Saturday Biking

Rewind to last weekend. On Friday night, James suggested we head out for a bike ride Saturday morning. Groan. James is in great biking shape and every time I go with him I'm extremely miserable and can barely keep up. Then I blame my misery on him, which I think is well deserved. But I said I'd go. To be all nice, and wifey, and stuff.

Saturday, James was super tired, and ended up going back to bed mid-morning. I did a mini dance of excitement while tiptoeing around the apartment in a ridiculous effort not to wake him, thinking that by the time he woke up, it would be far too late (and hot) for a pleasant bike ride. I'd escaped the torture, right? Wrong. When he woke up he insisted it was a cool day and the perfect time for a bike ride.

The debate began. I insisted I would only go on a bike ride if it was less than an hour. He insisted the chosen route would definitely be completed in under an hour, probably around 45 minutes. I re-questioned, as I know his judgement of what constitutes "a fun, easy bike ride" is skewed. So we finally settle and I dig out my rarely worn and probably dusty biking clothes. I am already grumpy by this point, and to top it off I'm wearing padded spandex shorts. And James is insisting I don't need to wear underwear with them. I shouldn't wear underwear with them. I'd be more comfortable if I didn't wear underwear with them. I avoided the choice words running through my head and silently, defiantly, put underwear under my ridiculously-tight-and-padded-to-add-inches-to-my-ass shorts, thinking James could have a say in my underwear situation when he has a uterus and a period.

Got out the door and 10 minutes into the bike ride when I started to hate James. Really hate him. Because this "easy" bike ride is really hard, and when is the 20 minute hill from hell going to end? When he cheerily asked how I was doing, I didn't hesitate to express my gratitude for being forced to endure this god-forsaken ride. If I am going to suffer, so is he. He married me, it's only fair. The difficulty of the hell-hill was exasterbated by 1) my already bad attitude 2) my clumsiness which makes getting my water bottle out and drinking while riding impossible 3) the ridiculous amount of scar tissue in my right leg which leaves my calf useless in the situation. So I dreamed of a downward sloping road, vicodin to ease my post surgical pain, and ending James, and on we went.

James, being the polite rider he is, frequently points out debris on our path, so I can avoid it. This is a nice gesture, but he should realize I am too busy watching his rear tire and the road to concentrate on anything else besides debris. Mountains, flowers, fields, beauty, nature, whatever else- I don't see it. I see the road.

We finally stopped at a lake where billions of Boulderites have their dogs playing on a beautiful Saturday morning. I immediately decide that in my next life I'll have a charming British accent like the mom near us, who is instructing her daughter to be careful with the ball-launcher, and to look behind her so that she doesn't "bonk anyone on the nose". I also really wanted a dog, until I saw all the mud and poop and smelled wet dog.

In the end, I made it through the "guaranteed to be less than an hour but was actually a solid hour and a half" ride in one piece. I did end up with several "geek tracks" on my legs from the chain, probably because I am a geek and don't know how to ride a bike very well. And I did want to beat James with a big stick when we went up a huge hill and he stood up on his pedals, exclaiming it was definitely a hill you'd want to stand up on. (I can't stand up on the pedals right now, not allowed yet after the foot surgery).

So I agreed to go again today. This time I saw a few flowers and the mountains, I drank my water without stopping, and ended free of geek tracks. Oh, and at no point during the ride did I hate James. This is progress. Good day.