A Nice Ride

Do you ever make a well thought-out decision, only to have a "What was I thinking" moment?

It happens to me more than I care to admit.

In an effort to improve my marathon training, I started to look for a way to change up my cross-training.  The running miles are increasing significantly now, and I want to keep boredom at bay.  One day a week of cross-training is a regular part of my training schedule.  The last few weeks, I've just walked at the park on my non-running days while my son runs.  I've wanted to do something different, and I prefer to be outdoors when the weather is nice.

A few weeks ago, I was searching for something in the garage, and noticed my husband's bike.  It would be nice to be able to get out and ride for my cross-training.  I mulled the idea over for a while, mostly to justify purchasing a helmet.  Last weekend, my husband adjusted the seat for me, filled the tires with air, and other general maintenance.  I broke down and bought a helmet.  I was ready to ride. 

Did I mention I haven't ridden a bicycle in over twenty years?  Well, you know how the saying goes...

It's not true.  Okay, let me back up.  It's partly true that you never forget how to ride a bicycle.  I was a little shaky, but after a few turns around the yard, I was fine.  So maybe you never forget how to balance on two wheels, but I don't remember the gears being so complicated.  My husband's bike has 21 speeds.  It's made for off-road.  I asked him how I'd know which gear to use.  His answer to me was "You'll figure it out."  I took a few test rides around the house before I took to the road. 

This is the point where I really started to question my decision.  We live at the top of a hill, so no matter which direction I went it was downhill first.  I headed east because that part of the road is straight.  Going west would involve curves.  As I gained speed on the downhill, I started to feel completely helpless.  I pictured myself wiped out at the bottom of the hill.  A phrase I’ve heard ran through my mind “has book sense, but no common sense.”  Amazingly enough, I made it to the bottom without crashing.  I curved around to face another monstrous elevation.  Halfway up, after I had shifted through 14 different speeds trying to find one that would help, I pulled myself over to the side of the road.  I was huffing and puffing.  How can I run 13 miles, but can't get myself up this hill?

I finally made it to the top and took a side road to get more familiar with the riding and shifting, only to discover this road was hilly too.  I turned around.  I had only been "riding" for ten minutes.  I started to feel a little better going down the hill this time, and the shifting was starting to make sense in my warped mind.  I rounded the curve again, to begin the uphill climb home. 

The worst thing about living at the top of a hill is that no matter which direction you're coming from, you have to go up the hill to get home.  I rode into my driveway out of breath, with sore legs and a sore seat.  My total ride time was barely 25 minutes.

As tough as it was, I will get back out there again.  Only next time, I think I'll head west.