When I tell people that I cycle to work every day, the reaction is almost always the same: a mixture of admiration and disbelief. My commute is twenty-two kilometres each way, through the centre of a busy city, and most people cannot imagine doing it in a car, let alone on a bicycle.
I bought my first proper road bike six years ago, mainly to save money on train fares. At that stage, I had no particular interest in cycling and viewed it purely as a cheaper way of getting from one place to another. The early weeks were genuinely difficult.
My legs ached constantly, I arrived at work drenched in sweat, and I had no idea how to fix a puncture. On more than one occasion, I seriously considered giving up and going back to public transport.
Within a couple of months, the journey that had once left me exhausted began to feel almost effortless. I started to notice things I had never seen from the window of a train — quiet side streets lined with cherry trees, a bakery that filled the morning air with the smell of fresh bread, a family of ducks that had made their home on the canal.
I lost weight without dieting, slept more deeply than I had in years, and found that I arrived at work feeling alert and energised rather than groggy and irritable. My doctor, who had been urging me to exercise more for some time, was delighted with the improvement in my overall fitness.
There is a strong sense of community among regular cyclists, and I have made several close friends simply by riding the same route at the same time each morning. We look out for one another on the road, share advice about equipment and routes, and occasionally meet up at weekends for longer rides in the countryside.
The weather is unpredictable, drivers can be dangerously impatient, and there are days when the thought of climbing back on the saddle fills me with dread. But those days are far outnumbered by the ones when I arrive home tired but deeply satisfied, knowing that I have done something good for my body, my mind, and the environment.