They’re not in that cupboard above your microwave where the cold medicine lives. They’re not in your purse with the Rolaids and throat lozenges. They’re not behind the mirror in your bathroom medicine cabinet.
They’re out there. In the world. Under the sun.
They’re the baseball glove and the ball you throw. They’re the grass and flowers and veggies you grow.
They’re the neighbourhood kids playing outside. They’re the smell of the smoke from a late night fire.
And for me when the air is twenty degrees, I lace up my shoes and adjust my seat. I put on my shorts, inflate my tires, turn off my cellphone and go outside. And I ride.
And if I never came back that would be okay. My antidepressants are out on the trail.