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If I really wanted to rage, I'd ride the Brooklyn Bridge--a sea of clueless tourists wandering in and out of the bike lane. My inner badass was alive and well--it was good to see her again. At the end of each day, my muscles ached the way they would after a double Spin session.

I'd take long, hot baths, noticing the definition of my calves and tightness in my core.

But by the end, the bike had become a vehicle for the beautiful thing that is strength through pain.

I couldn't help but notice how nice it was to share the restorative summer air with someone else--the shine of the city lights, the sounds of frantic, unfiltered life.

I even went on a blind date that started at Bobby Flay's new restaurant and ended at a bike dock a couple of blocks away.

She navigates around a hypercritical mother, a limelight-hogging sister and a diva of a teenage daughter.

With the help of a few satisfying, if fairy godmother–esque plot twists, she learns that "... If you just relax and let go, you'll find yourself waltzing." Full of laugh-out-loud moments, the novel illustrates -- gently and intelligently -- how we have to keep taking tiny steps to create the lives we long for.

As I got ready, I would notice a glow to my skin--hopefully from within, unquestionably from being outside instead of on the couch. "I'll pay for your cab," one friend always offered, but I couldn't wait to unlock that bike (effortlessly now! I came to rely on that warm summer air on my face and slight burn in my legs as a way to digest the night, to hear my own thoughts and to--once again--spread my wings without fear.

Two months passed and I still hadn't rejoined a gym.