There was a switch that got flipped in my brain after we had some perfect weather last week. That switch turned my brain from winter mode to that of a glorious, rejuvenative spring ... ahhh. Can't you just count the pollen?! So, in my brain, it is time to ride, baby. (It is particularly time to get out from under the albatross of the gym and its resident goddess, but anyway.) I pumped the tires on my sweet old bike, donned my helmet and took the old squeaky green beast for a spin. The first couple of times were great and I rode longer than ever before (on the road, gym doesn't count). But then came today. It's spring and it's time to ride, right?
In the case of today, wrong. Very VERY wrong. As I am a beginner and as my gear is modest, (dirty old hybrid bought used, cutoff sweats and a hand-me-down vest from Dave, who is now too svelte and chic to wear it -- that's my get-up for gettin'round) I am hindered and hampered by the sorts of impediments that more skilled and well-outfitted riders would take in stride, like for example, gale force winds. Never have 15 miles been so nearly the death of me. Never has pedaling downhill felt like trying to swim to the bottom of the deep end of the pool. And never have I been inspired to such ... ehem... colorful language every time the wind picked up, which incidentally seemed to coincide with every uphill section of my ride. I didn't time myself, but my excursion was somewhere between 90 and 120 minutes. Few fools suffered the wind yesterday, actually. I only saw one cyclist (that I recall, but then again, I think I blacked out for a bit). He was on a road bike that was black and red and he wore an outfit that matched his bike (like he was going to the cycling prom or something), so naturally he sailed past me. I'll save my rant about cycling snobs for another post. Or not. It's kind of incoherent, since it is normally being formulated when I'm on my bike and all my blood is in my legs.
I did fantasize about a friend stopping to pick me up in a nice warm car and me tossing my bike into a ditch. But, my bike and I both made it home and I didn't walk.
This started as an online journal in early 2006. At the time, it was a carefree spot for silly diatribes and the occasional photo. Since then, I got pregnant with mono.amniotic mono.chorionic twins, learned one of our daughters had a heart defect, spent 11 weeks in a hospital room and 29 more days with Eva in the NICU and PICU before losing her. We have two children who are alive and thriving and one who didn't make it. For me, this has become that place in between.
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