Climbing Meg’s Mountain
Click for meditationRegarding "Climbing Meg’s Mountain"
This poem was written
Less than 12 months after I had joined
A new health club in the town where I lived, and
It also coincided with a period in my life
When I was in need of rejuvenation. I found myself
Taking part in my first-ever, spinning ‘Pedal to End Cancer’
Fundraiser. The lead instructor for the three hour
Ride was a whirling dervish, who took us on
A very intensive, cardio-demanding,
Simulated mountain climb, all to the
Pulsating sounds and cadence of great music. For
One straight hour she pounded us with
An endless barrage of merciless
Spinning commands and exhortations,
Which appeared to have no end to them…
She seemed oblivious to any and all
Difficulties we had keeping up with her!
It was our job to do what we had
To do! As part of completing that
Strenuous, wild ride, I was also
Reminded of the tremendous challenges
Occurring in the lives of other people,
Particularly with respect to cancer. And so
Today, right now, I look back with so
Much gratitude to that first ‘Pedal to End
Cancer’ experience, and I thank that
Spinning instructor for helping to lift me up
Out of myself, and for enabling me to
See that if cancer survivors could endure
Years, even decades, of debilitating
Treatment just to live one more day, then
I could do a mere three hour ride, and I could
Express gratitude for what I had received
As blessings in my life.
Leo Carroll
March 5, 2019
“Pump it!…, Push it!…”
“Keep back in your saddle!…”
“Keep your peddle strokes
Even and smooth!…”
“We’re going to do ‘jumps’
To the count of two – – up!…, up!…, up!…”
“We have a double chorus!!!…”
“Slide!…, Slide!…, Slide!…”
“Down to hand position three!…”
“Keep your elbows loose and relaxed,
And tucked into your body!…”
“Back in lohhhhwww!!!…”
“Keep working, keep working!…,
Watch your cadence!…”
.
.
.
…And thus on and on and without mercy, her
Commands continue and cascade and escalate, one upon the other,
Relentless, unyielding, pounding, driving me into the ground, and I know on this
Sunday morning that any mountain, this mountain, can be climbed
With the exhortation and aid of this endless
Fusillade from a ponytailed woman in the female form of an
Absolutely whirling tornado, and all I have
To do is “pump it”, and any doubt and despair can
Be conquered by my spinning flywheel, and cancer can
Inexorably be crushed and tossed into the fathomless dustbin
With its twin gargoyles of terror and fear.