On Monday, I rode a bike for the first time since I was probably 12 years ago. That's two decades, folks.
I was a little nervous.
I won't say it all came back to me you know, like riding a bicycle. It will be awhile until I feel like I won't fall off at any moment. But it also felt good.
I'm riding a bike because I discovered that the Curves I was going to sign up for as part of my weight-loss regimen is closing at the end of the month. The next closest one is a mile and a half away and I refuse to drive a car such a small distance every day and but it would be really time-consuming to walk.
So, a bike.
On my first ride I was not surprised at all that I got tired very quickly. But I want to dance and dance and dance at my wedding so I forged on along the path the runs along Chicago's lakeshore. Thank you Daniel Burnham for our lakeshore.
I smiled at homeless people and stayed as far right as I possibly could. I looked ridiculous and didn't care. I endured the sewage smell of an unintentional retention pond and moved carefully through sandy patches. I was not encouraged by the tiny woman in spandex who passed me and promptly wiped out. I wore sunblock and took my journal, just in case I needed to rest. And I didn't.
It was good. I can do this every morning. Maybe to the Curves. Maybe all by itself.
A little exercise can be a wondrous thing.
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