JSC talked me into coming out to Trek for the 'slow ride' this evening. This is where a bunch of really fit cyclists humor the out of shape with a No Lard-Ass Left Behind policy.
I was told this would be ten to fifteen miles, and that the slowest person sets the pace. I knew, of course, that I would be that slowest person. By a wide margin.
There were roughly a dozen of us. JSC guilted me into buying a helmet. I used to have one somewhere, but it's bermuda triangulated on me. I wanted to wait until I could get to Wal-Mart to buy the cheapest lead-painted Made in China helmet possible, but the bike shop probably sold me a better helmet. Very adjustable and thoroughly ventilated. I question whether my brain holds enough wisdom to warrant almost fifty bucks worth of protection.
Huffing and puffing, I only saw spots on the longest climb of the route. At one point, when I felt like we had to have gone at least 10 miles, there was a discussion about which way to continue, one being another mile or so, the other being almost five.
I was clearly the weak link, so it was sort of made my decision. What the hell, the weather was perfect, and it's not like my ass was going to get more kicked.
Actually, I definitely felt worse as we continued. Small hills seemed big. But I did sort of reach a critical mass where my misery couldn't expand any further. Endorphins probably helped, though I could have done with a double dose.
At one point, it was pointed out to me that if I pedaled on the downhills I'd gain momentum, speed. By posting I was losing speed on plateaus.
But my ass hurt so much on the seat, that was why I was posting. On the uphills, the burning in my lungs could distract me from my poor, tender buns. But on the downhills, once the sweat started to dry, there wasn't anything to distract me from my fundamental distress.
People were good sports. A couple even claimed to have been as out of shape as me only a few months ago. As if anyone has ever, in the history of man, been as out of shape as me.
Thing is, I know what it is to be in shape, to crave the gym, feel like I couldn't get enough of a workout in. I knew it briefly in the few months after my heart attack when I was a true gym rat. Then I sat on my ass and ate and drank the wrong things for six plus years.
When we got back to the bike shop, by the way, someone with an odometer told me we'd gone 10.3 miles. Seriously, I thought we had to have gone at least 15.
JSC says she's going to help me tune the bike up, show me where something called bearings live and how to lube them up. Because I weigh something like twice what she does and I wasn't passing her on the downhills. If my brother reads this line, he's going to have a stroke. He's a serious cyclist, and it violates everything he believes in for someone to ride a bike so poorly maintained it doesn't even coast well.
So anyway, not to take this whole healthy living thing too far, we ate at Five Guys after. Which probably undid any benefit I got from the ride. Though since, sooner or later, I'd have probably caved and eaten there (I just saw this one the other day) eventually, I guess maybe I'm marginally better off than if I ate at Five Guys without doing any exercise.
I'm about to go to bed, I can't wait to see what I feel like in the morning. Or maybe I can.
The crazy part is, I'm seriously thinking MS150. A little over three months to train for it...
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