to go: 734.8
weeks is one hell of a "hiatus" from bike-riding. Just ask my thigh
delay has played serious
havoc with our
*2,002 in 2002* mileagemileagemileage
accumulation: now we're
going to be scrambling like madpersons for the rest of the year, trying
to get caught up. Basically, I can forget about sleeping past 6 a.m.
until at least January 2003.
... what can I say? Sometimes these things just happen.
there was my weekend in TicTac. The closest I came to doing any
"riding" there was sitting on my mother's
exercise bike for thirty seconds. And then I came home from TicTac and
I immediately got sick, and I'm sorry but I'm NOT
climb aboard The Butt D-Luxe with a 101° fever ... three-day
Day Weekend or no three-day Labor Day Weekend. (So quit looking at me
with those big sad Puppy Dog Eyes and fix me another Alka Seltzer Plus,
wouldya?) We did manage to squeeze in one pathetic abbreviated
after-work ride last week -- a quick jaunt to The Hornet and back,
hurrying to get home in time for the American Idol finale -- but that
barely put a dent in the odometer. The rest of the week was a blur of
nonstop family crises and assorted work-related nonsense, and we
couldn't seem to carve out any time to ride in the evenings.
yesterday, basically, was the first *big* ride I've been on in nearly a
was fine for the first thirty miles, from Walnut Creek to Pleasanton
and back on The Iron Horse Trail ... even with fewer stops, stiffer
gears and a decidedly faster pace. (David has his brand-new cleated
and shoes, purchased while I was in TicTac, and I found that I really
had to work to keep up with my husband The Speed Demon.) I'm the
who said "I can probably give
you a little more," when we got
to the end of the Iron Horse.
was that "little more" on the Canal Trail that nearly killed me.
actually ended up having to walk my bike halfway across the Iron Horse
Trail Bridge, coming back -- my left thigh muscle suddenly went into
spasm, just as I was reaching the summit -- and even though there was
nobody there to witness my humiliation except for David (and the
43,897,621 motorists passing on Ygnacio Valley Road below me) -- even
though I could justify it by reminding myself that I was out of
practice, and that I'm still recovering from Almost-Bronchitis, and
that I'd already ridden FORTY
MILES that morning,
forcryingoutloud -- I could still feel my face bursting into flames as
I pushed The Butt-D-Luxe over the crest of that puny little hill.
rest of the ride wasn't a lot easier. Somehow I managed to make it the
rest of the way from the bridge to the car: another couple of endless,
torturous miles. I probably rode .032 miles per hour, the whole way
old people in sweatpants were passing me on the trail. ("On
left, dear.") I didn't care. By
the time we got to the Subaru I was
totally wiped out ... physically, emotionally, every way. I came home
at 2:00 in the afternoon and went straight to bed and literally did
nothing else for the rest of the day/evening except read and snooze and
hint around about how nice another thigh massage would feel.
morning we crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn and did our usual
Sunday morning Bay Farm Island ride, sans the customary Noah's Bagels
stop. (I'm finding that I actually prefer not
to stop as much as we
used to: I don't lose so much momentum that way.) I still felt stiff
and sore and grumpy. It still seemed like much more work than usual --
"This isn't exactly what I would call 'fun,' " I garrumphed to David at
one point. And this afternoon my thigh muscles still feel like they've
been run over by a Frito-Lay truck.
that's OK. At least the
odometer is moving in a forward direction again. Sometimes the hardest
part of the hiatus is finding a way to end it, finally.
just hope that the odometer keeps moving in that direction for the next
sixteen weekends ... or I may never
get to sleep late again.
throw a rock