CYCLING THROUGH GRIEF

At the end of April 2021, my dad passed from this world to be among the stars. He died very suddenly, in a space of days, and in The Netherlands. He was my biggest cheerleader and best friend. Both countries were in lockdown, so I could not be with him or my mum, and to this day, I have not been with my mum or any other family.

I have not been able to hug my mum; I have not been able to share memories in person; I have not been able to say goodbye or physically support those I love. For many months, one of my more haunting memories is seeing my mum sitting all alone, with no one being able to hold her at the online Youtube funeral service; my finger resting on the small figure on screen in the hope she’d feel I was near. How desperate I have felt so many times to be near.

I still struggle with the words to describe the pain, immense hurt and trauma that comes from not being able to grieve “normally” and use our traditions surrounding grief that I’ve come to realise all there to help and support us deal with the impact but have been taken cruelly due to COVID-19.

I do much surrounding mental health and well-being in my professional life, and this has done me well. Within days after losing dad, I was very aware that if I didn’t put anything in place quickly, I might slip and revisit pits of dark despair with my mental health nosediving. Unfortunately, what grief teaches you, like a wave, like the force of nature, is it does not abide by your well-made plans; it will take its own course. However, having a self-care plan matters! It gives you some control in the unrelenting storm you find yourself in.

And this brings me to cycling; I started cycling only in 2019, not for my physical health but because I struggle with my mind, in part, because of autism. It was the best thing I ever did, so I knew I needed to cycle as part of my grief self-care plan.

It took two weeks after my dad died to feel I had the strength and motivation to get back in the saddle and revisit my “killer” hills. My motivation was clear; I needed to scream on my own, cry my eyes out in the privacy of the clouds, birds, and wooded lands of Yorkshire. It is my private comfort space. The first time out was a failure as there were people, as was the next time, and by journey no 3, I was finally entirely on my own, but the good thing was I had already been out 3 times! And I SCREAMED, I have never cycled so fast either... everything built up; the frustration, anger, sadness, guilt, I let it all go for a moment, and I needed that “liberation” of this immense raw pain.

As the days turned into weeks, then into months, I still struggle day to day with motivation; sometimes, when I have a “grief day”, nothing can move me; I ache, my muscles ache, my mind aches with the greyness of sadness, and that is OK. I did have to give up on dreaming of speed due to grief for the first months; my body simply wouldn’t stretch that far. Instead, my focus was solely to get back on the saddle as often as I can, which provided the weather is good, around 2 or 3 times a week; I try not to judge myself on feeling so unfit, unmotivated and failing at my planned intentions at times.

What my Cycling Through Grief has meant to me:

When faced with a 15% incline, I do it for my dad and mum, I pump those pedals best I can. I want to respect my dad (and mum) with living, pushing through, and on!

It gives me that private space to take a break from how life

continues, and how with time, people feel you might need to be able to “move on” better and stop asking about my dad or me. I am not OK but getting there!

It gives me a break from my own judgment, feelings of guilt and helplessness of not being able to support my mum the way I want or wanted.

It shows me the healing power of nature; nature has never been so crucial as it is currently. Nature feels like a big hug of beauty and reassurance that it will all be OK, that life indeed is a cycle of death and life.

Cycling has meant that when I feel I have so little strength, it reminds me I have strength, more than I realise. The physical strength it requires to do my rides also has the knock-on effect of feeling more resilient mentally. It reassures me I will be OK somehow.

It has also meant that I will be honest; a whole bottle of wine has been quite tempting at times; to drink away the hurt, pain and anxiety of what I am going through. Cycling, however, doesn’t take kindly to drinking too much so thankfully, that potential nightmare has been averted! I need to stay (relatively) healthy to do what I do!

It gives me space to not have to think about COVID-19, work or any other pressures.

Grief for me has come with lots of nightmares and bad sleep, and again here, pedal power matters, pedal hard, and you sleep!

Dad’s last gift to me was a cycling magazine; he apologised straight away as it mostly featured men, but he couldn’t find a women’s only one. He thought my cycling was ace, I would take photos for him and send them via Whatsapp together with my route every time I went out, so he could check out the little villages that I would visit.

I miss my “cheerleader”. He was amazed at my bike, its lightness and its engineering. He was proud of me for how I tackled these Yorkshire hills. He would tell me all the funny stories of me learning to ride with him when tiny in the Netherlands, tell me, “you are Dutch; you’re born to ride”.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel I look aged in the last year, but my cycling sunshine freckles give me joy, purpose and rebelliousness that tell me to keep going and divert the focus of “sadness-induced” grey hairs!

Yesterday I did my longest ride in a year and on a bike, I bought in his memory last September. I named her Cosmos as my dad was a quantumphysicist obsessed with the stars, and it gives me the feeling of his presence.

I told my mum about my longest ride, together with photos, and she said, “Your dad would have been so proud of you”. Still almost a year on, my hills are for them, my mum and dad, to give me the thought of how much love gives but can hurt in equal measure. I am grateful for all the love I had and have, and this includes finding the love of cycling in times of need!

Cycling is important to me as it’s my self-care, and what grief slaps you in the face with is that you cannot rush it; you need to support yourself and are worthy of support and self-love/ kindness.

As many people will have experienced grief, made even harder, in these difficult times, please know you are not alone. Keep going, be gentle with yourself and give yourself space and time to regain your strength and seek the support if you need it!