After a couple of
very busy weeks, I finally had time to take my new bike out for a spin. I
filled my water bottle up, put on my helmet, and headed to Central Park.
As I entered the
park I felt energized. The wind flowed over my body as I peddled ever faster. The
sense of freedom was amazing. I felt like a child once again. That was until I
approached my first hill. Now for those of you who don't know, Central Park
isn't exactly a very hilly place. Yes it has hills but this isn't the alps or
even the Catskills we are talking about. As I started to bike up the hill
I realized I was hardly moving. Bikers and runners alike were blowing past me.
I’m pretty sure I saw a baby crawl past me. Before I knew it the sense of
childhood freedom quickly left me and I realized what truly was in front of me,
a grueling work out for an out of shape adult. As I kept riding and
pushing myself I kept thinking about watching the Tour de France and being
amazed by how easy they made biking up mountains, like the L'Alpe d'Huez, look. It was if they flew up the mountain. I quickly realized that no one
flies up a mountain. This shit was hard!
The longer I rode the more confident I
felt on the bike. After some trial and error, I realized what gears I needed to
use to make the hills easier and I kept pushing myself. My head was
drenched, sweat dripped down my face as I tried to control my breathing. Half way through my run I realized that somehow my
water bottle never left my apartment with me. I was dying of thirst and my
lungs felt like they were going to burst at any second. This was work.
Fun work but work nonetheless.
Then without notice the sense of
wonder and childhood delight returned. As we all know what comes up must come
down and down did I go. While I'm sure the downhill wasn't that steep, I
quickly gained speed. I got down as low as I could to make myself as
aerodynamic as possible. Now I truly was flying and I couldn't get enough. The
child in me was begging for more. Faster, faster he yelled in my ear! Before I
knew it I was at the bottle of the hill, only to hit another steeper hill, the
so call Harlem Hills. The cycle (pardon the pun) was starting all over
again. No, cycling wasn't like it was on television; it was even better!
