Just yesterday, James invited me to bike somewhere nearby with him to borrow some lawn games for my upcoming birthday (woohoo!:) And oddly enough, I was super not into it. Not into biking, not into venturing out to someone else’s house, not even into the outside time with James which, these days, is hard to come by.
This was on the heels of a whole bunch of wondering on my way home if my relationship with biking is changing.
(how I love thee…?)
In the summer, I ride to work 4 days in a row (rather than every other day like I do most of the rest of the year), which means about 125 miles in 4 days — or something like 10 hours of riding squished around 10ish-hour work days and the rest of life. Even for someone who likes biking, that kind of adds up. Especially given that that’s just everything that surrounds work, not normal life things.
So on my way home yesterday, feeling particularly tired and headachy, I was wondering if I’m just not that into recreational cycling during the summer, or if I lose my penchant for joyriding when I already spend what feels like so much time just getting myself to work and back. With those wonderings stewing in my head and my grumpy, tired self not wanting to get on my bike again, I sent James — super uncharacteristically — on his bikey way without me.
But then there was tonight: an evening much hotter and more miserable than it was yesterday, after a day at work that was much much hotter and more miserable than yesterday. I biked my way homeward on the relentlessly sunny Springwater, to the ever-so-slightly shadier 205 path, got to the turnoff I usually take to go home and felt the impulse to skip it. To go further up the path, to find the hills at Mt. Tabor, to extend my ride.
Right. It turns out I do like biking. Just not every single second of every single day. But it always comes back. And I think that’s okay:)