Think about the times when you bike to the top of a mountain, looked out over a river, saw a double rainbow after getting caught riding through a storm.

These are moments of awe.

by Sarah Mount — Indy freelance Ambassador

Awe is often described as a simultaneous experience of fear, wonder, and reverence. While biking these moments seemed to happen to me more than usual. I didn’t have a word for it for quite sometime… I didn’t even know it was a phenomena. At least, not until I found myself in the middle of the Arizona desert alone and in awe.

While I loved my take-it-all-in rides, my priorities shifted a bit over the last year. I decided to dedicate 2021 to racing, my first full race season - delayed due to the pandemic. Suffering through interval sets (though a secret pleasure) reduced how much of the landscape around me I took in. I did a lot of crits all held at a concrete jungle. In the heat of tough moments I forgot there an anything around me whatsoever. In retrospect, I can see how this was starting to become a default setting during all bike rides - taking in nothing around me.

The seasoned ended and the grind of work picked up. A pleasure and a stressor, I travel to Sedona, Arizona for a retreat which I was coordinating. The hiccups and setbacks felt near constant that week. But, I had the luxury of being in a uniquely beautiful area. And, the conference was on Positive Psychology, which was a reminder to refocus myself as emotions ebbed and flowed.

I learned about the psychological experience of awe. The experience of awe has the power to shift our attention away from ourselves, toward a sense of something “larger”, it can even change our perception of time and allow us to experience more greater feelings of generosity and gratitude.

I thought about how these experiences might dovetail with what happens to us emotionally and psychologically while biking. A simplification but commonly understood is that exercise solicits an increase in the production of serotonin, norepinephrine, and serotonin. All neurotransmitters that might just make us a little bit happier. While biking through the rock beds in Arizona after the conference ended, I started to contemplate:

Are we predisposed to the experience of awe when we’re biking and already generating endorphins and emotions that lead us to happier and more open? If so, how can I do this more often? How can I cultivate awe in every ride?

Here are a few simple ideas:

Go for a ride with the intention of being open and observant. Take the pretty route, even when you’re busy and you think you don’t have time. Slow down, force yourself to tune in.

Follow a cyclist who inspires you. Get to know them and their story. Maybe it’s Indy freelance’s own cyclocross athlete, Caroline Mani. Read about their triumphs and their struggles. Cultivate that sense of connect to this person when you’re riding.

Take a stop during your ride. It doesn’t need to be a destination and you don’t even need to plan it. Just stop maybe at the top of a hill, near a stream, wherever. Give the view your full attention for 2 minutes.

Focus on your breathing. Not for maximum watts and VO2. Breathe to connect to your body and you’ll naturally become more aware.

Journal about your rides. Write down what moved you, where you lingered and how it felt. Return to this on days when you’re forcing yourself through a ride, not wanting to train, or nervous about a race.

Awe is simple and it is also profound. It’s known to decrease our stress levels, it stimulates generosity, kindness, and makes us more satisfied with life.

Luckily for me, my home in Northwestern Wisconsin offers plenty of these aweeee-wow landscapes. Silence, forests, ridges, valleys, fields, gravel, vastness, idyllic farms - on every ride something romantic and intimate seemed to greet me. It sort of sounds too good to be true.

If I can let go, just for a moment… let my eyes widen, let my jaw drop, and inhale into the vastness, I remember why I ever started cycling… it’s pure joy and awe.

He emphasized that it took a little fitness and a lot of pacing. Thereafter, he launched into a litany of various mountains he had climbed with ease. I suspect he was trying to be encouraging, but it had strong airs of being dismissive, and felt quite intimidating even though couldn’t put my finger on the pinch point. (More on that later.)

Living and cycling in a town of about 65,000 means you know just about everyone. After about a year of biking consistently, other women started asking me about cycling. How did I do it? 

I didn’t really think that I was doing anything. I showed up for group rides, I did a few local races, and some semi-structured training. It started to occur to me that showing up as a woman to a group ride or event meant something. Not infrequently, I was the only woman there.

Other women explained they were too intimidated, numerous reasons were cited: the distances, speed, clothing requirements (how did I go to the bathroom!?), gender composition of group rides, and just riding close to other people.

At the time, I was a practicing psychotherapist, new in my career and my speciality was women’s issues. All I could think about was creating a more equitable local community and getting more women riding. I wasn’t sure how.

I tried assisting with promoting a local women’s ride. Participation was hit or miss, ability levels varied greatly, and there was not a lot of consistency. While I could see and feel positivity, something continued to feel uncomfortable for me.
 

How was I still holding back? And yet, felt the need to prove myself - why?

I learned about "the rules", ostensibly a list of 95 rules to help cyclists toughen up and train hard. In reality this list is a few inside jokes, a few suggestions to be tough, and a long list of exclusionary sexist tripe not worth the paper it's printed on. One rule instructs people to “get over it” if a woman passed them. Rule 11 instructs riders to value their bike, then their car's paint job, then their wife, in that order. I was on the receiving end of gender-based comments, that sincerely, hurt my feelings. Things like, "Even the women’s cat 1/2 don’t look very fast…if I were in the woman’s sprint I would have won…all athletes should wear a size small."

Did I even want to be apart of this?

I did, I knew that I did. I wanted my work as a psychotherapist to dovetail with my passion outside of the office. I wanted to challenge my fears and keeping pedaling.

So, I did. It was simple: ride my bike, or don’t. Keep moving, or don’t. Give into the pain, or don’t. I became more and more confident. I tried riding difficult routes on my own and I’d even set PRs alone. I started to fully invest in myself as a cyclist. After about two years, I started training in the long mountain passes that once seemed so unattainable to me.

The idea of applying to be an ambassador with Indy freelance would have been terrifying a couple of years ago. I felt afraid to buy my first kit - I finally did anyway. (Luckily, it was from Indy freelance, and so I fell in love with it pretty quickly.) My internal dialogue changed as I grew: What else can I do? What other fears can I challenge? 

I now say, my favorite part about being a cyclist is being female.

It continues to force me to show up on the hard days, push my limits, and challenge everything that I think I know about myself and being feminine. 

If we want the culture of cycling to be different, we have to show up. We have to be there to acknowledge our fears and strengths, challenge both, say yes, say no, or live with uncertainty. It doesn’t matter -  we just have to be there. Show up, ride your bike. Pace yourself.

— Sarah Mount, Indy freelance Ambassador Club