So last month I was telling my massage therapist and friend that my back was killing me and I needed to return to a more regular exercise regimen.
Listen, I know how that sounds. I just want to say here, that I go for a monthly massage more out of necessity than luxury. I have a lot of back pain issues and TMJ. I fell off a horse, I had a skiing accident, I have a LOT of anxiety and I grit my teeth.
My massage therapist is the outdoorsy, sporty type. I am the sit on the couch with a laptop and several cups of coffee type. In the Sporty Spice equation, I am all spice and no sport. In fact, I'm Old Spice.
She immediately suggested I join her and her friend on a - wait for it - 40 mile bike marathon throughout all five boroughs of New York City.
So what did I say? What any totally out of shape, lazy ass, somewhat overweight, couch potato, non sporty city type would say.
I said yes. No, I mean I said "YES!" As in, enthusiastically, "I'm on board", "where do I sign?" Scha-winn!
During the course of the conversation, I mentioned that I had a bike that might be rusty and sitting in the backyard, that I hadn't been on it in a couple of years and that I might possibly hold them back if they were looking to actually finish this thing. But that didn't deter her. She told me she'd train me. We'd start with a few miles at a time and work our way up.
I was undaunted. After spending most of the winter with my nose all up in a computer screen tweeting, pinning, commenting and flickering, instagraming, and liking, chasing stats and going up and down that hill, I figured it was time to get out of my comfort zone, out breathing fresh air and living life a little more fully.
Of course she had me at New York.
They close off the roads (don't ask me how that happens in NYC) and you bike across bridges, through the streets, from Brooklyn to the Bronx. They'll probably be in the Bronx while I'm still in Brooklyn huffing and puffing and sucking on bottled water for dear life.
But I said yes, went home and told Kev; who laughed. And laughed. And laughed. I don't blame him. He had a point. What in the name of Goddess was I thinking? I was going to be in way over my head. This was going to be more Tour de Pants than Tour de France. I was going to have to call up my buddy Performance Enhance Lance and get me some of that magic juice he's been drinkin', because Dude - forty miles?
By yesterday's appointment, I kind of hoped she'd forgotten about the whole thing. Either that, or at least thought better of it. But midway through the massage she asked me if I was still in. So I said yes...but I kept it real.
"I'm over weight and outta shape, I've got a rusty bike I ain't been on in close to three years and I'm lazy. I'll try. I'll really try hard. I will train with you. But just know that I may slow you down and I might not be able to finish and if that's okay with you, then I'm in."
Okay by her. Goddess love her, she's a patient woman. I'm not sure she knows yet how patient she is.
This morning was our first "training" session. I borrowed a bike, it took me under five minutes to get my leg up and over the bar and we rode 6 1/2 miles! Huffing and puffing was at a minimum.
The best part? We rode on back roads through preserved Jersey farmlands, past cows and horses and tiny quaint nearby towns in a light morning fog. We stopped to watch ducks and geese and exchanged some bawdy girl talk - my favorite kind.
I actually feel pretty good. This exercise shit is fun. Who knew?
So yeah, I'm in. All in. No back peddling.