Doing My Part

I recently bought a bike.  I thought, with working so close to where I live, that this would give me a chance to leave the car at home and exercise a bit.  Granted I have not used my alternate transportation as much as I initially envisioned, but the option is present.
 
A little history here—I have only broken two bones—well really the same bone—my right arm.  I broke my right arm twice—both times I was riding a bike.  Because of my little mishaps, I haven’t really owned or ridden a bike since I was 14.   
 
Lately we have had some beautiful evenings in the DC metro area.  Tonight, I was feeling quite lazy and was about to settle in for a great night on the couch.  Instead, I was encouraged to go for a bike ride by an overzealous fitness-minded friend of mine.  So, I did. 
 
I think I had something to prove on my first real bike ride since age 14.  I didn’t just stick to my neighborhood—I ventured out to places that, in my car, were only moments away.  Unfortunately for me, those moments were uphill.  I never noticed that hill before, until I thought I was going to die of exhaustion and embarrassment half way up it with my bike. 
 What the hell was I thinking?  I can barely make it from the couch to the kitchen for cookies without getting winded?  A hill?  Biking what turned out to be 6 miles?  UPHILL?   And then I had to go downhill.  This is when I knew I was going to die.  I could actually see myself flying over the handlebars into someone’s nice shiny car, mailbox, or John Kerry yard sign.  I was making my peace with God, saying an Act of Contrition, while trying to figure out which break—right or left—was the one I should use first to prevent me from flying over the handlebars.  Finally slowed the bike down enough to get off and walked the rest of the way down the hill. After a nice rest in a lovely park to soothe my out of shape legs and ego and some careful plotting of routes back to my home that did not involve hills, I was able to make it home.