The Big One

I’ve been sitting here staring at a blank screen the past ten minutes thinking about a ride I took yesterday. It was long, over sixty miles, and it was hard--hard enough so that a day later, my legs still feel like rubber. Beyond that, exactly what should I describe about the ride that isn’t going to bore you to tears?

Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe someone does want the details, although by this point in our lives, isn’t time a much sought after commodity? Don’t we all feel like we run out of time each day by the time we make it to bed (and probably later than we should be getting to bed)? What I mean is, why bother with the details if they’re only going to take up your time? If I had anything remotely interesting to say about yesterday, I would say it. I went riding with a few guys and a girl and I was the new comer. I was the guy who, halfway through the ride, started to slow everyone down a bit. Geez, I was that guy. Again. That sucks.

Actually, perhaps there are a few things to say. First off, a big thanks to KP and Dr. Rob. KP introduced me and Dr. Rob extended the invite to take the ride out in New Jersey for the morning.

Other than that, it was cold and there were hills, but not bad hills. Not Alp d’Huez climbs, just Jersey hills, although three of them kicked me in the ass bad. I mean big time. The first, I kept up, but halfway up the second, I fell behind. And I stopped on a mother of a short yet incredibly steep climb. I stopped and walked. What’s the word I’m looking for here? That’s right. The right word would be bitch. Halfway up I dismounted and walked, like a bitch.

My legs and lungs have a long, long way to go.

Riding through Sandy Hook park was entertaining. I’ve only had the opportunity to do it a few times, although I enjoy sitting in a line with other riders and churning away. While pedaling through the park, I thanked the cycling gods for the flat road as well as the draft. If not for everyone else blocking the wind, I would have called a taxi, loaded up the bike, and got the hell out of there.

With ten miles to go, my legs turned into rubber/jelly/Jell-O. The flats were fine but as soon as we hit anything of an incline, every system in my body began screaming, “DON’T YOU THINK YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH ALREADY?”

By the time we reached our cars, I had burned over 3,800 calories (according to my heart rate monitor, at least), so I figured I could at least treat myself to as much food as I wanted. At Subway, I downed a foot-long chicken sub, half a bag of chips, and a few sips of Coke. A few hours later, I ate a box of mac & cheese, and two hours after that, a chicken burrito bowl at Chipotle.

As hard as it was, I loved it. Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn’t it? What bothers me more than the pain, though, was holding up the entire ride. As they say: my bad.

Rob, Brent, Anne, and Joe--pleasure meeting everyone. Thanks for your patience.