French Alps? Piece of cake.

So, I just got back from a little adventure. And before I collapse in a cardiac event or become a quivering pool of total muscle failure, I thought I'd take a moment to share my experience.

Inspired no doubt by the scores of paradoxically nacho-eating, shirtless-lake-trail-running, race-winning, perkily enthusiastic and grotesquely fit people who surround us here in Austin, I have decided:

I will embrace sport.

Not just the regular stuff either. Sure, there are still the dull, lifeless trips to the gym where I move my legs in endless circles without ever going anywhere. And there's even the occasional muscle torture class or wog around Town Lake, mostly to ogle the pretty young things going by. But having recently incurred a rather painful, quite irritating, definitely boring (just ask Crouton) and apparently incurable heel injury, I decided to branch out.

Today, I dusted off my Brooklyn basement-banished, no doubt loser-ish (just ask Austin bike snobs) hybrid bike, and rolled down the driveway.

I was scared. It's always intimidating (to me, at least) the first time I set out for a run or ride or whatever somewhere new. I don't know exactly what I'm getting myself into, I don't want to get lost, hurt, or appear overly stupid and clueless.

I consulted a map and chose a route. I'd just go north a bit, then hang a right, then go south and loop back home. I figured it'd take an hour or so, and using the map I chose the most bike-friendly route. No problem.

The map, however was not perfect. It neglected to mention The Hills.

Nope, not talking about L.C. versus Heidi here. (embarrassed that you know what I'm talking about? We both should be.)

I'm talking about hills that have enlightened me to a few things:

1. It makes perfect sense that Lance hails from Austin. Two words: training ground.

2. I am not as fit as I need to be/think I am/used to be/fill in the blank.

3. There is no shame in getting off your bike  once twice okay, three times and walking up a steep hill as you gasp for breath. Well, maybe there is a little shame but did your lungs ever burn so badly (and while "inhaling" does not count) that you had no shame?

Against the odds, I survived. I saw some beautiful homes. Ludicrous homes. We're talking uber-rich. Yoohoo, Michael, this means you. The weather was perfect, the scenery was lovely (wildflowers, even a TEMPLE! Like for Jews!) and I got a hearty enough workout to justify my recent jelly bean consumption (at least in my mind).

So thanks to the non-snobby cool guys at the bike store who restored my steed to its original lustre. And thanks to the two kind souls who, as they walked by pushing their bikes away from the inappropriately named "Hike AND Bike Trail," saved me by simply asking "you're going THAT way?" (I promptly turned around.)

Today's sport is conquered, if only for the moment. Up next? Rowing. Wish me luck. And in the meantime, to quote the immortal Tobias Funke, "who wants to take me to the hospital?"

Comments

[croutonboy]

I'm very proud of you. I'll have to get you an official cycling jersey for mother's day so you can fit in (and of course wear it out to dinner). Preferably something loud an obnoxious. How about this? http://www.teamestrogen.com/prodTY_1948_2.html

[WCG]

Good for you. When you come visit you can ride my new "simply 50s" bike, if it doesn't embarrass you too much. If you don't turn to the south it is pretty flat around here so you can ride forever.