A few days ago, I was sitting at the Laurelthirst Pub, a neighborhood watering hole that is on my bike route from work to home. When I pass the ‘Thirst, I’m most of the way home, so I will often stop for a pint.
But this time at the ‘Thirst was different, because my legs were limp, my chest hurt, and I was a little shell-shocked. None of which usually describes my state after riding a few miles. It was different because . . . that day was my first bicycle commute in well over a year. And that morning, when I got on my bike, was to be the first time I’d ridden more than half a mile in, at least, six months.
Yes, I’ve become a non-rider and now I’ve started on the long road back. With rotund belly, spindly legs, atrophied lungs and somnolent heart, I’ve resumed riding bicycles.