A Theory to Nature: how a bike taught me the lessons to surviving climate change

Audrey Theo Babbitt

December 6, 2025 

I first started biking in the winter of 2024, and in the dark mornings I would go down the stairs of my parents home and flip on the light to the shared family room that held my bike. This wasn’t the time to hibernate and save energy to last through the winter. It was the time to work and push what I thought I could do. Those mornings were hard. I wasn’t very strong, that winter felt like it wouldn’t end, and sometimes the sun wouldn’t be up when I finished. I looked out the window next to my stationary bike and would be mesmerized by how it was so cold outside in the snow just feet away from me, and I was so bloody hot and sweating on the inside. That winter taught me how to stay consistent and get up in the morning even if it was just for an hour. It taught me how to stay patient, and to trust that the winter would end, and my legs would get stronger. And all the audiobooks- hours and hours of books! They taught me how to enjoy the moments on the bike that were not very fun. Biking that winter laid my foundation to become a triathlete, and triathlon has shaped the way I understand commitment. Now, athletics is how I implement consistency, patience, and joy into my real life.

I think we all have a very intimate relationship with nature, even if we feel very disconnected from it. Whether it’s a special place to escape the human world and go into the forest, or if you are there everyday because there's no other place that feels like home. We all connect to it in our own special and unique way. There’s an amount of idealism and romanticism that I attribute to nature in order for me to go explore it. My mom often thinks of all the places she could go, and how nice the weather would be. Motherhood is lovely, but escaping the craziness is needed at times. Personally, I like to bike up the nearby canyons or go on a trial run. When I run, I am nature. When I pass by the rocks and shrubs, I’m reminded of their strength and resilience over their lifetimes. The rocks and plants that now face more heat waves and crashing storms simply accept them as part of their reality. I see myself in that endurance. The Earth has often been my education to bravery, strength, grit, beauty, and grace as I’ve earned my undergraduate degree.

Consistency in environmentalism means being a partner with the Earth and working with it. It's finding the ways that I can collaborate, and finding the ways that it needs help. Many essential climate changes are not very glamorous. Putting eclectic lines down and replacing old refrigerators are two solutions that are not as fun as saving the forest and protecting the whales, but they are key contributors to us fighting our excessive carbon emissions. Consistency is doing something every single day no matter what. It’s every vegan or plant based meal, and every time I ride my bike to school. The Earth doesn’t respond to heroic one-time actions; it responds to daily partnership.

Patience in environmentalism work looks like two things. First, grace with yourself when you can’t do everything you’d like. I would like to have every aspect of my day be completely sustainable and carbon free, but in this world, it isn’t realistic for every aspect to be that way. So, it means grace in knowing that I’m growing and I’m working on what it means to be sustainable, and that’s enough. Sometimes the slow improvements as you bike alone in the dark are enough. The hardest part is building the consistency from nothing and building the new habits. Patience also means waiting. Waiting a long time without seeing any results. Trusting that if I do the work, then it will happen. Fitness cannot be forced and similarly environmental change cannot force itself to show either. In this case if carbon in our atmosphere were to stabilize or decrease then we would actually see less storms and droughts. I need to trust that I’m becoming a sustainable person, even if I don’t feel it or see it.

Joy in sustainability means going after the appealing and sexy forms of climate solutions. The environmental restoration, and the paper utensils and straws. It means creating it with your community. It means making book clubs about green topics, then borrowing the books from a library. It means having a huge vegan feast for Thanksgiving! My climate joy is triathlon. Going on a long bike ride all the way out to East Canyon reservoir over the mountains and through the falling leaves. Joy is going on a hike in the woods and teaching my little sisters about how trees talk to each other from their roots. It is a tool to make the less appealing tasks more doable like an audiobook on an indoor bike ride. 

How is this the only photo I have of me on the bike- haha

The only trouble with these three values is that I feel I would not do enough. I’m one to overdo something. But with a society and community infrastructure that makes sustainable habits challenging, even more intentionality with sustainable choices needs to be made. I worry that just having these three values isn’t adequate. It also feels too gentle. Like there should be aggressive approaches to climate change solutions because it’s an issue that is happening right now. I feel like many people can write off not doing physical climate solutions– like putting solar on their house or protesting against the government or transferring to a vegan diet– by just saying that they will have grace with themselves and do the small things. I need a rule or guideline to help me scale this.

I may not have that golden rule yet, but I do know that as I adapt and grow into my adulthood my consistency will become systemic– for myself and others. I can show up to bill hearings and court rooms open to the public around environmental issues. My patience will become political and will help me stay committed when policy is slow. In those times my joy must be communal. I’ll get to celebrate with others and resist despair. These values are able to mature with me as I grow and life gets complex.

Environmental change requires a certain kind of hopeful delusion — the belief that huge, improbable transformations are possible. The same delusion that makes me sign up for a triathlon months before I’m ready also makes me believe Salt Lake City could become a cycling city, or that small acts can echo into policy. Being close to the Earth through my body makes me a better partner to it. And, I know that my legs will get stronger, that soon enough the snow will melt on the other side of my window, and I will have made a memorable ride to a better world.