Now back to reality, me on a bike riding into a Canterbury norwester for my first bike ride in, oooohhhh about 4 years.
However I did log 11.3km, it took me 53 minutes (Stop laughing all you real cyclists out there) this chick gotta start somewhere. I was riding my trusty Specialized Rockhopper, that had not seen the light of day for sometime, and even had those funky clip in shoes too. Going by the creaks and groans (from the bike not me) I suspect a service may be in order.
However back to the matter at hand. I drove to Prebbleton with my training buddies (Ben 13 and his mate Sam 13 as well), we picked a spot parked the car and hopped on our bikes to ride to lincoln and back.
Within 2 seconds my arse was on fire (Beluga/matchstick vision), and I wondered what the hell I was doing. Ben offered to ride with Mum, but to maintain my dignity I told him and his mate to ride ahead, and I would turn around when they reached me on their return from lincoln. I peddled and peddled, had a fiddle with the gears hoping I might just go faster and the torture would be over sooner. The I saw a marker on the path saying 2.5km, "WTF???? I felt like I had ridden 250km, I wanted to turn around. Eventually I reached the Lincoln sign and my two companions were heading back toward me. We made a minor seat adjustment and I headed back in the direction I had just ridden from, with the boys leaving me in a trail of dust as they hooned down the track.
This is when it actually got really bad, yes I was riding into the Norwester, and it was not nice. My legs already felt like the godfather had blessed me with concrete boots, but I kept on peddling. At one point I am pretty sure tears were stinging my eyes and the apple I had eaten on the way to Prebbleton was threatening an encore appearance. I kept on Peddling, as I saw a bend I thought, yay the car is sure to be parked just beyond it, I rounded the bend and no friggin car, just another long straight into the wind, I really wanted to throw in the towel, however given I was the only person with a drivers license the 13 year olds were not about to come get me. So I persevered, I wondered how the hell any sensible person would keep on riding and riding and do 100's km in a week, but they do so I am sure it must get better. Peddling Peddling, I finally got a glimpse of my car about 1km away and I pushed till I could actually push no more. I gave in a walked the final 300 metres to the car.
My right elbow (which is quite dicky and permanently dislocated, long story) had locked into place and I could not straighten my arm, the apple was rumbling and I wanted to cry, but hey I was alive.
Seriously total Kudos to all you cyclists out there, There may come a day I can cycle alongside some of you, but I fear that day is a long time coming, just sitting on the bike/matchstick seat is going to take a shot of something narcotic I think.
Some of you may be wondering why I went biking when my goal is to swim from Alcatraz. Its simple, this Funk Buster is about more than just the swim, it is about me, and looking after myself, treating myself with respect (Though my butt would beg to differ) and opening myself up to new experiences and challenges. None of which will happen if I stick to the pool, funk busting is my new lifestyle, and the variety I pack into it the more fun it will be and the more successful I will be living this new lifestyle.
Have you busted your funk today???