Cross my heart and hope to....
The weather is getting warmer. The light of the sun is lasting longer. Do you know what this means? It means I am running out of excuses for not riding my bike. I've ridden only once this year so far. I went ten very long, very thirst-inducing miles with my sadistic husband behind me, shouting encouragements. Like that's going to help.
I started the day with hope. I put on my brand new sports bra, jersey, socks, those bike shorts, and my brand new tennis shoes. The pad in the shorts felt like I had a mattress stuck to my butt. Those shorts don't leave anything to the imagination. Now I know why my husband wears sweat pants over his. Anyway, we fill our little bottles with gatoraide and strap the bikes to the back of the car. It's a sunny, cool day. I remembered to bring my sunblock (because I burn like a marshmallow in a flame, let me tell ya).
We go downtown by the Arch and get ready for the ride. My husband rigged my iPod and earphones so that I'll have some music. He gave me a pair of gloves, strapped on my helmet, and off we went. The first mile was easy. The Mississippi river is right there, the view is nice, the pace isn't so bad. Then we reach the first hill.
My calves woke up and started yelling at me. I wanted to stand on my bike, but I was too afraid I'd lose my balance, so I did that weave-from-side-to-side maneuver like some demented dashboard toy. My hands were gripping the handle bars so tight my wrists hurt. Teeth gritted, muscles straining, I made it to the top and nearly collapsed with the effort. That was 10 feet of torture I never want to do again.
I'm too chicken to try and grab my drink bottle and ride at the same time. Once, a long time ago, a cousin of mine tried to do a trick on his bike and ended up doing a nose dive in the street. We picked gravel out of his face for hours. So I had to stop to drink. I have these screwy peddles that have an upper guard, you're supposed to slip your feet into them so as to double your efforts when you pedal. Yeah, right. Once I got one foot in, I had to wobble all over the trail trying to get the other in place. Gravity tends to make heavy parts go down, I couldn't flip the pedal up, insert my foot, watch the road, watch out for other riders, and keep my balance all at the same time. My husband was greatly amused, but had the good sense to keep it to himself.
That is how it went all day. Ride, stop, drink, wobble, nearly crash, and then ride again.
About mile three we encounter another hill, this one much longer and steeper than the first. I almost didn't make it. The only reason I did was trying to catch up with my husband so I could slap him on the back of the head. He actually enjoys this shit. By the time we hit mile number five I had forgotten what it was like to breathe. My lungs hurt, my mouth and throat were dry, I'd sucked up most of my gatoraide by then. I decide that's it, we're going back so I can burn everything I'm touching. The hill from hell did me in this time, I had to get off my bike and walk it up. No riding = no wind. I was on fire. I got back on and did the wobbly, pedal finding dance again.
I don't remember the rest of the ride. I think my mind shut off in order to spare me the trauma. All I could think was "Go, go, go, go, go." The faster we got back to the car the sooner I could collapse. Every doughnut, cheeseburger, and milkshake I'd ever had flashed before my eyes. I made a deal with every God and Goddess I could think of, "Please, just let me live through this."
I've never been so happy to see my husband's shit-brown Honda Accord. My feet hurt from my new shoes, I had a blister on one foot for sure. My calves were tight, it hurt to walk. In contrast, everything from my thighs to my breasts were numb. My arms and shoulders were tired from exerting so much force, and my ears were burnt because I had forgotten to put sunblock on them. My husband is standing before me grinning like a fool. If I'd had any energy, I'd have punched him. Then he says, "Honey, I'm so proud of you." Before I knew it I was grinning like a new puppy. To my surprise, the next day I was not sore at all. I couldn't seem to get enough liquid, though.
This weekend we're going to go riding again, some place new to me. Boy, can I contain my excitement? I just hope there won't be any damn hills.
I started the day with hope. I put on my brand new sports bra, jersey, socks, those bike shorts, and my brand new tennis shoes. The pad in the shorts felt like I had a mattress stuck to my butt. Those shorts don't leave anything to the imagination. Now I know why my husband wears sweat pants over his. Anyway, we fill our little bottles with gatoraide and strap the bikes to the back of the car. It's a sunny, cool day. I remembered to bring my sunblock (because I burn like a marshmallow in a flame, let me tell ya).
We go downtown by the Arch and get ready for the ride. My husband rigged my iPod and earphones so that I'll have some music. He gave me a pair of gloves, strapped on my helmet, and off we went. The first mile was easy. The Mississippi river is right there, the view is nice, the pace isn't so bad. Then we reach the first hill.
My calves woke up and started yelling at me. I wanted to stand on my bike, but I was too afraid I'd lose my balance, so I did that weave-from-side-to-side maneuver like some demented dashboard toy. My hands were gripping the handle bars so tight my wrists hurt. Teeth gritted, muscles straining, I made it to the top and nearly collapsed with the effort. That was 10 feet of torture I never want to do again.
I'm too chicken to try and grab my drink bottle and ride at the same time. Once, a long time ago, a cousin of mine tried to do a trick on his bike and ended up doing a nose dive in the street. We picked gravel out of his face for hours. So I had to stop to drink. I have these screwy peddles that have an upper guard, you're supposed to slip your feet into them so as to double your efforts when you pedal. Yeah, right. Once I got one foot in, I had to wobble all over the trail trying to get the other in place. Gravity tends to make heavy parts go down, I couldn't flip the pedal up, insert my foot, watch the road, watch out for other riders, and keep my balance all at the same time. My husband was greatly amused, but had the good sense to keep it to himself.
That is how it went all day. Ride, stop, drink, wobble, nearly crash, and then ride again.
About mile three we encounter another hill, this one much longer and steeper than the first. I almost didn't make it. The only reason I did was trying to catch up with my husband so I could slap him on the back of the head. He actually enjoys this shit. By the time we hit mile number five I had forgotten what it was like to breathe. My lungs hurt, my mouth and throat were dry, I'd sucked up most of my gatoraide by then. I decide that's it, we're going back so I can burn everything I'm touching. The hill from hell did me in this time, I had to get off my bike and walk it up. No riding = no wind. I was on fire. I got back on and did the wobbly, pedal finding dance again.
I don't remember the rest of the ride. I think my mind shut off in order to spare me the trauma. All I could think was "Go, go, go, go, go." The faster we got back to the car the sooner I could collapse. Every doughnut, cheeseburger, and milkshake I'd ever had flashed before my eyes. I made a deal with every God and Goddess I could think of, "Please, just let me live through this."
I've never been so happy to see my husband's shit-brown Honda Accord. My feet hurt from my new shoes, I had a blister on one foot for sure. My calves were tight, it hurt to walk. In contrast, everything from my thighs to my breasts were numb. My arms and shoulders were tired from exerting so much force, and my ears were burnt because I had forgotten to put sunblock on them. My husband is standing before me grinning like a fool. If I'd had any energy, I'd have punched him. Then he says, "Honey, I'm so proud of you." Before I knew it I was grinning like a new puppy. To my surprise, the next day I was not sore at all. I couldn't seem to get enough liquid, though.
This weekend we're going to go riding again, some place new to me. Boy, can I contain my excitement? I just hope there won't be any damn hills.
posted by Barbarian02003 | Wednesday, March 30, 2005
3 Comments:
I haven't ridden a bike since I was 12, I can't even imagine what kind of pain I'd be in! So, kudos to you for going!
I'm right there with ya about sunburns. I freckle for the first ten minutes or so and then I turn as red as a tomato and crisp. Once, a couple years ago, I got rebellious and walked around a street fair w/o sunblock for 2 hours in a tank top. I had to wear the same tank top for three days after 'cause I couldn't let anything else touch my skin.
Oh, that sucks!
So did you get married AGAIN?!?! This "husband" you speak of simply cannot be the guy we saw you get married to.
At either rate, we are jealous you guys get to ride. we have hardly riden our bikes at all since we've moved down here. People in Atlanta seem to think that it's their right to go out of their way to run down bikers. Even if you are on the sidewalk. Even if you are in the hall way of a building... somebody will drive their car through the walls just to run you down!
Atlanta is teh suck.
BTW - Mrs. The Hun wanted me to let you know that you are a very good writer... I agree, of course. She also says that your husband has been replaced with an alien clone. Cause all she's ever heard was that he was too lazy to make it to Tybee Island on his bike with me. So he must be a clone... check to see if he still has a belly button, because clone's don'y have mother's therefore no umbilical chord, THEREFORE, no belly button!!!!
We just hope it's not too late!
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