This is kind of embarrassing. I prepared for Tuesdays’s ride to pick up our weekly CSA share like it was going to require incredible athletic fortitude. I prepared a healthy, energy-rich lunch that would not sit in my gut and slow me down. I drank my three-shot, home-brewed iced latte for optimal performance—one hour in advance. I mentally prepared with my pre-ride blog and a healthy dose of anticipatory anxiety. I planned my wardrobe for the cool day; wearing layers so I would not overheat on the strenuous ride up hill, yet could bundle up for the cold, fast downhill. In my head it was going to be incredibly challenging. Just a few months ago I did not even consider it as a possibility. So, how did it go? It was easy. Really easy. Maybe too easy. I admit I was a little disappointed in how easy it was. One of my friends pointed out that a zillion trips on my bike day-in and day-out adds up to “superpowers.”
My body was much more prepared for this ride than my brain. How could my body get so strong without me noticing?
Another reason the trip was easy was because I made it easier by pacing myself and enjoying the ride. The ride was incredibly beautiful and I was less stressed or physically taxed than when I ride and tow my son behind me on a mostly flat road, with only two tough, short hills. My road bike is an incredibly efficient machine, and my body, apparently, is becoming one too. The weather was perfect, making the forty-five minute uphill trip downright magical. The total round trip ride was about 90-minutes.
When I arrived at the farm, I puffed up (I admit it) and strutted in hoping for some of the fanfare that my husband has told me that he gets when he shows up. The woman checking-in CSA members did not recognize me, because I am usually on the trail-a-bike taking Lenny to soccer practice. I told her that my husband ordinarily does the pick-up. I gave our last name and she brightened, “Oh, he’s your husband, the one who rides his bike here!”
“Yes,” I reply. “Today, I rode mine.”
She must not have heard me since she did not acknowledge my equivalent cycling feat, instead she said, “He’s amazing! He sometimes comes riding in at the very last minute. I keep the stand open for him.” I guess my husband is popular for other reasons. I’ll be sure to appreciate him a little more when I get home.
I headed home feeling strong and proud. That’s a feeling I most certainly have never had driving a car.
I took the long way home, since I was not at all worn out; to pick up some fresh parmesan at Vera’s farm stand. The store was closed (ugh, Tuesdays in this town) so I headed home adding on a few extra few miles, just because I could.
I am a 50-year-old mom with two kids (ages 7 and 24), a husband who works in our attic, a sneezy old cat, and a full-time job as the co-founder of a Brooklyn-based business. My family lives a mostly idyllic life in a small village in the Hudson Valley, sixty miles north of New York City.
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