The grumpy mood that I brought back from Tampa continued throughout the weekend. There were minor battles all weekend long, until the real kinetic action broke out between my wife, our son, and I in the middle on Sunday afternoon. It was one of those fights where you all end us saying “fine” at the same time and walk out of the room to the four corners of the compass.
Maybe, just maybe, the father of the year nomination should be put on hold for a little while.
But, Sunday was a beautiful day here. It was sunny, in the mid -50’s, with just a gentle breeze. I had accomplished all of my trivial household chores (or, at least the ones I had some temperance for), and I wanted to fly the coop. So, in an effort to bring a little harmony to the house, I offered to take my son for a bike ride, get some fresh air, and remove two of the trouble makers from our happy abode.
I strap on my fancy assed biking shorts with all of the padding in the right places, gather the bikes, throw them in the back of the car, and head down to the trail head. About 3 miles south of us is an old, abandoned single gage railroad track that has been converted to a 20 mile trail. It’s flat, it’s easy, and it’s the perfect way to start our riding season off.
Just for the record, let me state here that I am in no way considered a threat to Lance Armstrong. As a matter of fact, I generally feel as though it’s a good ride if; a) I don’t go into cardiac arrest, and b) I don’t run into anyone else, or fall down. Low goals? Sure, but then I can say I’ve achieved 100% of my goals. So all of you road bikers out there that can snap off 50 miles a day before breakfast, just hold your contempt to yourself, ok?
When we arrive at the trail, instead of heading to the west, where the trail is more tree lined, we headed to the east, to stay in the sun. It’s going great. My funk starts to lift, my son starts to talk about all the things that are bugging him, and the miles roll by. We get to the end of the trail in the next town over (about 5 miles), have a drink of water, turn around and head back.
I suddenly remembered why I always head to the west when I’m starting off. Generally, where we live, the wind in our area blows from the west to the east. When you start off heading west, you fight the wind on your outbound leg, and then it helps you along on the return trip. Now, I begin to realize, that on our first little ride of the season, we’re going to get to fight a head wind for the next five miles. Super.
Then, I remembered, how I had come to hate the riding shorts that I’m wearing. How they developed a certain knack for rubbing right there, you know, in your tender regions, when you’re a long, long way from home. And how, regardless your futile attempts to try to adjust them, they were just going to ride right up there, and rub something that really isn’t supposed to be rubbed that way, until you get off the bike. Five miles from here. In the wind.
Trust me, buy the time I got home, the grumpy, funky mood was all gone, replaced by shooting pain every time I took a step. It’s amazing how a little agony in that patch of skin that runs between here and there can clarify all of the problems in your life. I know that in exercise, the old maxim of “no pain, no gain” is used to motivate people, but how it actually applies in this situation, is evading my grasp. And now I’m starting to worry about how we’re going to remove the band aid that I put down there…
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