Since my running suffered a minor setback with a shin injury last week, I took a friend’s advice and hopped on my bike, which happens to be a very old bike. I got the Trek hybrid in 1991, within weeks of my college graduation.
I loved that bike and it served me well—until that next Minnesota winter hit. Then it started gathering dust in the garage, blending in with the shovels, rakes and other lawn and garden tools decking the walls.
Last night my husband filled my old tires with air and this morning I was ready to go. It had been six days since I had worked out so I was actually more than ready!
It felt fabulous. Other than the squeaky breaks and the discomfort of a non-padded seat (ouch! will go seat shopping), everything was beautifully aligned—physically, spiritually and mentally. I got the same rush from riding that I get from running. Plus, I was able to cover more ground in a shorter amount of time.
I could feel different muscles working and the journey was liberating. When the wind blows in your face, it almost feels like you are flying—only there are no wings, just pedals to push and handles to hold.
My ride led me past Ditto Landing before I turned around and headed home. I enjoyed seeing the crew teams practicing in the river, which was dotted with lazy fishing boats and patient anglers.
After 12 miles, I was a new woman. The irritability that crept up on me over the past week melted away. My legs were mildly shaky, which I could appreciate, knowing it was weakness leaving another part of my body.
Who knows what my fitness future holds. Today I enjoyed a great ride. It wasn’t long or fast, but it was a beginning. Perhaps even the beginning, not just of a new exercise routine, but also of a passion.