Metaphor
The last time I rode my bike I crashed, and boy I crashed hard. The bike was destroyed. I was badly injured. It was awful and required a long, difficult recovery.
That was three years ago.
Recently I hopped on a bicycle again.
I expected to be terrified, and I was at first. But it felt surprisingly comfortable. My friends encouraged me--told me that the risk was worth it. I certainly enjoyed the rush, enjoyed the experience, and enjoyed the victory.
I got up to speed quickly enough. I survived a few bumps. I guess it's true what they say--you never forget how to ride.
Except I crashed again. I've wrecked another bike. I'm still not sure what happened. I was seemingly coasting along one moment and then I was splayed out on the ground the next. Fortunately I'm not hurt nearly as bad this time. Some scrapes here and there. The worst is the internal injuries--bruises known only to me.
It's strange to be injured but not noticeably so. Nobody at work even knows. It's peculiar to have to tell people "be gentle with me, I'm not at full strength right now" but that's exactly what I've had to do.
The funny thing is that the pain itself hasn't been the worst result. The most troubling factor has been my paranoid fear. This crash has resurrected haunting memories of the last--and I realize how close I could have come to repeating the horrible reality of the first. I remember that pain and consider myself lucky to have walked away this time.
