As part of my quest to “bring adventure into our lives” and “get out of our ruts” and to “do different things”, my hubby and I took a 14.5 mile round trip bike ride along the Potomac River enroute to Mount Vernon. Now this may not sound so adventurous or exciting for most, but we hadn’t been on a bike for two years. We had actually planned on biking with friends but we overslept and then discovered a flat tire on one of our bikes, which turned out to be fortuitous because our friends ended up riding 26 miles.
Twenty-six miles on a bike is not a big deal for those folk you see with the colorful bike shirts who are hunched over their bikes in the shape of a U (also known as guerilla riders), but when one hasn’t ridden for two years, even 14 miles is a long distance.
I used to be a guerilla rider. In fact, I was training for a 300 mile ride until my father got sick. My husband reminded me that was at least six years ago. I remember the first training session for the 300 miler was a 20-mile warm-up ride after a winter of inactivity. It was tough, but I was able to do it. My brain doesn’t acknowledge the passage of time. It says “yes I can”, but my body says “no you can’t.”
One day has passed now since the bike ride. The swelling in my knee has gone down and my back has just about stopped aching from bending over the handlebars, and we are preparing for a sunset, moonlight kayaking trip this evening. My brain is saying “you go girl!”, while my body is saying buy Bengay before you go.