March 25, 2021
It’s time for my first training montage, so open Spotify and play “Eye of the Tiger” for the full effect. While my first day back on a bike was incredibly eventful, things got easier and less chaotic. The next day I went for a ride around Marblehead. I decided to take advantage of the weather and biked to Salem and back that Friday with a pastry at A&J King for incentive. I reached my goal for my first week of training. I got my training regime from a book released by the Adventure Cycling Association about the Lewis and Clark Trail. The first two weeks I’m meant to bike 10-20 miles three times a week and build up up from there.
I followed the assumption that my lazy butt hadn’t retained any of the muscle I’d built up in the past two years since I’d been so slothful all winter. In 2019 I biked 85 miles a week just by commuting. I worked a costume job in Somerville and the only way I could make it to my second job at the MFA (intime) was by bike. I liked it, except when it rained and I had to spend a six hour shift soaked and shivering behind the ticket desk. I could feel myself getting stronger on that commute. When I started I struggled up hills. By winter it was a breeze. In January however, the snow and ice made the commute torture. I was offered a permanent position at my day job and when the weather turned I decided to quit the MFA.
I was proud of the strength I’d built up, not to mention the weight I’d lost from regular exercise, so I got a gym membership and started going after work. I figured a stationary bike would tide me over until I was outside again. Then, well, Covid hit. I stopped going to the gym completely. By mid April I was dying to get back on my bike. This spring was much the same, but instead I was out of the saddle for months, plural. I’m told cyclists start losing muscle mass after two weeks of inactivity. It had been about twelve.
I could tell I was weaker. Well, at least after everything that happened that first day I felt weaker. I was exhausted after only 15 miles. Last summer I was biking 30 to 50 on the regular. But, after my ride on Friday I managed to move a whole carload of stuff from my 3rd floor apartment into my mom’s attic and had a bit more faith in my stamina. It felt like surprising progress since I was often a complete loaf after I finished a ride.
“When I got to the entrance, it was ice and slush, but I had gravel tires so I had grip.”
I was still set on biking to Old North Bridge, and the next Wednesday I finally did. There was still snow on the ground. On the paved minuteman that didn’t matter. I hadn’t even noticed it on my previous ride, but the path to Old North Bridge was all dirt paths that snaked through the woods. When I got to the entrance it was ice and slush, but I have gravel tires so I had grip. I skidded around but past the entrance it dried out a bit—or so I thought. At first it was only a mild struggle. There were icy patches, but they were sparse. Then I came to a part of the path where the snow was melted into mud. I could turn back and give up on my goal, but I’d already given up on this plan once! I wasn’t ready to give up again. Besides, I really wanted to relax by the Concord River. I got to a point where the mud was three inches deep and there was no way around. I pedaled with all of my strength (and it took all of it to even move) and by some miracle stayed vertical. A hundred yards through the mud I began to question my own sanity. I didn’t even know how far I had left. It went on longer than I expected, the mud and the path. It had been so long since I’d gone this far I couldn’t remember it. I popped out on Monument Street and coasted to the river. I had severely underestimated how far of a trip I’d set for myself. I’d gone 16 miles and it was still early enough in the afternoon. That meant I’d hit 32 miles when I got home. I pulled out Sea for some cute Instagram pics, sat by a tree with a notebook and began to write my first blog.
On the way home, I had a choice. There was a break in the path and I knew I could skip the mud on my way home and save myself the struggle, but I kept going through the woods. Given the choice, I preferred the adventure.
The Stars On the Horizon 