They say that you never forget how to ride a bike.
Well, I beg to differ. The last time I attempted to get my ass on a bike, there was nothing familiar about it in the least.
I have fond memories of bonding over long bike rides with my dad when I was young. We’d bike along the water and look at pretty houses and flowers it was all so lovely. But, as an adult? No, thank you. I couldn’t keep my balance at all and the discomfort of the seat topped the pain of childbirth, hands down. I may have even fallen. Horrified, I abandoned the bike and decided that four wheels suited me far better than two ever would. I haven’t been on a bike since, and scowl past the cyclists who invade my space on the road. We are different creatures, they and I.
This weekend, Jeff took the training wheels off of Lily’s bike. In a under a few short hours, he taught her how to parade up and down the street like she’s the hottest thing to ever hit the sidewalk.
Watching her, I started to wonder if I’ve been missing something. She looked so proud and independent and suddenly family cycling visions started filling my head. The five of us, donning spandex shorts and sneakers picnicking at some national park on a Sunday afternoon. Bonding while wearing matching bike helmets and coordinating sweatshirts. Biking down to Starbucks for coffee and feeling the burn in my thighs. Actually, having definition in my thighs. Could that be us? Be me?
No, no it can not. I know my limitations, thank you very much and I can live a long and happy life without a bike. My minivan is the very best way to get the whole family from point A to point B and it doesn’t leave me walking funny the next day. So much for that.
I may invest in those matching sweatshirts, though. That’s the kind of family bonding I can handle.
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