When you fear something, you likely know one of two things about it. It is either so distant, so remote from your current status, it is almost moot. Or, it is so imminent, so inevitable, and so utterly possible; you just have to face it.

Today I faced my fear – conquered my inhibitions - and guided myself home. The fear could not be realized without trying. For this fear was a man of empirically, demonstrable proof. Fear was a people of collected anticipations. It existed subconsciously, but never was harvested. He never came to fruition. Fear needn’t be verified, for it was… It just hadn’t become manifest yet. In the words of an accomplished musician, fear and I had an intimate mutual constitution. “I will try to fix you.”

Planning a bike ride in a metropolis is always a gamble. Pot holes, rush hour rotaries on interstates. Hairpin turns on off-ramps, and yielding signs that are governed by a 4:50 meltdown at some office park, where someone will stop at nothing to get home.

Interstates are a curious device. They no longer represent the legitimacy of the Eisenhower Interstate System, nor the brilliance of civil engineers long ago praised. They now are exhibitions of vehicular anarchy. Speeding not in the travel lane, but in the break down lane…on both sides. Running red lights “just because” you don’t see another car perpendicular to your machine. And not giving a damn about the poor child trying to learn to ride her bike on training wheels, or the runner coming back from an injury, just testing the tar for their own personal salvation. I abhor motorists.

Today I blew a tire. No big deal, except I didn’t know where I was - It was 92 degrees - In rush hour on a state road - No one to call, or no way to fix it. So I pounded the pedals until I found a bush. I hid the machine in the bush, ditched the helmet, and salvaged the water bottle. I began to run.

I ran over 6 miles in cycling cleats, and a sore ankle that wasn’t supposed to be run on until next Saturday. I developed a nice, 4-inch scar on the forefoot of my right foot, a strong, deep bone ache in ten toes. And a back that feels like it can’t be relieved. But I also found something that I knew one day I would have to do: Look after myself. Cover my back. Not rely on the cell phone, my ineptitude at mechanical repairs. I had to suffer through this to guide myself home.

Now I have something else to remember. A story. Not a story of immediate understanding, but one that won’t be smiled upon for many months, maybe years. But maybe someday, I’ll face this fear again. However it may resurrect, I know it will be again. But it will not be, fear.