Like Riding a Bike
There’s a reason for the expression, “it’s like riding a bike.”
This is kind of embarrassing, but today I climbed on a bike for the first time in fifteen years!
I’m not an athletic woman. I like to walk everywhere, but beyond that, the only thing I usually exercise (except for the occasional kegels) is my elbow.
McHotty has been on my case to start exercising for a long time. He, of course, goes to the gym almost everyday, bikes miles to work, and is super-fit. I feel like a slob beside him. Luckily, the super-flu I just recovered from knocked nine pounds off my frame in a week, making up for a winter of many fine cheeses. But I’m still not too happy about how I look with clothes off.
So today, with the beautiful weather and unexpected TTC strike, I decided it was time to get back on the horse. We have a fantastic bike path at the end of our street; the beach is five minutes away; we have a brand new bike trailer from MEC. There were no more excuses.
I was a little unsteady at first: I weaved back and forth like a drunken clown. But it really didn’t take long to get the hang of it again.
At first I gripped the handlebars with white knuckles. My muffin-top popped out of my low-rise jeans, and I realized my ass-crack was showing, but I was too afraid to let go to make adjustments.
After ten minutes or so, I felt more comfortable—even daring to let go with one hand to yank down my t-shirt—and we made it to the beach in one piece.
On the way home, I pedalled fast, and with the wind and the sun on my face, I felt like I was 12 years old again.
But how much do you want to bet I will feel like I’m 112 tomorrow?