Expectations and Realizations

The beautiful Sears on it's first ride with me!

Finally, the weekend with it's wonderful and warm weather and loads of free time! We had both bikes ready to go and set off for the American Tobacco Trail (ATT) again. As we pulled into the parking area I saw dozens of bikers, most clad in their semi serious biking clothing, with snazzy looking bikes on their racks. I felt a moment's embarrassment when we roared through the parking lot with the old truck, our bicycles stacked on top of each other in the bed. We unloaded and spent a few minutes adjusting our helmets and checking to make sure we had out water and camera in the backpack. New items for the wishlist: saddlebags and handlebar bags and water bottle with cage.

We started out slowly, just sorta breezing down the trail, headed south. I was so excited to be riding the Sears! Before long the trail crosses a road and then another nice flat, straight stretch. We picked up speed and cruised along, yelling happy hellos to those we passed. Before too long another road crossing and just as we reach the other side, my pedals begin spinning with no resistance. I tried switching gears to no avail. I pulled it over and hopped off having absolutely no idea what was wrong. My first thought was that the chain popped. Nope. So I'm squatting on the edge of the trail spinning my pedal and thinking "um, nothing looks wrong." I tried switching the gears a few more times and sure enough there's suddenly resistance again. So I hop back on and we're off again. Since it was the first really nice day all week the trail had a lot of people on it walking, running, with dogs, with kids, bicycling, and horses. About 10 minutes later my pedals again have no resistance. By this point I had noticed the shifter looked a bit askance and that it was not exactly responding. I felt like it wouldn't shift down, and then a few minutes later would be stuck in the "down" position. Up until now the trail had been flat or even a very slight downhill grade. We crossed a bridge and suddenly it was not flat.

We slowly passed a mother with two kids just as the pulled over for a break. Not far up the trail, I had to take my first time-out. Water and a minute or two and I was good to go again. Not even 5 minutes up the trail, which has been noticeably uphill since we passed the family, I spot a bench and ask if we can plop for a few minutes as my thigh muscles are screaming. So we pull over again and I play around taking pictures for a few minutes. My thighs are still pretty sore after resting so we agree to walk a little ways up the grade. When we get back on, the trail is still climbing. Now I use the word "climbing" relatively here. I mean, it's probably like a 1 or 2% grade. I tough it out for a few more minutes, we cross a road, and still my thighs are on fire. At this point, the end of the trail is only 2.5 more miles. I had really wanted to get to the end of the trail. But I realized I would have to go all the way back to the truck and my legs were tuckered out. So we wisely turned around.

The Sears looking good on the trail.

Now every 5-7 minutes, my gears are not working. And I don't mean I can't shift. I mean the pedals will abruptly lose resistance and I fly forward from the momentum and my legs are churning like I'm sitting in a spinning class. Each time require me to get crafty with the gear switch and push and pull until whatever is screwed up clunks into place and I can propel myself again. Also, my thighs are basically in a constant state of pain. Not like, oh wow, I can feel my muscles a bit. More like, oh god, can you do permanent damage by continuing if your muscles feel like they are pulled and on fire with each revolution? After another quick rest, via my complaining about the pain, we start back towards the truck. I'm noticing now that this direction is not as easy as on the way out. Apparently the slight grade is no longer in our favor. I end up off the bike and walking again when my legs actually stop responding to my "go" commands. Llama decides to keep going and come back to me. So as I'm watching her go, I start having myself a little pity/bashing party. I'm pissed that I couldn't go as far as I wanted, and that my muscles are hurting so badly. I angry that I ever go so fat and out of shape. I think about all the sports I played in high school and how I could always play through the pain. That makes me even more upset that I am not "strong" enough mentally to push through my physical weaknesses. I'm embarrassed that I couldn't do better, couldn't reach my goal. I'm embarrassed that I had to walk up a slight grade and that I'm walking now. I'm embarrassed that with such little exertion I had to huff and puff my fat ass up the hill. I feel stupid about making Llama wait for me, take a thousand breaks. I angry that something is wrong with my bike. I'm hot and thirsty and the truck is still more than a mile down the trail. Finally, I get enough anger built up I use it to get back on the bike. There was no way I was going to take an hour to walk back to the truck. I wobbled off, slowly and immediately the burning feeling returns to my thighs. I'm barely going fast enough to stay upright, but I am damned determined to at least ride to the road crossing. At one point, only the thought of how long it would take to walk keeps me on the bike. Finally the road crossing comes into view and I feel my spirits lift slightly. It's not too much further to the truck.

I'm still embarrassed and angry but realize these emotions aren't exactly helping and are sorta ruining the experience. I know I need to lower my expectations at least slightly. I'm not 17 anymore. I am carrying around about 80-90 pounds more than I was in high school. I am no longer an athlete. I'm a fat slob. And I guess that's ok but it's hard to admit that I did this to myself, that I let myself get to this point. It's hard facing the cruel facts. It's hard to admit I'm not quite who I want to be. It's irritating to think of the amount of work needed to get even minimally back into shape. To add insult to injury, all my little fantasies about riding for causes and commuting to work are looking a lot less immediately tangible. But then I'm thinking--well I'm out here now. And I'm not doing great, but I won't do great until I at least do something for awhile. So I guess a slow start sucks but at least I'm not sitting on my fat ass at home. At least I'm putting forth an effort. And really it's not the pain that is so bothersome, but my inability to drive through it. My willpower is no longer strong enough to be the only fuel for my mass. But I didn't give up and I think it's ok to say "you know, I need to walk for a minute". As long as I get back on, I think that's just part of the journey.

Me still smiling at the end of the ride.

Today, I rode nearly 6 miles. I don't even remember the last time I went that far when not riding in a car. It's not as good as I wanted. But a hell of a lot better than nothing. And I guess not a shabby start. And the joy of being outside, of the wind and the sun on my face, of riding my treasured old bike, these are things that cannot be measured in miles, but in smiles. And already I can't wait until tomorrow...

The First Ride

So today I took my first ride. I went with my girl, Llama, to the American Tobacco Trail. This trail is an old railroad bed that has been turned into a recreational trail. The best thing about it is that it is flat. I thought it would make the perfect place for a first attempt as it would be easy and that would be an encouraging and positive start for me.

The American Tobacco Trail

The old black bike is not yet road ready so I had to take BB--the Beater Bike. BB is a relatively newish but not well cared for Huffy one speed step-through. I know people wax all poetic about their thousand dollar bikes and their performance and I respect that. But let's be honest--my performance does not require a high end bike. And though I winced at getting a box-store, mass-market, el cheapo hunk of metal (even second hand and cheap), right now it's really about the ride for me. Isn't the whole point to just get out and ride? I hope that there never comes a day when I refuse to ride on a perfect spring-ish day in February due to the bike that is available. I never want to lose sight of the pure joy of hoping on a bike and wobbling my fat ass off down the trail!

BB (The Beater Bike)

That said, my ride was wonderful. My thighs were hurting within 7 minutes and I felt like I was positively crawling down the trail. And it was great! It was great to feel my muscles working, to feel the cool wind, to be breezed past by "serious bikers" in all their gear. I took it slow and steady and let myself rediscover the whole experience. I listened to BB make unpleasant noises and realized why a bike should fit properly (aka the seat kept dumping my off the front and my knees were coming nearly to my chest cuz the seat was not high enough). I remembered why I liked riding and felt a sense of joy about riding again. I pinpointed my next "essential" gear--2 damn water bottles and some breathable shirts.

There was a little unexpectedly wonderful moment during the ride. Llama, the girl, had been running while I was riding. We were both taking a break, feeling a bit worn out and walking and I offered the bike to her. She strapped the helmet on and slowly wobbled down the path. Before long, she was coming back towards me and then whizzed past. I continued walking toward the trail head thinking about how much I was enjoying the bike, the day, the company, and the sunshine. Then from behind me, I hear a shout! "Watch out! I'm a racer!!!" and Llama went flying past as fast as she could go! I broke into a huge smile just watching, vicariously feeling the joy and appreciating that I could share it. Nothing like seeing someone in their mid-twenties racing with the abandon of a child! This is what I wanted. This freedom and innocent exhilaration, the pure fun of riding a bike. I probably traveled about 3 miles give or take today. Some of it I walked, some I rode fast, most I rode slow. But I didn't really care how far I'd gone, or that the bike is as yet ill-fitted, or that I had a few too many layers on. I had a really good time.