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Biking in the Radiant Light

I recently finished three months of telephone coaching with Tejashree Chawla (11Tejashree@gmail.com), a co-active coach and workshop facilitator, whom I met several years ago when she lived in Wichita for a short time. We have stayed connected since she moved back to California, and I recently accepted her invitation for coaching. I tend to be very introspective, have kept journals for years, read nonfiction—including a lot of personal development books—voraciously and maintain several reflective practices. When Tejashree invited me to participate in coaching, I did not have a specific goal or need in mind, but decided to focus on finding more tools for managing stress because I feel like I struggle with that more than ever.

Having completed the coaching, I am still not consistently managing stress effectively, but I did experience several benefits and insights, which I want to share here.

A major tool that Tejashree uses is shifting perspectives. This reminds me of the concept of reframing (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_reframing), which I have used both personally and professionally for many years. I struggle with sustaining my perspective shifts when I feel bogged down with worry or overwhelmed with responsibilities. However, if I can remind myself of my desired perspective frequently enough, it does help. When I spoke with Tejashree last Thursday, I had been carrying around a great deal of anxiety and was constantly feeling the nervousness in my stomach. We explored several ways to alleviate the heaviness of that feeling, but the one that was most helpful was her invitation to adopt a “Biking-in-the-Radiant-Light” perspective. I generally feel free, strong, powerful and happy when I am on my bike. When Tejashree asked me to describe a visual or visceral association with assuming the biking perspective, I described it as one of rising power, in the form of light, from my stomach. It then radiated into my limbs and throughout my body. I felt energized, confident and capable. When I stop to imagine myself on my bike, I feel the anxiety lightening, and I feel happier and freer. Although I struggle to maintain the perspective constantly, it does serve as an effective mental stop sign when the anxiety starts to take over.

In mid-August Tejashree and I discussed the sense of foreboding that comes upon me around the time school starts every year. Swimming pools close, and I know that cold, dark weather is coming and will linger for months and months. I don’t want to let the coming winter usurp my remaining weeks of summer weather. Yet, I struggle. I had already decided that I really must maintain some level of winter cycling this year, and not have all bike training relegated to the indoor trainer. Tejashree encouraged me to consider more ways to ward off the cold-weather doldrums. One of the ways I did this was to attach meaning to living in Kansas. For example, I acknowledged that one of the prices I pay for living in a place with so many wonderful, open, quiet roads for cycling is dealing with winter.

I think the most helpful contribution Tejashree made to my personal exploration during our work together was her ability to listen to what I was saying and then articulate her interpretation of it. On one occasion, her expression captured a concept that I had been trying to form fully in my mind. I knew the feeling, but hadn’t been able to find the right words to express it. Tejashree said something that felt just right. I don’t think she realized at the time how significant that single sentence was for me, but it began to percolate in my mind and, within several days, had morphed into a personal mantra that brings me hope and encouragement, peace and empowerment.

The phone is my least favorite mode of communication. I usually cringe when any phone for which I am responsible for answering rings, and I try to use any other medium first. So, I was not at all sure that thirty minutes twice a month for three months on the phone was going to appeal to me. While my feelings toward the phone have not changed, I did find our phone conversations to be useful and meaningful. On our last call, I told Tejashree that it has been nice to have a place, other than my journal, in which to explore ideas and thoughts around personal development. I have been feeling rather constrained because of a very tight schedule. The temporal constraints create mental constraints, and then I create social constraints, trying to protect precious minutes to myself. My coaching calls were short breaks in a busy life where I could bounce ideas off someone who genuinely listened and who posed challenges and inquiries designed to nurture my personal growth.

I feel that I have grown through our calls, and my decision to launch this blog at the time that I did was influenced by a challenge that Tejashree posed. So, I will work to maintain, or at least consistently revisit, the “Biking-in-the-Radiant-Light” perspective—a gift both of my cycling life and of my work with Tejashree. If you are intrigued by my coaching experience, I encourage you to contact Tejashree and find out if you too might benefit from some time dedicated to yourself and your growth.

Here is her contact information:

Tejashree Chawla, MA, MS

Listening for your brilliance & championing forward action!

Co-Active Coach; Workshop Facilitator

PH: 310-514-7137, Email: 11Tejashree@gmail.com

It’s Just Wind

On a hot, windy June afternoon in Holton, Kansas in 2002, I encountered my friend David Blair walking among the unloaded bags at our last overnight school on the annual Biking Across Kansas (BAK) tour. Wind is not uncommon in Kansas, but the 2002 tour had been extraordinarily windy, and I was coming down with a cold after seven days of battling the wind. We greeted each other and compared notes from our ride that day. I was sick of being beaten up by the wind all week, and I proceeded to have a mini-tantrum and complain about the wind. David listened quietly and then shrugged and said, gently and matter-of-factly, “It’s just wind.”

Something about the way he said it really struck a chord with me. It was such a simple, casual statement, but it felt profound and full of truth. In an instant, I knew he was right. I was on my fourth BAK, a ride that I loved. It occurred to me that, if all life’s problems were as simple as fighting wind for 60 miles or so on a ride that I had chosen to take, then I would be very fortunate.

I love quotes and have several volumes of formerly blank books filled with them. David’s words went into my then-current volume, and I began to view life through a different lens. I realized that, not only could I acknowledge how minor an issue a windy bike ride really was in the big picture, but I could choose to see the rest of life’s challenges as “wind” and strive to take them in stride, just as David had taught me to do with the Kansas wind.

That was 13 years ago, but I still remind myself often, when dealing with tough issues, that, in the big picture, most of my challenges are “wind.” Living in Kansas, there is no shortage of wind on the bike. Sometimes I am fighting it head-on, and it takes tremendous effort. It can even feel like I am being pushed backwards at times. Other times, it is a crosswind that threatens to buck me into traffic or push me off the road. Times like these, it can be exhausting to hold my line. My hands and arms get worn out from the effort of staying upright in the vicious crosswind. It can be treacherous at times. My best bet for handling it is to stay calm, use caution and determine the best strategy for staying safe. Sometimes that is tucking low and trying to minimize my contact with the wind. If I am in the hills, I often feel safer and steadier if I sit up and take more of the crosswind, but slow my descent. I am not a fearless descender under any conditions, especially in squirrelly crosswind, but staying calm and reading the conditions allow me to respond as effectively and safely as possible.

These experiences and techniques for managing the wind on my bike serve as informative metaphors for handling what life throws at me. David’s response to my complaining was a wake-up call, and it has contributed to my growth as both a cyclist and a human. It was the beginning of my recognition of the ways that cycling’s lessons could apply to the bigger picture of my life. Cycling became more than a physical challenge; it became a foundation for growth and a source of deep joy. Not every moment on the bike is bliss, but I am now grateful for all of them and for the countless gifts they give me. I am stronger both on and off the bike because I have learned to accept the wind for what it is and deal with it calmly and confidently.