This has been the summer of get my bottom back in shape. I’ve swam enough miles I should be sprouting gills, pushed my running ability to the limit, and pedaled my bike around the town more times than I care to count. Now I don’t want you thinking I’m stick thin, I never have been, but when my husband asked me to go on a bike ride with him I figured it would be a piece of cake. Oh…I was so wrong.
I expected a nice road trip. He decided to go up a mountain, and I mean up, up, up a steep mountain on a rough dirt trail. He flew up the mountain with ease, and had to wait for me at the top while I huffed and puffed at an inching crawl to reach him.
Once I reached the top, I discovered that going down was an exercise in dodging rocks and ruts at break-neck speed. Yes, my bike has breaks, but my tires didn’t care. They kept on sliding on the loose gravel even when locked up.
At one point, I went through a ravine going way too fast. The result—I found myself airborne, but with my bike tipping sideways. This was not going to end well, but I managed to dismount from my bike mid-air and land on my feet. I’ve never done anything so amazing, but my husband was way ahead of me and didn’t see it happen. Great! My moment of extreme cool wasn’t witness by anyone. And you can be for darn sure I won’t be trying to replicate it. I’m not a thrill junky. I don’t like the sensation of my heart lodging itself inside my throat at all.