reason I practice hot yoga is for the final savasana of the session. 

The session is over. As I lie on the floor, in a slightly darkened studio (they turn off the lights at the end), I close my eyes and release all tension from my body, revelling in the fact that my body has completed another session of what can sometimes only be described as pure torture. You might ask why I participate in something like this. I could list off many of the health benefits but a sign at the entrance of the yoga studio says it all.

I never promised it would be easy.

I only said it would be worth it.

                                -Bikram Choudhury

Namaste.