Sweet Jump

I've decided to consider the idea of riding my bike to work. Faithful readers of our blog may remember a few posts back when I described how idiotic I am on a bike. I did not exaggerate.

I started riding my bike two weeks ago because the aching in my right leg and numbness in my left made it impossible for me to run even a quarter mile without having to stop. That run was a terrible run, but I am terribly stubborn, so I hobbled, ran, jogged, limped, and walked the full four miles before returning home. I then made an appointment with an orthopedic for two weeks later and banned myself from running for at least a week. I determined to bike every day, even if it killed me.

The neighborhood biking was actually better than I thought it would be. My heart rate didn't go up as high as it does while running, and I didn't burn as many calories per minute, but the whole point is just to be healthy and strong, right? So after five confidence-building days where I almost managed to correct why I fall off every time I start riding, I was ready to attempt the to-work-and-back trip.

On a blazing Saturday afternoon, Ben and I set off with water bottles attached. We made it to school in about thirty minutes. There was only one minor incident when Ben crossed the street before me and I got stuck on the other side for a while, waiting for enough time (in my judgment) for me to wobble across. We got to school, drank about three quarters of our water, rested for a few minutes in the shade and then headed home.

People who know me know that I am not a risk taker. Not at all. In fact, if I feel there's a chance I will probably not be successful, I have to have a LOT of peer pressure in order to do it. Not an admirable trait, but it's true. I say this to give emphasis to an event that happened on our way home.

At one point on our route, we have to bike around a sloping, narrow, curve in the sidewalk that is also home to a stop sign. "Big deal," you might say. "So what?"' you might ask. Well, if you've ever experienced this particular hazard, you'll know that you have two choices. You can ride around the more narrow, sharper turn that involves going behind the stop sign, closer to the grass, or you can ride around the broader but more sloping part of the curve, closer to the street.

I don't know if I misjudged my speed, the slope of the sidewalk, or the sharpness of the curve. I do know that I chose to go on the outside of the stop sign, closer to the street (a busy, four lane street, mind you). I quickly realized that my choices now were either to fall off of the bike or ride it off the curb. Kind of like those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books, huh?

White knuckles gripping the handlebars, I bounced off the curb and into the road, front wheel, back wheel, thud, thud, just in time to feel the wind from an SUV as it whizzed by. Scared to death, and fighting back tears, I hear my sweet, concerned husband calling out, "Sweet jump!"

I have since asked him about this, why he didn't say something like, "Gosh! Are you alright?" or "Honey, you almost died back there!" He maintains that it really was a sweet jump. Very smooth, very purposeful looking. No need to worry since nothing bad happened, and it didn't look like I was scared or freaking out at the time...

Hopefully I'll get better at biking. I could blame lots of things for my ineptitude. My gimp leg, my poor depth perception, my not-so-great coordination with moving objects (hey, I'm a moving object on a bike, right?), or my parents for not absolutely forcing me to ride a bike every single day from the time I was five until I was eighteen. I would really like to ride at to work at least once a week, even though the way back took us forty minutes and was much more uphill. Even though I almost died.

Well, maybe that's a tad dramatic. I seem to be pointing out things about my personality on this entry, but people who know me know I can definitely be a "tad dramatic." It was scary, though. Because I felt out of control, and I hate being out of control. Because there was a car coming, and I knew it. And because I got scared, and I hate being scared. It was also embarrassing (what grown person on a bike has trouble navigating a curve with a stop sign?). But I'll probably try it again.

I must be a glutton for punishment (sheesh...another personality trait). I've danced in pointe shoes with blisters and bruised toenails, recently run enough to develop stress fractures in one leg and compartment syndrome in another, and I'm sure I'll be back on the ol' bike soon enough. On the other hand - maybe I should take up swimming instead...