Column: Just like riding a bike…right.

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Okay ladies, you know how it goes. During the winter months, we snuggle up in jeans and comfy sweaters and feast on stews and pumpkin pies. Then the weather turns warm and we are shocked and appalled to learn that we no longer look oh-so-sexy in our favorite shorts and tanks.

So like many of you, I’ve spent the last few months on yo-yo diets and experimenting with different exercises. This summer, however, nothing seems to be working. We even bought an elliptical machine. That thing kicks my butt on a regular basis and I’ve only lost a few pounds. So not worth it.

So when my always in peak physical condition husband suggested that I get a bicycle and ride with him, I thought it was a great idea.

I remember when I was a kid. I used to get up every morning in the summer, jump on my bike and not get off of it until the sun went down. It was easy as pie – barely even qualified as exercise. I don’t think I ever even broke a sweat. My how times have changed.

We went out over the weekend and bought the bike. It’s beautiful. Red and white and shiny silver – Buckeye stylin’. I was so excited to get it home and try it out.

I had this vision in my head of my husband and I on a relaxing bike ride around the fairgrounds and cemetery that surround our house. How romantic.

First things first, we had to make it fit. I had no idea that 5’5” was super short, but apparently it is. We actually had to remove the all-important reflector from under the seat to be able to lower it enough.

As soon as all the proper adjustments were made and my husband gave me a quick hand signal refresher course (always the overly-cautious goober), I was ready to roll, or so I thought. I pushed off and almost fell down. Just like riding a bike, huh? Whatever. I mean, it has been about 15 years, but still, I expected more of myself.

After that brief humiliation, I got the hang of it.

Now let me preface this by saying that we are surrounded on all sides by lots and lots of hills. Pretty to look at. Hard to ride.

Ten minutes into the whole thing, I was ready to throw in the towel. My butt hurt. My legs were on fire, and my husband was miles ahead of me. Show off. I toughed it out a little longer, but thankfully it was late, and we needed to get back. Did I mention that we live at the very top of one of those beautiful hills? Holy crap!

By the time we got home, I could barely breathe. I didn’t even put my shiny new bike into its home in the garage. I just left it in the yard and collapsed on the porch, leaving my husband to come back for mine and shoot me “wow I had no idea you were so out of shape” look.

Oh well. I won’t give up. I can use the exercise and the fresh air is nice. Plus, I figure I’ve dragged my husband through enough shopping malls, it’s time to do something he really enjoys.

I’ll get there eventually, but it’s going to be a hard ride.

Whitney Wilson Coy is editor of the Westside Messenger.

 

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