Thursday, April 16, 2009

Salome and me, together again

When I signed up for IronSpud last June, I had a vision of me as the very picture of jaunty fortitude, scoffing at bad weather to go riding in the rain, snow, hail, whatever. Of course this little fantasy completely ignored the (as yet unknown) fact of my extreme fatigue from stupid cancer shit, the ridiculous 500-calorie diet I’d be on, and oh yeah, my known inability to ride when it’s even just a bit too cold, due to poor circulation in my hands and feet. Oops.

And of course, this has been the winter to end all winters – with one month after another “one of the coldest in history!”, and with snow, driving rain, etc. The gamut of crappy weather.

So this is why it’s April 16, and before today I had yet to actually ride my bike outside since the crash. Post-crash I was a little busy with surgery and all, and now I’ve been waiting for spring, being foiled at every turn. But today, today was the day that it all looked possible: a high of 62 and sun! Good enough. Off Salome and I went, out to my usual stomping grounds in the countryside so that I could avoid not only assclown drivers, but also our pothole-strewn streets.

Since this was my first post-crash ride outside, I had hopes that perhaps riding downhill would jog some memory of the crash; every time I went down a hill I encouragingly said “Flashback time!” – hoping that that would do the trick. Alas, to no avail. I guess that only happens in the movies, where suddenly everything is revealed in one convenient vignette. It figures.

So the ride – I was super-sucky slow, got stuck in a horribly wicked headwind the entire way back, was buzzed by the usual pick-up trucks and minivans, got dehydrated because my previously excellent bike handling skills have gone to shit and I was scared to reach for my water bottle, and did I mention that I was super-sucky slow? But, even given all that, I also got to ride on my beloved country roads, hear the chirruping of the bullfrogs, marvel at the cement trucks that were considerate enough to give me a wide berth, chortle at the ugly McMansion developments that are no longer churning up farmland, note the state of the cornfields (Corn Watch: nada, nothing planted yet), and overall feel like I had some small part of my old “normal” life within my grasp – fleeting as this was. So I’d say, Tasha = 1, Cancer = 0. For today, at least.

I will also say that if I somehow manage to toe the line at IronSpud, it will be a miracle the likes of which we have never seen before. Holy crap. Note to self: more Thighmastering, less striding briskly and breathing deeply. 66 days and counting…..

1 comment:

D said...

Is the race really that close? HOLY JEBUS! Can't wait. Mostly because I'm bringing Timbits and we're gonna eat them and they're gonna be DElicious!