800 Days Outside
800 Days Outside
by Damion Alexander
The last day I didn’t go for a bike ride was December 26, 2023. I started riding the next day, and since then, for more than 800 consecutive days, I’ve gotten on a bike and ridden every single day. No exceptions. No shortcuts. And not just on a stationary bike. Every day, I’ve walked out my front door and into the world, committing to at least 45 minutes on the bike.
What’s interesting is that this journey didn’t start from a place of strength. It started from the opposite.
I was on the floor, literally unable to move.
That moment became a line in the sand. I made a decision right there that I was going to become physically active again, and not just occasionally, but every day. I didn’t set a goal to ride far. I set a goal to ride again tomorrow. And then the next day. And the next. No matter how short the ride, I told myself that whatever I do today, I can repeat tomorrow.
That was the foundation.
What followed wasn’t a solo comeback story. It was a team effort. Over the course of a full year, I worked with a chiropractor, a physical therapist, and a massage therapist. I had support, guidance, and accountability. I was also gifted access to a gym, where I could rebuild my core and slowly regain strength. Piece by piece, I put myself back together.
So I’m not coming at this as some kind of superhuman. I have my frailties. I’ve had injuries. I’ve faced setbacks. I’m not the fastest rider, and I never will be. But what I’ve learned is this. I can keep going.
And sometimes, that’s everything.
There’s a quote often attributed to Albert Einstein that has stayed with me throughout this journey: “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”
At my corporate office, there’s a large painting of Einstein that hangs between the floors of a two story open space. What makes it even more special is how it was created. It was painted live, upside down, in a matter of minutes, only to be flipped at the end to reveal the full image. Every time I walk by it, I think of that quote. I think of balance. I think of motion. And I think about how often in life, things don’t make sense until you shift your perspective.
This ride, these 800 days, has carried me through more than just physical recovery. It’s carried me through life.
After 30 years of marriage, I went through a separation from the love of my life. Around the same time, a business partner I deeply valued, moved on. There were emotional lows, physical challenges, and moments where it would have been easy, understandably easy, to stay inside and shut the world out.
A good friend of mine was telling me recently that there are days he doesn’t leave his condo at all. And honestly, I think a lot of people can relate to that. There’s comfort in staying in. There’s safety. For some, that’s where happiness lives.
But for me, I’ve realized something different.
Every time I step outside, something happens.
It doesn’t take much. I’ve always had a natural disposition toward finding joy in small things. I’m not particularly extroverted, but I’m endlessly fascinated by the world around me. A butterfly landing on a flower. A subtle shift in the breeze. The way the light changes at different times of day. These are the things that anchor me.
And when you ride a bike every day, you don’t just notice these things. You live inside them.
You feel the chill of a morning ride and know that by the end of the week, it will be 100 degrees. You remember what 108 feels like, and even 117. You ride through sickness, through recovery, through exhaustion. There were days I didn’t leave my street, late at night, just soft pedaling to keep the streak alive. But even then, I was outside. I was moving.
And movement changes you.
There’s real psychology behind it. Physical activity releases dopamine and serotonin, helping regulate mood, reduce stress, and build resilience. I’ve felt that firsthand. Even on the hardest days, a short ride could shift something internally. It didn’t solve everything. But it moved me forward.
And that forward motion extended into every part of my life.
I’ve run my real estate business from my bike. Many of those miles weren’t just for fitness. They were for work. Riding to show homes, exploring neighborhoods, meeting clients, understanding the nuances of different areas in a way you simply can’t from a car. The bike gave me a deeper connection to the community I serve.
It also connected me to people and events. Over these 800 days, I’ve participated in roughly 100 events, about one per week. Each one a gathering, a shared experience, a reminder that community is built through presence.
And then there are the places the bike has taken me.
From the rugged challenge of the Arizona Trail Race to the high altitude beauty of Telluride, I’ve seen seasons change in ways most people don’t. Snow covered ground giving way to wildflowers. Monsoon storms rolling in, dropping the temperature from 108 to 80 in minutes. Getting drenched in warm rain, only to be dry again ten minutes after the sun returns.
These aren’t just observations. They’re experiences that live in your body.
And there’s something else that’s happened along the way, something a bit more subtle, but just as profound.
There’s a part of the brain called the reticular activating system. It filters the massive amount of information we take in and decides what we actually notice. Most people recognize it when they buy a new car. Suddenly, they see that same make and model everywhere.
What we look for shapes what we see.
Riding every day has tuned that system in a different way for me. Even on the same routes, I’m always looking for something new. And because I’m looking, I find it. A blooming pincushion cactus that suddenly appears in clusters, dozens of them, each one with delicate pink blossoms you might miss if you weren’t paying attention.
They were always there.
I just hadn’t seen them before.
That, more than anything, might be the greatest gift of these 800 days. Not the miles. Not the streak. But the awareness.
The understanding that the world is full of small, extraordinary moments, and that we don’t need to go far to find them. We just need to step outside. To move. To look.
So here I am, more than 800 days in. Not perfect. Not the strongest. Not the fastest.
But still going.
And as long as I keep moving, I know I’ll keep finding my balance.