Yowza. I coaxed my aging legs to give me five miles on the bicycle.
Five miles? I’m celebrating five miles? Yep. And I’ll be happy if I make it to ten miles by the end of summer. Too much surgery for long hauls.
Five miles doesn’t qualify me to ride as a domestique for Lance Armstrong anywhere except in my fantasy. But I hurt just as though it did. My legs burned. My pacemaker hummed. Twice, I had to find a park bench in the shade. Thumpa, thumpa. Strangers fretted. Lassie ran for help.
Worth it? Damned straight. I need that bike.
The payback is immediate and lasts all day. Even into the night. Immediately, my head is cleared. All that blood rushing to my brain. Admittedly, my legs are jello at first. But gradually, I notice more spring in my step. The energy refreshes my aging frame. Even my knees don’t pop so loud. I sleep better at night.
The doctors are right about exercise. Do some.
Always, carry your cell phone and memorize the number for 911.
PS: Watch for me on a road near you -- and get the hell outta the way.
I'm still wobbly.