Love, Life and Puppy Dog Tales

"This route is defeating."   I was talking on my ride this morning.  The route that I do 'regularly' was the subject of the conversation. As I ride it, it is hard.  At least it is hard for me.  I just get going and then I have to adjust.  I am either riding up a hill or turning down a street.  Sometimes turning down a street and going up a hill.  I have no way to get into a steady pace or rhythm.   At least that's what I said. And that's partly true. The bigger truth is that each of those hills makes me want to stop.  It gets so hard to make it up and when I am at the top, I just want to stop.I want to stop because I feel like I should make it up the hill and then just go.  Really go.  Why not?  I am past the thing that was slowing me down.  The road isn't going up any more.   But I can't just go.  I am spent.  I am unable to make my legs go round and round faster.   It takes me what feels ...

Let me share a little secret with you. I am using you.    You read that right.   I am pretty sure at least one person reads what I write here.  Maybe even two. You are my accountability.  Having you here makes me want to be honest.  To honestly share the good and the ugly.  I don't promise to have answers for anyone.  I do promise to be honest here however. I come here to share my emotions, my experiences, my journey.   It is all mine.  In my mind however, I imagine there's someone out there waiting for me to share one more time.   One more thing.  And so I come here and give this to you.  Give me to you.   When I first started riding, I shared with an amazing friend that doing this was hard.  Not just the physical part, but the emotional, mental part.  I was afraid to do this because I couldn't  ride as much, as fast or as far as she does and has .  I was shaking as I said ...

"Nothing holds you back more than your own insecurities." I saw this today and it really hit home.   Recently,  I have heard some very hurtful things... "Hey fatty..." "Get off the road fat ass." "Make room for REAL bike riders." "Hey fatso, you're gonna break that bike" I realized  I have been waiting for this, expecting it, dreading it.  Someone yelling something hurtful at me as I ride.    I heard it so very clearly. I heard it so very loudly. I almost turned around and went home. Ten more pedal strokes and I realized something more. No one else had said those things to me.   It was the voices in my head.   My demons, as my wife defined it. The voices that have been around for most of my entire life.  The voices that always crop up and tell me I can't do it.  Whatever the "it" is.   Twenty more pedal strokes and I pushed past it.  The voices tried to crop up ...

I am working a plan to be able to ride.  Working myself into longer time on the bike, but not diving in so fast that I burn out, hurt myself, or become too sore to actually ride - I think it's called getting saddle time.  Yikes, a new language to learn. Somewhere in my head I thought biking would be easy.  I didn't define easy, but I felt biking was something I could do.  People everywhere do it.  It wouldn't make me pound pavement or bounce along a road and cause knees and hips and oh my to hurt.  I didn't know that at 47 I would be learning to ride a bike again.  Get on and pedal.  Brake to slow down. Pedal to go faster.  Simple enough when I was growing up.   Even after I crashed my bike and went headlong over the handle bars (no helmet either!) and broke my collar bone, I got on again and rode.  I was a kid. I am well an adult now.  Boy have bicycles changed.  It's harder than I thought.  I am surpr...