The Bicycle as a Therapist

It may sound like an excuse, a way to justify why I need a bicycle or why I need so much time to give myself to it.

But I do not feel that way. After so many years of cycling, I have come to understand that cycling has cared for my mind more than for my body, although it has done a lot for it too.

In truth, the two go hand in hand. We know that exercise releases dopamine, serotonin, endorphins… tiny bursts of well-being that the body translates into a gentle sense of calm.

However, for me it goes a little further. It is not so much about cycling as a sport, but about the bicycle as a way to escape.

When I finally drew the curtain on my university years, a chapter that lasted longer than expected because working life kept me in the city where I had studied, everything changed at once: job, city, relationship. Too many turns in too little time. I was left with a vast empty space that needed to be filled and, without thinking it through, I bought a bicycle. It could have been a guitar. Or a fishing rod. Even a video game console. But no. It was a bicycle. It was 2011.

The decision ran deeper than I had imagined. I wanted a change of life. I was coming from years of juggling multiple jobs to pay for my studies, from long days and bad habits. And suddenly I had time, and several natural parks close to where I lived. Moving from a sedentary life in the city and into open mountain landscapes was almost an act of instinct.

That is how I began: without technical clothing, without any idea of mechanics, with only the few tools that came with the bike to fix a flat tire. And honestly, you do not need much more than that: two wheels that brake and the desire to get lost.

The bicycle helped me get to know myself, and knowing myself helped me become a better version of who I am.

Was I feeling sad? I rode my bike. As the air brushed against my face, I thought about the reasons why. What brought me here? Was it partly my fault? Can I change it? Can I keep it from happening again? Hours and hours of conversation with myself, until the thoughts became clearer.

Was I happy? I rode my bike too. To celebrate it, to stretch that joy a little longer.

Did I have a work or personal argument? I rode my bike. In those years I was driven by impulse. I said what I thought without thinking about what I said, and sometimes honesty bit me back.

The bicycle gave me a new tool, movement as a form of release.

If anger was boiling inside me, I would pick up the pace until all I could think about was breathing. I did not always find solutions, but I did find perspective. Fatigue turned problems into something more manageable, bringing them back to their real size.

And when I needed to work something out, I slowed down and let my legs move the thoughts. I always ended up reaching some kind of conclusion. Maybe not a final one, but enough to keep pedaling through life with a lighter load.

I understood that almost everything can be fixed, and that the solutions born from calm have a way of staying.

The bicycle taught me how my emotions worked. Through it I learned to take care of myself, to love myself, to be more patient. It did not happen quickly or by design, it was a slow and natural process. With time I came to understand what had happened. Everything made sense later, when I could finally look back without noise.

We are the sum of everything we have lived. Even the wrong decisions lead us to where we are. If we do not like the result, the process must go on. If we have learned to love ourselves, then everything makes sense.

The bicycle was an essential tool in this process, though not the only one. Friends, family, books… all of them played their part, helping me step back from the present and giving me the space I needed to understand myself better.

Today the bicycle is no longer my therapist, but a friend. A travel companion. I do not spend as many hours with it as I once did, but I know that when I need it, it will still be there, waiting for me. Ready to listen, or simply to keep me company, while I lose myself once more in another drift.

Would you like to follow Deriva Lenta’s journey?

These reflections appear without a calendar, just as the thoughts that give rise to them arrive.

If you feel like receiving them as they emerge, the slowletter is where they continue.