One Thing or Another Column: That Relaxed Fit Time of Life
Narration provided by Wondervox
By Mark McNease
I never did buy the bicycle I mention in this, and it’s just as well. I’m sure it would have gathered dust in the garage. I walk as often as the mood hits me, but I haven’t glided down the road on a two-wheeler in a decade or so. I’m still in a relaxed-fit stage of life, perhaps more so five years later, and it feels increasingly as if I’m exactly where I ought to be.
It hit me recently when I was out looking for a new bicycle. I told the young man working at the store that I was mostly concerned with comfort. I’m not trying out for the Tour de France, and I don’t imagine myself riding in that event, unlike many of the people I see zipping around the New Jersey countryside with brand names on their backs and Spandex hugging them more tightly than a human ought to be hugged. I’m just a guy who lives in the woods and wants to get my heart rate up a few times a week by circling the back roads of my rural community.
“Are you looking for a step-through model?” he asked. I wasn’t familiar with that term, and when he showed me one, I realized it’s what we used to call a girl’s bike when we were kids. I’m all for advancements in gender neutrality. I’m long past being concerned that some malicious twelve-year-old might point at me and say, “Why’s he riding a lady’s bike?” It never made sense to me to differentiate bicycles that way. The days of women riding side-saddle are as gone as hansom cabs and laundry beaten on rocks in the nearest stream. He called it a step-through, so a step-through it is.
At sixty-two, not having to hoist my leg over a bicycle bar is a relief. I’m not worried about body parts, just about getting my leg that high. What some people call downward dog, I call falling on your face. This bike allows me to sort of glide onto the seat, steady myself, fasten my helmet, and ride away, wobbles and all.
It gave me pause to think about this step-through, relaxed-fit time of life I’m in. Comfort has become my highest priority when it comes to bicycles, shoes, and clothing. I prefer our 12-year-old Prius V over the new RAV4 because it’s lower to the ground and easier for me to get into. I don’t feel like I’m climbing into the cab of an 18-wheeler. Low, easy, wide, like my shoes. Maybe that’s an apt metaphor for me now: I prefer to inhabit my life as if I were a slightly swollen foot moving comfortably inside a wide-fit Sketcher. I ride closer to the ground in the Prius, too. If I fall out upon exiting the vehicle I won’t have as far to tumble.
Accepting step-throughs, and relaxed-fits, and even a kindly hand up now and then, is all part of the journey we bipeds make from cradle to grave. We come into this world crawling, and as often as not, we leave it that way as well. It’s not good or bad, and the more relaxed I am about it, the more I can appreciate every step I’ve taken on the way.