I’m sure if I took the time to go through the archives of this journal, I’d come up with lots of entries about getting back on my bike.
The truth is I’m a lousy cyclist – I love doing it but most of the time, I succumb to the same sort of inertia that keeps most people on the couch in front of the telly. It’s always ‘too late’ or I’m always ‘too tired or hungry’. Well, sod that. It’s the New Year and I need to stop making excuses for myself.
On Sunday, Hubba and I hit the trail on a New Year’s ride and boy did I feel like a b00b. I was afraid of every little bump of the trail – of every little rock that stuck out of the ground, of every single root that peeked out ominously at me. At first, I tried to focus on all things positive: The sound of the crickets. The smooshing of the earth under my wheels. The husband’s steady and guiding cadence.
But as we progressed, I realized how pathetic I truly was. I was so so afraid, that I was unable to even roll downhill at some sections which I knew I was able to clear before. Something inside me was just holding me back.
Needless to say, I was super demoralized after the ride. I tried to look at it positively, that I had gotten a workout nevertheless (pushing up and downhill is tiring too). But I think I was mainly just really fed up.
So when the husband said he was heading out for some hill training last night, I decided to gear up and follow. If I can’t do it on the trail, I can do it on the road.
And I sure as hell killed my quads good and proper, I tell you that. I can’t actually feel my thighs right now as I write this. They’re aching so very much.
But it felt good to wake up to the pain. It felt familiar… And it was a pain that I welcomed, like a visit from an old friend.
I’m not sure how good I’m going to be about keeping to this, but one thing’s for sure.
I think I’m ready to race again.