One year ago I wasn’t sure I’d ever run again, but with some patience and lots of support I’m back on the roads and trails, and it’s comfortable. For reasons not totally clear to me or a bunch of earnest medical professionals, my knee just . . . healed. The cartilage sewed itself back together, or rearranged itself in the right way, and now ten miles along the lake is once again an enjoyable exercise. My gratitude for this state of affairs is a steady outward glow that I hope I can sustain.

But I want to specifically point that gratitude at one group: the cyclists.

When I first got my diagnosis of doom, the bikers in my orbit were there. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a group so supportive of an absolute newcomer. I arrived in the saddle - per doctor recommendation - on a wash of sadness and joint pain, and the two-wheeled tribe was ready to receive me with open arms, training tips, injury commiseration, and love. It is with some sorrow that I admit I didn’t become “a cyclist” in the end, at least not yet. But I hope to carry those vibes - along with my gratitude - forward with me.

Thanks, y’all. You got me through a tough time. Keep crankin’ in good cheer.