To my bicycle:
You appeared in my garage on my birthday in 1998, a gift from my new husband. You tooled around north-central New Jersey for a year, spent a little bit of time touring our first neighborhood in the east bay the following year, and then sat neglected for the five years that we lived in a much-too-busy urban jungle.
Even when we moved out to the suburbs, the land of bike paths and trails, you never really got the attention you deserved. There were other things. I discovered running, kickboxing, Zumba. And still you sat, waiting patiently.
But now, now that my IT band is all jacked up, I want you to know something.
I love you.
Two Saturdays ago, we rode the local gravel trails.
Last weekend, we towed the kid’s old bike trailer filled with water and food for the water stop.
On Tuesday, you and I tested the longer trail, the one that runs for dozens of miles through the east bay.
This morning, you and I rode the deserted streets at dawn, connected with that trail and rode about 12 miles north to the Team in Training meetup.
You’re not the same thing as running, but you’re giving me an outlet, keeping my fitness level up, and saving my sanity.
I can’t guarantee that you’ll get my full and undivided attention once my leg is feeling better, but I do promise that I’ll clean you up, treat you well and maybe even get you some clipless pedals. Hey, if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right.
Thank you for helping me to be the best Betty I can be.
p.s. Having a Tiny Coaching Assistant who meticulously rolls out my IT band is also a very good thing. Where would I be without the two of you?