If there’s ever a better opportunity to bring up Jason Derulo’s smash hit banger, Riding Solo, then it will be for the use of a title in a blog post about cycling and being alone. There couldn’t have been a more apt title if I tried. Though originally unintentional, I’m pleased to have rediscovered this song, if even for a mere few days before I become sick of it again, because there’s no denying that 2010 wouldn’t have been the same without this song and for the several years beyond where it still remains one of the top songs to bring a club together in communal song.
For those that I haven’t lost to this post after hearing it was about cycling and being alone, then you’re either just really keen to find out more about my sad, solo, lycra life or perhaps just a really big Jason Derulo fan.
I think I realised a long time ago that the fine art that is doing things on your own, is something that I’ve become pretty accustomed to and something that an eating disorder only enhances your ability to be able to do. During my worst times of suffering, I’d become so competent at dealing with my own company, because anorexia is the number one relationship that will isolate you from the world and everything in it, that I’d forgotten that doing things on your own is a somewhat reason to believe someone’s a bit ‘odd’.
My reason being, is that if I’d told you that I’d just got back from a cycling holiday abroad in Italy that I went on alone, you’d probably have good reason to think that I was a little bit sad and wonder if I even had any friends… or a boyfriend to do it with.
If there is something I want to do, see, or go to, I won’t let the fact that other people don’t have the same desire or interest to do the same, stop me from missing out. Because why should I have to make that sacrifice just because it means I’d have to potentially face judgement by going it alone?
The same goes for me and my interest in seeing the world on two wheels because it’s one hell of a good way to see so much of a place, albeit slightly tiring. Fortunately, the fatigue-induced emotional breakdowns of my cycling holidays, tend to get over looked by the time I arrive home because before you know it, I’m booking my next one. However, for very good reason, my circle of friends and boyfriend (along with probably the vast majority of the population), just do not enjoy the idea of cycling up a mountain, paying money to have a bruised crotch you can’t sit down on, falling asleep at 9pm because you’ve run out of energy at this point and forced to call it a holiday. Not that I wouldn’t love to see my boyfriend fully kitted out in cycling Lycra-wear because that really would be an unmissable affair and pinnacle of hilarity (sorry, Martin).
So I just went alone and will continue to do so until this idea that it’s a slightly deviated-from-the-norm way to do things, is completely shot down and shoved up the arses of those that will judge.
I won’t sit here and preach that holidaying or doing things on your own is somewhat better without people, because on most occasions it really isn’t. The walls just don’t quite have the same communicational skills as a human being… well unless the human beings really are that dull, the walls might well be a better option.
And just so you know, I had a fucking blast.