Whimper, Whimper
I’ve recently had several realizations that, for health purposes, must be shared with the general public.
Let’s begin with an old adage that has been running through my mind as of late: It’s like riding a bike. The implication here is that riding a bike is simple and once learned, the skill set necessary for bike riding will remain embedded in your psyche indefinitely. I am here to assert, dear friends, that this statement is crappola.
I have also learned that things that rocked the Kazbah when you’re 10 are not always as kick ass at 27. Another recent revelation is that breathing is not always as easy as it looks.
For those who may be scratching their heads, allow me to elaborate on the situation that led me to arrive at this sweaty, sore, and utterly disillusioned state.
As with most people in the country, I sometimes struggle with my weight. In the last four years or so I’ve gained and lost and gained a total of about 120 lbs. Not all at once, mind you. A few here, a few there. I’ve changed pant size and dress size and bra size, though no weight loss yet has taken me out of my freakishly large size 11 W shoes into a delicate 7. But I digress. The point is that I’m fed up with diets. And I’m fed up with unreasonable fitness goals that I never seem to match. One slip and I feel that I should just walk away entirely. This month, I took a different approach.
My goal for the month of July was to accomplish 20 blocks of healthy activity in 31 days. They had to be at least 20 – 30 minutes and could cover any range of activity from the Y to swimming, a brisk walk, dancing, etc. While I’m a bit behind, my goal is still within my grasp and I am determined to reach it.
Tonight I actually got to leave work at a reasonable hour. I came home with the sun shining, the birds singing, and the typical Colorado afternoon thunderstorm still hovering out of reach. I thought about heading over to the local YMCA. I’ve become a frequent, if sporadic, visitor as of late. I changed out of my work dress into some comfy workout pants and a tank top, and then I remembered that I now own a bicycle.
You’d think this would have been obvious as for the last three days said bicycle has taken up residence in my living room. It’s been living somewhere between the television and the couch. You see, I live in a lovely part of town in which most things are easily walked to. Those that aren’t are still close enough that I often feel guilty driving. It’s a whole “living a greener life” issue. The obvious solution to me was a bicycle. However, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, those suckers are friggin’ expensive. I spoke with my parents who happen to have an eclectic assortment o’ crap collected from raising a million children (who, as adults, don’t have garages of their own) and I was promised that a bike would be passed down to me.
This weekend, it was. What was not passed on, however, was a bike lock. Between that and the Colorado afternoon thunderstorms, I haven’t wanted to take it out yet. You see, in my foolish naivety, I expected to be able to hop on the bike and hot foot it to the local Blockbuster (a mere 3 miles away), go inside, browse, select a film, and come home to watch it as a reward for my excellent bike-riding skill.
About that….
Tonight, I finally pulled the bike out of my living room, onto the front walk, and climbed on. For this momentous occasion, I had high hopes. I was wearing my black workout pants and a white tank top. I grabbed a teal scarf I’d recently received from a friend of mine. I wrapped it jauntily about my neck. I envisioned it flowing out behind me, like the tail on a kite. It would wave to the passerby as if to say, “See me? I’m jaunty. I’m out for a jaunty, exhilarating bike ride. Aren’t you impressed by how effortlessly cool I make this seem?” Stupid scarf just wouldn’t shut up.
The first thought I had upon placing my confident feet on the pedals was a flashback to how very long it had been since I was on a bike that wasn’t nailed to a gym floor. A few wobbly pedals forward (and I do mean a very few) and I remembered that I had a stair on my walkway. Oof.
Ok, first hurdle down. I’m on the sidewalk. I went about a block when the wire connecting my brake to my tire got tangled in my pedal and I had to stop. I quickly figured out to jerry rig the issue and boldly went on my merry way.
I quickly got off the sidewalk and found a labeled bike trail along the road. My scarf singing along with the Pleasant Day play list booming forth from Bernice, my iPod, I made my way up the road and felt both powerful and cool. The scarf was harmonizing with the music, the pedals weren’t in any hurry to mix up with my wires, and other than the occasional gripe from my behind (hey?! Whose idea was this, anyway? I’ll make you pay! We don’t find the humor here!), things were going well.
Then I found my first hill.
There are many optical illusions that baffle me. The two faces that also make a vase is a winner. The squiggly lines that show up when you close your eyes is very popular. My newest optical illusion is the hill that doesn’t look like a hill. It looks like the slightest of inclines when, in reality, it’s a big freaking mountain. The first hill wasn’t all bad. I felt such a surge of relief when I was able to turn away that I was revived. However, that damn singing scarf was hastily tossed into my backpack around that time. I could still hearing it singing, but it wasn’t quite so loud.
The second hill, however, gave me a deeper sympathy for Sisyphus. On a bad day. With a sinus infection. (Did I mention that I have a sinus infection? Good times.) So there I am, trudging up the hills, desperate for a moment’s rest, when I ran over my first pothole.
Let me tell you, folks, it was an evening of exciting experiences. Really. I won’t get into the uneven sidewalks or the constant looking in a rear view mirror that I didn’t have. I won’t bore you with details of the gasping for breath and the shaking legs.
My plan to go to the Blockbuster was quickly revised when I realized that my body, which at 10 lived on a mountain bike, was in no way prepared for this. I did a final lap around the block and wound my way home.
The good news? I got in my workout. The bad news? I may never walk again and I may have made a beeline for the snickerdoodles the minute I came inside (I needed the sugar boost!). And I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad, but this entire experience? It came in at just about 25 minutes. Well done on hitting my goal, huh?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shower. I only have two hours until bed and it will take at least half that time to walk across the apartment to the bathroom. Wish me luck.
EXACTLY! I tried riding my friend Thena’s bike and as soon as I got on, I wondered why they use that expression about everything being “like riding a bike”? I always thought that meant it was easy to recall and you would pick it up in now time. Apparently, it REALLY means “it’s managable and you will get there but you will stumble, be very afraid, shake and wonder what the hell you are doing” while you get there. I wish someone had explained that to me.
So, I got on Thena’s bike. And I rode. And I was afraid. And all I could handle was going back and forth through her cul-de-sac. The cul-de-sac that only has 4 houses total in it. And I think I actually cried out loud in terror. And they laughed at me. In love, of course.
July 16th, 2009 at 9:16 ammmmm…. snickerdoodles… I mean… yeah, I had a similar experience myself, except mine involved signing up and paying for a mountin biking afternoon in Estes Park, expecting to ride casually along and enjoy the afternoon and the view. Fortunately, there was another girl who made the same mistake and after about 40 minutes of trying to keep up with the boys (I was in decent shape then) we quit and went for ice cream together.
July 20th, 2009 at 8:03 pmSo our bike lasted exactly four days in New Haven before it was stolen. Awesome. After reading your column, however, I will take that as an omen from above.
August 4th, 2009 at 7:26 am