Serious Folk

Well, our excitement about horseriding was short-lived… looks like we’re not going this weekend after all. Sad face. The scary part is that we don’t have another opportunity for a whole month. Time is a stealthy thing. I must remember to keep an eye on it.

Today is my third day riding to work in a row. Wowee. I used to only be able to ride one day, then take a recovery day before riding again, but Woodstock makes a world of difference with her new comfy springy seat and my butt doesn’t hate me at all any more! Ben mapped out a new route consisting mostly of bike paths, so even though it’s an extra 1.5kms or so, it’s a lot less traffic-heavy and goes through some lovely spots – past Café Bones to see all the precious doggies on their morning play date; over Anzac Bridge with a view of the harbour just as the mist is rising over the city. It’s a shame my head was melting as we crossed it. Bike paths through the suburbs are wonderful; commuter bike paths – while also wonderful in their own way – are traditionally full of commuters. It’s strange, I don’t feel pressure from other cyclists or from cars on quiet streets. But on these streamlined paths, the cyclists are Serious Folk, with lycra and millions of gears. I mean, I'm sure they're nice people, but it ends up having the same effect on me as regular traffic. I start to panic. “I’m slow and I suck… I can’t breathe… They’re judging me…”

Anyway. I’m glad I had Ben with me, and he was, as ever, extremely patient with my huffing and puffing up mediocre hills and getting onto the footpath on scary roads. I had to stop on the bridge and take my helmet off. I felt like there was nothing left but hot water where my head should have been. I felt ashamed.

My crapness scares me, mostly. This morning’s ride was the equivalent of only a mere 9th of the way to Wollongong. I’m trying really hard. Really I am. Don't get me wrong, I'm really pleased to have done that ride this morning. I just hope I get better at it soon.