My wife, who’s a crossfit junkie, finally bought a bike not too long ago. Amazing how fit she is yet riding a bike seems so brand new to her. It’s been years since she rode a bike, one that wasn’t stationary anyway, or posed the risk of smashing her face to pavement. When we first met she had a bike which was promptly stolen when we moved in together many years ago.
Still, she prefers to go to her crossfit class in Petworth every day [literally six to seven times a week] rather than ride her bike. And we have a home gym so she does workouts here as well. And from time to time she’ll go running a few miles. And all that seems so simple to her. But then when she gets on that mechanical machine called a bicycle, she acts like it’s as challenging as deadlifting twice her weight.
When she bikes, she’s still getting accustomed to riding up hills. And when I say hills, I mean 0.4 percent grades. I don’t laugh; but I do remind her that she ridiculed me when I first started biking and said those hills were are mountains in disguise. Those same hills she runs in the evenings transform into the Appalachian Mountains once she gets on the saddle. Ok, I do laugh from time to time.
Her longest ride so far has been maybe five miles. She’s not bad, just slow. We biked together the other day for the first time, and since she might read this post one day, I’ll leave it at that. When I ride, I make it a point to never stop pedaling, even when it feels like there’s an electric current in my quads. The goal is to get my heart rate up as high as I can for as long as I can. I don’t do any other exercises so this is the only way to burn those calories from all the Mountain Dew I drink every day. She’s still biking as a leisure activity. When I invite her to come with me on a 15 mile ride, she passes.
Well, little does she know, I just registered us both for the One Common Unity Peace Ride in September. It’s an 18-miler.
This is going to be a tough sell regardless of the course length, though. See, being from Kenya, she’s virtually allergic to cold weather. When you might think the weather in late September is ideal biking weather, remember that she keeps the thermostat for the a/c at 77. All summer. And she sleeps under the bed sheet, a thermal blanket and a comforter. All. Summer. Long. I have no idea what’s going to happen if it rains that day.
But she’s tender-hearted, so maybe OCU’s mission will be enough to get her to participate.
I’ll be out there regardless. By then I should’ve recovered from the Spartan Race in a few weeks that she surreptitiously registered me for knowing I am no athlete, no ninja warrior, and not into anything physically demanding in which those who have done it like to say, “you’re going to feel like your dead.”