I joined a local adventure group. A group who traveled the southeast in search of lofty mountains to backpack, serene rivers to kayak, and diverse trails to bike. The outdoorsy type. They appeared wholesome, and I was craving anything that was pure, honest, and simple.

     The first outing I chose was an 18-mile bike ride on the middle section of the Swamp Fox Passage that wound through the Francis Marion National Forest in Awendaw, SC., just outside of Charleston. I spent weeks in angst over whether I had the right bike and the appropriate clothes or the stamina to make it this far with a group of young athletic guys.

     We met in the parking lot of a shopping center to caravan to the trailhead. I quickly inventoried the bikes, everyone's gear, and the physical condition of these men, still nervous that they were so out of my league. A friend of mine had come along with the group for most of the same reasons I had joined - a bad divorce, pain, and self-loathing. She arrived with her beach cruiser, yoga pants, and a beanie with pink and purple flowers. I wished I could be more like her.

     We took a left off of Highway 17 and then another to arrive at a parking area of the Halfway Creek primitive campsite. As one of the guys offered to get my hybrid bike out of the car, someone else was checking to see if anyone needed air in their tires, assuring us he was carrying tools in case any adjustments needed to be made along the way. And I overheard our group organizer laughing about wearing hiking shorts over his running pants.

     "I just wear whatever I don't mind getting muddy!" 

     Everyone was taking their time to get snacks in their daypacks and grab their water bottles. No one was stretching, putting on expensive helmets, or downing energy supplements. Instead, they were marveling over the perfect weather and seemed happy just to be outside.

     So we started to line up the bikes in no particular order and began our early morning adventure. I noticed our organizer planned to lead the way, so I quickly jumped in behind him. I think he sensed my anxiety as he turned to look at me over his shoulder and shouted in my direction.

     "I'm setting the pace now...this is not a race. We always stop to smell the pine cones."

     Noxious fumes still had a stronghold on my body, my mind, and my soul. Fumes of self-doubt and voices in my head of my former married life full of hurtful words and harsh realities from someone I had loved and trusted. I slowly blew out a long breath and tried to let all of that go. And I began to pedal a little faster in an effort to escape the exhaled air that had been so congestive it almost squeezed my heart to death. Then I inhaled deeply as I took in the smells of nature, the confidence in myself I had missed so much, and a feeling of peace I hadn't felt in a very long time.

     We made our way through the forest and laughed as we bounced along the tree roots, carried our bikes while walking on a railroad tie trapeze to avoid the water still lingering from the recent flood, and had to ask some local hunters if we were headed in the right direction. We alternated places and got to know each other better while discussing our next adventure. My friend kept up nicely with her beach cruiser and appeared blissful to be surrounded by such kindness.

     After it seemed like time had stood still during a delightful autumn afternoon, we emerged from the forest and continued our journey along Steed Creek Road back toward the trailhead. Some gave their thanks for such a great choice in trail biking, while the youngest in our group offered an open invitation to meet for drinks at a local bar. I eagerly agreed to go with him, deciding the ride had been a great tradeoff for a cold beer.

     I'm glad I found the strength to pry open that door, as it appears there's been a lot of goodness knocking for quite some time. I can breathe better now - exhaling the bad and inhaling the good. I intend to take in one glorious breath after another, realizing there's no reason to hyperventilate over this thing called love.