The ride

 The sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden streaks across the winding beach side country road. A group of cyclists gathered at the usual meeting spot helmets strapped, water bottles filled, and bikes gleaming under the early morning light. They called themselves The Spokes, a mix of weekend warriors and seasoned riders.

Among them was Clyde, a once-promising athlete turned desk-job regular. He used to lead the group, his lean frame and powerful legs setting the pace. But over time, life caught up with him or at least, that’s the excuse he told himself. Late nights, skipped training rides, and comfort food had softened his edges, both physically and mentally. Now, he lingered at the back of the pack, his jersey tighter and his breathing heavier than it used to be.

Today’s ride was a grueling 60 miles, filled with steep climbs and sharp descents. Clyde wasn’t sure why he showed up. Maybe it was pride or a lingering hope to recapture a piece of who he once was.

As they rode, the group naturally split into tiers. At the front were the strongest riders, their legs churning like well-oiled machines. Clyde hung with the middle group for the first few miles but soon fell behind, his legs burning and his chest heaving. By the time they reached the first major climb, he was alone.

Halfway up the hill, Clyde stopped and unclipped from his pedals, the familiar sting of failure creeping in. He leaned over his handlebars, catching his breath and staring at the endless road ahead. That’s when Marcus, the group’s oldest member, circled back.

“Clyde, what going on with you?” Marcus asked, his tone gentle but firm.

Clyde shrugged. “I don’t know why I even try anymore. I’m not who I used to be, nah.”

Marcus chuckled, surprising Clyde. “None of us are. But that’s not the point. The point is who you decide to become next.”

Clyde frowned, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just undo years of bad choices.”

“No, you can’t,” Marcus agreed. “But you can choose differently today. Every pedal stroke is a decision. Are you going to quit now, or are you going to push through?”

Clyde looked up the hill, his legs screaming for rest, but something in Marcus’s words sparked a flicker of resolve. He clipped back into his pedals and began to climb, slowly but steadily. Marcus rode beside him, encouraging him with every turn of the cranks.

By the time Clyde reached the top, the rest of the group was waiting. They cheered as he crested the hill, their applause a mix of camaraderie and admiration. Clyde smiled for the first time in weeks, his chest swelling with something other than exhaustion, inner pride.

That day, Clyde made a decision. He couldn’t change the past, but he could change his future, one disciplined choice at a time. And as he rode on with The Spokes, the grief for what he had lost began to fade, replaced by hope for what lay ahead.