The Same Hill, Two Very Different Experiences

About two and a half years ago, my husband and I bought a tandem bicycle off Facebook Marketplace.

What began as a lighthearted idea — Aw, wouldn’t that be cute? A bicycle built for two! — has since developed into something of an obsession.

I’d already been commuting by bicycle in Philadelphia for over a decade. I never wanted the expense or hassle of owning a car in the city, so cycling was primarily a practical choice. But riding tandem has given me an entirely new appreciation for cycling, relationships, and the city I’ve called home for years. As a therapist, I’ve found that many of the lessons I’ve learned on a bicycle translate surprisingly well to my work with clients.

This is the first in a series about what more than a decade of cycling in Philadelphia has taught me about life, relationships, and mental health.

Two Very Different Kinds of Cyclists

Before we bought the tandem, I was firmly in the commuter cyclist camp. I rode to save money, get some exercise, and, most importantly, get from point A to point B. Navigating Philly traffic and dodging potholes was enough of a challenge. I wasn’t particularly interested in speed or performance.

My husband, on the other hand, approached cycling as a sport. He wanted to go faster, develop new skills, and pursue excellence together.

Naturally, he eventually convinced me to try clipless pedals.

Despite their confusing name, clipless pedals actually attach your feet to the bicycle. Special cycling shoes lock into the pedals, keeping your feet securely positioned as you ride.

I’d resisted them for years because I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to unclip when I needed to stop. My catastrophizing brain had already determined that this would inevitably result in a crash, serious injury, and possibly death.

And if there’s one situation where I particularly dislike having my feet attached to a moving bicycle, it’s going downhill at high speed.

The Hill

There’s a hilly stretch of Umbria Street in Manayunk that we regularly navigate on our way to the Schuylkill River Trail.

In my opinion, the best part of the trail begins beyond Manayunk. Once you’re past the crowds of Center City and Kelly Drive, you can enjoy miles of beautiful riding through Conshohocken, Valley Forge, Phoenixville, and beyond.

Unfortunately, getting there involves some steep climbs and descents.

Picture this: we’re descending Umbria Street at a considerable speed. The wind is rushing past us, our feet are attached to the pedals, and I’m contemplating every possible way this experience could end in disaster.

What if we need to stop suddenly? What if I can’t unclip? What if we hit a pothole? What if a SEPTA bus pulls out in front of us? What if we crash?

Meanwhile, my husband is apparently having a wonderful time.

And here’s the interesting thing: we’re on the same bicycle, traveling at exactly the same speed, down exactly the same hill.

Yet we’re having completely different emotional experiences.

It’s Not Just What Happens. It’s What We Make of It.

This is a useful illustration of a central principle of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), an evidence-based approach that examines the relationships among our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors.

One of the foundational ideas in CBT is that our emotional responses are influenced not only by what happens to us, but also by how we interpret what happens.

For me, speed means danger. For my husband, speed means fun.

When I think about everything that could go wrong, I feel anxious. My muscles tense, I become hyperaware of potential hazards, and I desperately want to slow down.

My husband experiences the same speed as exhilarating. He’s excited, energized, and enjoying the ride.

The situation is identical, but the meanings we’ve assigned to it are different. And those interpretations shape how we feel.

We all develop habitual ways of interpreting situations. We might assume the worst, underestimate our ability to cope, or interpret ambiguous information as evidence that something is wrong. These patterns can become so automatic that we don’t recognize them as interpretations. They simply feel like facts.

In CBT, we practice identifying these automatic thoughts and examining them with curiosity. What evidence supports this interpretation? Is there another way to understand the situation? Am I overlooking information that might change my perspective?

The goal isn’t to replace every negative thought with a positive one. It’s to develop a more balanced, realistic, and flexible way of thinking.

Sometimes the Hill Really Is Dangerous

There’s an important caveat here: not every fear is irrational, and not every uncomfortable emotion needs to be challenged.

Descending a steep hill on a tandem bicycle involves real risks. My anxiety isn’t entirely misplaced, and my husband’s enthusiasm doesn’t magically make the situation safe. After all, this is Philadelphia. Potholes, unpredictable drivers, and SEPTA buses are legitimate concerns.

The problem isn’t that I recognize potential danger. It’s that my mind sometimes leaps from something could go wrong to something terrible is definitely going to happen. There’s a meaningful difference between those two thoughts.

Similarly, CBT shouldn’t be used to convince ourselves that genuinely harmful circumstances are harmless. Sometimes anxiety alerts us to a legitimate threat. Sometimes anger tells us a boundary has been crossed. Our emotions provide important information, even if they don’t always tell us the whole story. The goal isn’t to dismiss those feelings, but to understand them and respond appropriately.

Can We Enjoy the Same Ride?

I probably won’t ever experience downhill cycling exactly the way my husband does. But I can notice when my mind jumps ahead to catastrophic possibilities, remind myself of the skills we’ve developed, and communicate when I need to slow down. I can also recognize that his experience is genuinely different from mine.

This is something I think about often in my work with couples. Two people can experience the same conversation or situation and walk away with very different feelings. One partner might interpret silence as rejection, while the other experiences it as an opportunity to collect their thoughts. One might see a suggestion as helpful problem-solving, while the other experiences it as criticism.

Neither person necessarily has the complete picture. Recognizing that our interpretations influence our emotions can help us approach these differences with curiosity rather than judgment. We don’t have to agree about everything or experience situations the same way. But we can make an effort to understand one another’s perspectives.

Sometimes we’re simply riding down the same hill and experiencing it differently. And with a little communication and compromise, perhaps we can both enjoy the ride.

Although I would still appreciate it if we could slow down a little.