That is, volunteered to subject myself to cruel and unusual torture methods just to say I could do it (I guess?).
Also... I like to make my friends happy. And Kari really really wanted to do this. How could I say no?
Last Saturday was my first official bike ride. Like, really getting out on the road to see what she could do. It was about 20 miles, took a little more than an hour, and was an absolute blast.
I did, however, discover that while I absolutely LOVE the bike I found in theory... it is unfortunately a smidge big for me. I haven't quite decided what the solution for this dilemma is... whether I am going to tearfully kiss her goodbye, re-craigslist her and try to find her smaller sister for the same price or better (miracles happen every day, people!), or else Tyson has expressed an interest in keeping it for himself, and just purchasing a new bike for me (again, miracle cash shows up ALL THE TIME!). In the mean time, she is still rideable. Its just a little awkward at times.
And so... and HERE'S where the crazy talk begins, next week I am starting a training regimen that looks a little something like this, so that in 12 weeks from now, I will be ready to do THIS.
That's right my friends. Don't get all googly-eyed about the 'wine and roses' catch phrase, that's just something shiny to lure you into a torturous 100 mile ride to the prize.
Between now and then, I need to:
A. Find a bike that fits properly. (for free, or close to? ha).
B. Invest in 2 good quality pairs of padded bike shorts (the term saddle sores has been added to my recent vocab list of 'phrases that make me shudder'). Apparently 2 pairs are necessary, because of the sweating which leads to the chaffing...
C. Drain my Roth IRA or post a personal add on craigslist offering my services to come up with the extra change to acquire things like padded shorts, a storage bag, watter bottles that fit my holders, and possibly a used pair of cycling shoes.
and, oh, yah... last but not least...
D. Be conditioned enough to NOT DIE in the process of riding 100 miles.
Piece of cake, I say.
Dear Lord, what have I done?