That Sparks My Spokes
Those rare fleeting moments, they’ll appear out of nowhere. Will you react with speed fast enough to ride the spark or will it ride away with its head bowed in regret?
But a wink of an eye and the moment is gone. In its path there lies a spark of opportunity. How fast do the spokes of your mind turn? And then, are you astute enough to act upon the spark instantly, or, will it forevermore be filed away under Should-have-dones with a capital S?
I am luckier than most and quick to discern hidden opportunities, however, I frequently miss their mark. The wheels of my mind process well enough; it’s the freefall into breathless hesitation and indecision which spurs my shot off target.
You Look Fantastic!
I was biking when suddenly I heard someone calling me. Caught off guard and lost in a private world of my own, I asked the woman walking her dog to repeat herself. Believe me when I say that I was bewildered to hear the lady in pink bellow out of nowhere: “You look fantastic!” It was the first of the intermediate days (chol hamoad) of the Passover holiday. Lucky me, I had already been doubly blessed with both a crisp morning wildflower spring ride and a song of praise to boot!
The switchback to English was quick as I thanked her for her complement and wished her a wonderful day. The moment breezed by. Seconds later I found myself pondering what exactly she meant by her words and why, in the name of heaven, did she choose to greet me so?!
Later, long after I finished my bike ride the answer came to me.
Hey knucklehead, she probably wanted to compliment you on your hot pink biking jersey, one hot pink woman to another. Stop being so full of yourself☺
Seconds to Spunk
I continued my dream ride. My spokes spun stories while the wheels of my mind shifted into overtime. Should I turn around or continue riding? The seconds sprinted by and the moment slipped away. Was it lack of spunk or lack of time to process? With me the time constraint tends to stop me in my tracks. I am usually not up for the swift reaction time.
Case in point: just the day before in a very similar situation I hesitated to act. As hubby and I biked on Saturday with our group of riders from Alon Hagalil, we passed another group of bikers dressed, how should I put it, very differently. It took me a moment to process the keffiyehs and realize that we had just passed a group of Arab women mountain bikers.
What a breath of fresh air that was. I have never seen, not even one, Arab women mountain biking (groups of Arab men, their mountain bikes and their club jerseys have become part of the landscape of late). This is huge. For me it is synonymous with a peaceful future nearby. I long for more moments like these which symbol the arrival of true peace.
A wave of excitement passed over me. I was one quick turn away from retracing my tracks to speak with them. Once again I hesitated a moment too long. This time it was more out of not wanting to delay my group. Lack of courage to dare was never part of the equation. I missed out on a rare opportunity. The gentle breeze pounded long notes of regret in my ears as we biked back to base.
I continued my ride and once again a pink lady and her dogs crossed my path. I greeted her warmly without losing speed up the hill ahead. Pink became the pink project and an underlying theme for my blog. I made a conscious effort to capture the shades of pink on camera. The picturesque photo spot at the top of the rolling hills was taken. Imagine my surprise as I found yet another pink mountain bike jersey in front of me. A couple sat near their bikes enjoying the scenic view of Zippori. I did not allow myself to mess up this opportunity. I quickly introduced myself and asked their permission to capture the moment for my blog. They happily complied and I got my photo.
The spring weather dressed up for summer and I found myself breaking into an atypical sweat. I paused to get a shot of my pink sweaty face.
A Rosy Future
Does the color pink foretell good health?
A newborn infant makes his way into the world wrapped in joyous pink, unless, hamsa hamsa (heaven forbid), he was born wrapped in a disturbing blue or white pallor.
Children happily frolic about outside in the sun, suited up naturally in their pinky brown hues.
The pale white skinned man frog leaps the scorching sands into the sea. What fun to jump the waves! Watch him wriggle and writhe now as he tries to find peace in his new cloak of rosy rage.
The obese fellow huffs and puffs up the stairs. His face reveals a shocking pinky white tale of ills…
A vibrant woman dances back from her dream ride. Stoked and charged, her shiny pink sheathe embraces the new day ahead.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Does rosy pink skin foretell a rosy future?
Anniversaries
This Pesach I celebrated my +1 anniversary. My father, may he rest in peace, passed away days before the Seder. We did not even sit shiva for the full week as the holiday cut the shiva short. My father was but 54 years old when he died of severe heart disease. Last summer I celebrated my 55th birthday. Thus, now I commemorate my +1 anniversary, one lap ahead am I.
It is also just weeks before the anniversary of the death of my boss. He was but 63 years old when he passed. One could say that he outlived my father by almost a decade but 63 is young, much too young to part from this world. Yet another tragic death to a heartless disease.
In both cases the writing was on the wall: lives stretched to the limits, obesity, shoddy self-care, both in terms of diet and physical activity, a shortness of breath, pale worrisome pallor and more.
It does not take much attention or investigation to develop an easy ability to identify the presence of health or sickness within a passing glance at a stranger’s face. Facial pallor reveals much.
Kushiot (Questioning)
At the Passover Seder we tell the story of four sons: one who is wise, one who is wicked, one who is simple, and one who does not know to ask. At the end of this Passover holiday where do you find yourself?
The wise son is wise to the correlation between his actions and habits to his health. When he looks with heartache at his reflection in the mirror, he understands that the power is his. He acknowledges the power he holds to craft his future.
The wicked son is busy pleasing others. He is consistently bothered by others’ burdens. In fact he is so busy that he neglects to take care of himself. He fails to comprehend that in order to save the world he must first save himself.
The simple son accepts the truths of others. He makes no effort to validate, doubt or search for his own. He is unable to perceive what is happening below the surface, to feel the connection between his food, his activities, his feelings and his health. The simple son relies on a higher authority and not on himself.
The son who does not know how to ask is the newborn child. A good parent will choose not only healthy nutritious food for his children but will teach them to question. A good parent will dare to answer his child’s question with a simple “I don’t know” when he does not have a ready answer. There is no greater gift than the probing talents of investigation and education.
Pink, what does it represent?
Your reflection, which shade of pink do you see?
Is it a dead giveaway for the walking dead?
Are you not pleased with what you see? What are you going to do about it?
Fuel Me
In so much that you would not put dirty fuel in your engine, pay close attention to the fuel you are providing your body with. Choose clean fuel which will power your rides and put a healthy shine on your face. The power is ours!
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If you have not yet read about the rocky part of my journey, you can read it here.
I would like to thank you for your patience in reading this post to its end.
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