A Saturday just like any other. A morning filled with a quick and delicious breakfast of crustless spinach quiche for which I forget to add the bacon prior to placing it in the oven. Adapt and overcome I say, and the bacon became a side dish. NPR on the radio, newspaper strewn about, coupons clipped, and a coffee cup containing 16+ ounces of ground bean greatness. The day's agenda is written in pencil by design, subject to change at a moment's notice. It reads as such: 1) assemble Ikea dresser, 2) clean the bike and inflate tires, 3) Espanol por dos horas 4) create Wii exercise routine.
The day got away from me as it always does. AM turned to PM before I turned off the radio and smelled the daytime air. My first order of business was not necessarily #1 on the list. It was an ever changing document. The deed that felt right to really start the day off was #2. Those with sophomoric minds need to stay with me and refer to the previously mentioned to-do list. You see, I just moved into a new rental house, and as a house warming gift of sorts I was the proud owner of a new (used) Specialized Road bike. It was left here by the previous tenant. I spent approximately 45 minutes wiping the dirt that had accumulated on it from sitting dormant in the detached garage for what looked to be about a year or so. I inflated the flat tires, sprayed it with 409 and posted a picture of it after its makeover on Facebook. I have never ridden a road bike before, this was new to me. My initial ride on this bike was not unlike my initial venture into the world of sexual intercourse. It was short and awkward, with lots of build up and preparation. I put on my bike shorts and a shirt worthy of a 30 mile ride. I fiddled with the helmet (also a freebie I found in the garage) for about 15 minutes, and carefully choose the appropriate footwear.
I was ready to get this show on the sidewalk. I know its a road bike, but I doubt the sidewalk knew the difference. I still did not feel comfortable in those foot straps on the pedals. I have been riding a mountain bike for so long now, my feet were not used to being in restraints. Every time I stopped and restarted I felt as if there should be some leeway between the soles of my shoes and the pedals, but alas, the Velcro would not allow it. Full disclosure, it is now January, and the last time I vigorously rode a bike was just before my 30th birthday at the end of May. So needless to say, it was a short ride. Long enough to figure out how to work the gears, get moderately comfortable with the constricting pedal straps, and work up a slight drizzle of sweat.
I had completed my short loop and was approaching my house once again. Keep in mind, I was used to reaching a top speed of 10-14 mph on my mountain bike. On this bike it was much easier to average a speed of 18-20 mph, and I wasn't exactly an expert at stopping yet. I was like the chubby girl at Roller Derby tryouts. Impressive at high speeds but capable of earth shaking collisions. The pedal straps were a hindrance, but the curb that lay between me and my stopping point was the wild card. Luckily my approach to my front porch was met without obvious incident. Even luckier still, nobody could hear what was going on in my head. It went a little like this: "oh shit, oh fuck, oh help me dear sweet Lord." Ultimately, an impromptu test of both the rear and front brakes was a success.
Such a horrifying experience can only be followed by a cool down of equal significance. That was successfully achieved by another culinary masterpiece of steamed cheeseburgers and sauteed new potatoes. Thanks to my multi-faceted Christmas present, otherwise known as a Rice cooker. That was enough for the day. The Ikea dresser would have to wait. It was time to wind down and watch some mindless TV on Netflix. Each day can only contain so much productivity, and I would hate to set the bar too high for the future.
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