By Jayme Moye
In April 2013, I traveled to Kabul, Afghanistan to report on the country's first women’s cycling team. My first interview was with the team captain.
During her interview, Mariam tells the story of the road bike crash that fractured her lower back. It happened earlier in the year on a training ride on a highway north of Kabul. A man on a moped pulled up beside her and verbally harassed her for riding. When she kept going, he rammed her with his moped. She tells the story matter-of-factly, as if being attacked for riding a bike is normal. I realize, as a female cyclist in Afghanistan, that’s exactly what it is—an everyday, ordinary risk. If you choose to be a woman athlete, violence and harassment are part of the deal.
I put my head down and scribble into my notepad, hoping no one can tell that I’m rattled. As part of my story, I’m supposed to ride with Mariam and the team on the same highway where she was attacked. But after hearing about her assault, combined with the Taliban having launched their spring offensive, I’m losing confidence. One of the filmmakers asks Mariam if she is afraid to ride. I look up to see her reaction. Mariam smiles and says her attacker was put in prison. Then she pauses, as if considering the question further. I feel like she’s looking straight at me when she says, “Riding a bike is not possible with fear.”
