Because no one told me to

I remember clearly the day that I decided to become a cyclist. It was in February 2008, and I was in the midst of training for the Shamrock Virginia Beach marathon. An unusually warm and sunny Sunday afternoon found Zdenek and me walking through Central Park; my designated long run had been completed the day prior. As runners weaved through us and around us, I felt smug and secure in the knowledge that I had already ticked that box for the week.

Suddenly, as if for the first time, I noticed the many cyclists, eager to take advantage of an early spring day, speeding past. It's not as though I hadn't seen hundreds, if not thousands, of cyclists over the last three years while running in Central Park. It's not as though it hadn't occurred to me many times that it would be beneficial (for both body and mind) to have in my repertoire an equally challenging and accessible cross-training activity to supplement my running. And it's not as though Zdenek wasn't already an enthusiastic rider and Tour-watcher long before I ever met him.

But I had never had even the slightest desire to get on a bike in the last four years: in the summer of 2004, I rode a friend's bike for all of three minutes before landing myself a free ride in an ambulance. Since that day, I made no secret of the fact that I was not eager to repeat the experience and that I may never get on a bicycle again. Nevertheless, on that February day last year, something about the fact that I thought I would never be a cyclist made the idea of actually becoming one irresistably appealing. Around W 90th Street I announced my intention to Zdenek, who was rightfully shocked but no doubt thrilled (I still loathe golf). We purchased my little red Giant within weeks.

The point is, I am not the type of person with whom nagging or suggestion is effective. I decide, on my own terms, how, when, where, and what I will do. It's partly stubbornness, and partly an unwillingness (stubbornness?) to follow the crowd. I can cite numerous examples of times that I have taken the path less traveled simply to be difficult:

• When I was ten years old, I saw a lady playing the flute in church one Sunday. All the children I knew played either the guitar or the piano. I knew nothing about the flute, other than that I suddenly wanted to play it. I announced that day to my mom that I wanted to buy a flute and enroll in lessons immediately.
  
• I refused to attend my high school graduation, simply because (as expected) everyone else was attending it.
  
• I decided to pursue biology in university because I liked it but, more importantly, there are no other scientists in my family.
  
• I settled on plant biology because, among the 800 biology students in my year, only three others were registered in this major.
  
• I took up marathoning with gusto and zeal because I found it incredibly appealing that I didn't know many marathoners at all.

And the list goes on.

I'm thinking of this little quirk of mine because of an unusual thing that Zdenek said to me on around mile 10 of our 12 mile run on Saturday: "Thank you for turning me into a runner." The truth is, I never turned Zdenek into anything. I did, however, ask before almost every run over the past five years whether he'd like to join me, knowing full well that the answer would usually be "no." But somewhere along the way, the negative responses were replaced by an increasing number of nods, and suddenly I had a dedicated training partner and half-marathoner for a husband.

I never really turned Zdenek into a runner, just as he never turned me into a cyclist. But it seems that where most people would be attracted to things that others are doing and seemingly enjoying, I seem to enjoy being attracted to those things that no one else knows or cares about (sometimes for good reason). I'm not, of course, suggesting that I'm some sort of revolutionary or explorer or adventurer -- I still take comfort in the familiar and don't like putting myself in unusual or uncertain situations. I also know that most people get excited by trying new things. And it's not that I am uninterested in something just because it is or becomes popular among the masses. But when it comes to committing myself to something new, I simply am not one to be easily persuaded. Worse, if I ever feel like it might appear as though I am being coerced into something, I will do the opposite only to prove that I am not.

Zdenek had his good reasons for becoming a runner, and I had my slightly odder ones for becoming a cyclist. Either way, two things are clear: (1) resolve and dedication can come only from within, and (2) the next activity I dedicate myself to should come as a surprise to everyone, including me.