Pages

Friday, August 13, 2010

Sunday 8/1/10

Cyclist s-hero confirmed with me on yesterday that she will be at my home at 7am. I was so tired from the Saturday activities before going to bed, so I didn’t know how I would get up on time.

She rings the doorbell at 6:57am. OMG, I have 3 more minutes, what is going on? The dogs are barking like crazy. I run to the door and open it telling her I have time (yeah right, I'm not ready yet!) She is patience enough to wait for me. It takes me 8 minutes and we are ready to go. She asks did I have my map to lead bike ride this time. No, I answer but I kind of remember how to get to our destination.

I'm up for the ride and I lead most of the session this time. We ride from my house in the Historic West End to East Point. I have a new respect for cyclist. I thought it would take no time, however, on the bike with the hills, slops and the even streets, my muscles in my legs burns and I think I can't make it at one point, I need a break!!! We take one and it is time to get up and keep moving because these days have been extra hot and humid. We get to Thumbs Up about 8am.

I’ve never been here so early, it looks strange to me, almost empty. It's mostly crowds of people with long waiting lines when I've been here in the past.

Cyclist s-hero friend has a large breakfast; she says food is fuel. I have a veggie bagel with a slice of cold salmon on the side. Aww, the food brings me back to life!

We ride back to my house and I retrieve my Marta card there, this is the day she will ride to my job with me, we talked about it last Sunday on my first ride with her.( I forgot about this.) We take the train from the West End Station to Peachtree Center.

We can only get so far in my building, so we walk back to Peachtree St. She tells me about free weekends at the High Museum of Art and give me a friendly challenge to ride there with her. Me on Peachtree Street? She gives me a lesson telling me that the cyclist who ride this street is chic and fast. Yeah, me riding an hybrid bike cycle and legs that look more like jelly? Me on Peachtree Street? The only thing I do on this street is walk across the street for lunch. Now don’t get me wrong, I love to walk and try other adventurous things(which haven’t been much) but I will try it. I get an A for heart, right? Can you believe I'm riding from Peachtree Center train station to the High Museum of Art?

She yells commands like, "stay on my heels, move, move, move." A huge bug hits me in the face and I try not to fall off my bike. Instead, a scream escapes me.

Around 7th Street, I have to take a break; a mini meltdown follows. I point to her and tell her she's crazy, a speed demon and I am crazy too!

I have no idea that we have gotten so far and thank God for red traffic lights, I’ve never loved them so much. We have to make a left hand turn to get to the High and I am so frightened, she commands, “Keep up” and I scream her name. I look behind me and it's traffic! It looks like a traffic pile up, but not on a Sunday, maybe it's my nerves! OMG!!!! What is wrong with me?!!!!

We take a long break in the shade at the High, I announce to cyclist friend that I can’t ride back to Peachtree station. She tells me we can ride to the train station behind us. I have to follow her, she picks up her bike and walks down the steps like it was made of aluminum foil.

I pick up my bike. My legs feel like cooked pasta. I'm so sore, but I do the best I can. My arms shake as I try to lift this object above my head and look as confident and refreshed as she does.

We ride over to the train station which is the easiest ride of the day. In the station, she is going to ride back to help me on my street to get home safe, but I tell her I can do it. I take the back road to my house. It's a poor decision; I still have to take the main road and practice many things she has taught me about cycling with the traffic! OMG!!!!

I made it home and one piece, she calls to check on me and tells me I did a fantastic job and I rode 7 miles today, it seemed like 100 miles to me.

1 comment: