Easy Does It, Until It Doesn't

Yesterday I decided that it was time to get back on that proverbial horse and ride.

Actually, it was a bike, not a horse.

Before the pregnancy, I was riding 6-10 miles every other day (just about) and was filling in the off days with circuit resistance training. I was eating right (or better than my usual cold pizza leftovers with a side of nothing much and chocolate). I was steaming all sorts of things and was all about the Uncle Ben's 90 Second Wild Rice pouches.

I actually felt healthy and my body looked fit for the first time since college!

Then when I got pregnant and the complications began, I was put on couch arrest (which lasted a month or longer), and I decided that I was supposed to crave things. By things, I mean dessert. And not the fruit parfait kind, but the chocolate covered in chocolate, resting in a moat of chocolate, on a chocolate plate kind, with a side of ice cream.

The couch/dessert combo was pretty much a disaster for all of my hard work.

After I miscarried, obviously my body was in no shape to do much of anything and my emotions kept me bed-ridden and sluggy, not to mention the "procedure" that accompanied it all.

BUT yesterday, for the first time in over a month, I decided to try and ride again! I was smart about it, too. I promised myself to ride at the pace of my Nelly Furtado CD, so as to keep things steady (and not sprint like I used to do). I promised to take frequent water breaks and to ride the shortest of the trails. I was going to try and "ease" myself back into the world of health and fitness.

Right. So the first part of the ride ROCKED. I was steady and paced, conscious of my breathing. My muscles seemed to recall how to do everything (um. like remembering how to ride a bike). I smiled and sweetly called out things like, "on your left" and generously passed along "hi, how are ya?" nods to others on the trail. Plus the weather was perfect. The temperature was in the mid 80's, and though a little humid, I still could feel tiny jet streams of cooler air occasionally and was thankful for the sunshine.

I got half way through the ride when I decided to stop and take a water break as per "the plan". I was, after all, a little bit winded, and I do understand the value of hydration. I stopped, sat on a lovely park bench among butterflies and GREEN vegetation, and allowed myself what I would soon consider very arrogant and ironic thoughts such as, "Good. This is pleasant. I needed this. Maybe tomorrow I can ride the longer trail. What should I steam for dinner?"

Needless to say, the ride back was not the same as the one before the water break. In fact about 3 minutes after I got back onto my bike, my muscles decided that THEY. WERE. DONE.

Shit.

I was not even close to home and my muscles were protesting every single push of the pedal! If you could look underneath my skin, I think you would've seen my muscles staging a sit in, holding signs that read, "Hell no! We won't go," the lead muscle on the phone with her union rep. I then wondered which of my muscles was the lead muscle (I'm guessing the quad?), which kind of made me chuckle despite the anguish, which in turn made me instantly aware of the intense humidity that was crushing my poor laughing lungs with all of its weight and density.

There was no more pacing; screw Nelly Furtado. The breathing was forced. Plus, was the ride home more up hill than usual? Where did my jet stream go? Forget the passers by pleasantries. Damn butterflies!

All I could think of with every forced movement was, "stupid (push) girl (push) stupid (push) girl (push)..."

I cannot tell you how I made it home, other than I was just too prideful to wave that white flag of surrender and accept defeat.

When I got home, I took a long shower and tried to revive the broken spirit that accompanies my perfectionist tendencey to beat myself up for not being able to do something perfectly the first time.

I did recover minute by minute and decided to draft a rather lengthy peace-keeping treaty (written, of course, in perfectly confusing legalese, using the most of my limited Latin skills) that would act as a compromise/diplomatic buffer between my lungs and leg muscles, and my brain. Fortunately for me, all have graciously agreed to sign said document, and we are going to try the mission again later today.

All seems to be more congenial for now, though my buttocks are still pretty sore, especially since they, too, endured the battle and were sadly left out of all consideration.