Oh dear heavens. I don't know what I was thinking, asking Mr. R for a bicycle for my birthday. An easy way to drop pounds, I thought. Easier on my knees, I thought. Way better than running, I thought.
Oh, I talked a good talk. I received said bicycle on my birthday. I also received a special booty chair for my generous posterior. And a helmet. And an odometer, plus a bike chain.
Then it rained for almost two weeks straight. And finally, this morning, I said to Mr. R confidently, "Wanna go on a bike ride with me?"
Oh dear me.
I started off strong. After all, I'd had a physically stressful morning of drinking coffee, talking on the phone, and typing. That's stretching, right? Uh-huh. I swung my leg over the rail, hopped on my special padded booty seat, and took off strong.
Got maybe halfway down the block when I thought, "Ummm, my booty hurts already?" People, Wal-Mart made a bike seat for booties even bigger than mine. I wasn't sure it was possible. Yet, it has happened. I actually have ridges in that special little place where your booty means your thigh, where this seat DUG INTO MY TENDER FLESH as punishment for being a slacker for the past fifteen years.
My cousin Dee is dating a personal trainer, who informed me that as a beginning bicyclist, I should start off only riding 4 to 11 minutes. Why? So that peanutheads such as myself do not wear ourselves out too quickly and give up. I thought, what a nincompoop. I can ride for at least 30 minutes. I am, after all, only 34 years old and even though I'm fat, I'm still in shape, right?
Oh so wrong.
I had to stop after 8 minutes to breathe. I had sweat trickling in my hair and into my new shiny helmet. I was fantasizing about setting the booty seat on fire and dancing around it naked wearing a hula skirt. Mr. R gave me a lecture about how babies don't start off running, but start crawling instead. I started thinking that crawling on broiling hot Florida pavement sounded pretty good. But I hopped my booty back on the booty seat and wobbled my way home. I checked my special odometer. 11 minutes, 45 seconds. I went over the recommended time by the trainer. No wonder I'm dying. And I burned...75 calories.