Fling

Chapter Two: Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Dying might be easier, I thought morbidly as I gasped for air. My lungs hurt and my legs had started to cramp. Scratch that, it 100% would be easier to die and I'm ready to confirm it.

I kept pedaling as I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone. I needed to know how far I'd managed to bike in the past hour, because if I was even remotely close to my goal, I would give up on my 20 mile attempt and go home early.

My freezing cold fingers creaked wearily as I fished the phone out of my pocket. I swiped the screen to unlock it to no avail three times, and with growing frustration, attempted to warm up my fingers by blowing on them enough to trigger the heat sensors on my touchscreen. Note to self: buy gloves for next time.

Finally my screen unlocked and I started to navigate to my GPS app. I looked up to make sure there were no cars on the road, and seeing none, went back to checking my bike riding details. I kept one hand on the handlebars, and used the other to swipe down to refresh my screen. After a few seconds of updating, I saw that I had only ridden 3 miles and that I had left my house 15 minutes ago.

Offended by my own level of low fitness, and mortified at the prospect of another 17 miles in the freezing cold, I pocketed my phone, and went back to pedaling aggressively. Well, I guess I have to keep going, I thought dejectedly. I put my head down and tried to calm my breathing. Another 45 minutes on the road, and I would be back at home, stepping into a nice warm shower. I let myself bask in that happy thought before my mind drifted to a conversation I'd had with Sarah, my mentor for my cross country bike ride. She explained to me that a huge part of the experience was being comfortable with your own thoughts.

"You're going to be spending 5-8 hours a day on a bike," she said. "And yeah, sure, your butt will start hurting, and your legs will be tired, but the biggest issue is going to end up being your mental state."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You'll be passing city after city and it'll all start to blur. You'll get tired of the same music, and all the audiobooks and self-help podcasts. Eventually you'll reach a point where you'll just prefer silence," she explained.

I considered that. I was a lifeguard. I sat on a chair and stared at water by myself for 40 minutes out of every hour, and I did that 6 days a week. Being stuck in my own head was effectively what I already got paid to do.

"Sure, but even that is baby stuff compared to what you'll be doing this summer," she said. "I guess what I'm saying is that you need to be prepared to relive every conversation and experience you've ever had, because odds are, you'll reach a point where that's what you'll think about. So if you have a nasty breakup behind you, be prepared to relive it." She laughed into the phone and upon realizing that I didn't say anything back, dropped to complete silence.

"Elle," she said tentatively, "do you have a nasty breakup that you're now afraid to re-live?"

Tires squealing and a car horn broke me out of my flashback. I looked up in time to see a blue Prius a few feet away from me, but before I could react, I felt an impact on my right side. As my body rag-dolled through the air, I took note of the weightless feeling that I'd never experienced before. It's almost like jumping into a pool, but I'm suspended for a longer period of time. Interesting. The moment passed, and my body hit the ground with a thud.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I thought, mentally laughing at my own joke, before my vision dipped to black.