I grudgingly woke up to my alarm at 0642am this morning. People that set their alarms in multiples of five always annoyed me. I tend to set mine in multiples of three. "Bleck, maybe I can learn to accept a few extra pounds" ran through my head. Then a flashback of me in a bikini in Cancun; I slipped on my asics. I was surprised by a thick fog that had crept in during the night, stealing the belligerent familiarity of my morning runs. I took a deep breath, paused, and started walking up what I affectionately refer to as, "fuck hill" (it earned it's name by the countless amount of times I've dropped the f-bomb running up it). I ended up running the neighborhood three times.
I stopped by walmart to pick up a fancy new helmet that I figured I'd crack in less than twelve hours, a camel pack with extra pockets to hold bandages and gauze, power bars, and a few other items. I took my Trek in to the shop to get the rear wheel fixed. It was also a perfectly good excuse to oogle over shiny, slender, machines of perfection in various colors. I picked up a second bike stand for the back of my truck. After all, if you have two kids, you need two car seats. Plus it meant I would get to use power tools when I got home, win-win. At some point in this mess my best friend, who is a fellow biker, cancelled on going with me. That means I was braving this extremely dangerous trail, alone. And all of central Florida (and anyone with access to google) knows I dont' have very good luck with places like that. fail-fail.
However I had no idea that I'd end up spending nearly an hour digging through cabinets as tall as me looking for two nuts to go on two bolts. Never found them. Figures.
I drove to my mothers and my step-dad helped put it together with two bolts and nuts that actually matched and were the right length. We changed out the pedals and lowered the seat on my Gary Fisher. I loaded them up, packed my camel pack, and made sure I had everything I needed.
cell phone? Check
medical tape? Check
Power bar? Check
gerber knife? Check
Two sexy bikes? Check and check
a living will? ....uh
Everything was packed and ready, key in the ignition, turn over, and clickclickclickclickclick. My truck won't start. Thirty minutes later I put it in drive and head toward the park, turn around because I forgot something, and finally on my way.
I had a dispointing phone conversation on the way, "Christ! Don't you know life is passing you by!" "...yeah".
The trail was rough. I almost ate it a few times but I managed to exit with a film of dirt, bruises, and a drop or two of blood. I was anxious manuvering the trail alone. I'm not sure if it was from the omens earlier and my bad (and i mean relaly) bad luck or if its residue from one year and fifteen days ago today. I'd like to pretend that didn't leave a lasting scar. I'd also like to pretend like I didn't just eat that sherbert...
I pulled my Trek out and took it for a spin. I missed how light it feels in my hands, the way I can stretch my legs out, and hunched down and cutting though the wind. I found a playground hidden between the tree line and farside of the baseball fields. I stopped at some empty bleachers to lay down and close my eyes.
I ended up on the swingset. I must have swung for over an hour. Back and forth. reconnecting with a best friend through text while Jason Aldean poured into my ears. I was happy, I was really happy. I had a huge smile and I couldn't help but laugh when memories popped in my head.
Then I had this obsurd feeling. Despite the dirt, sweat, smelly clothes, and broken out face (thank you pms), I felt pretty. I was alone on a swingset in an empty park, watching the sunset alone and I was happy.
I must have swung on that swingset for over an hour, watching the sunset.
When I finally returned home I made a delcious dinner (hello brown rice, baked chicken with a white wine/garlic marinate, and steamed veggies), rented The Ugly Truth (because I'm shallow and Gerard Butler reeks sex) and did sit ups.
At any rate, my eyes are heavy and there's a math book infront of me that needs to be cracked.