Sunday morning I woke up just after noon feeling super sore. Sore toes, sore calves, sore knees... sore thighs, hips and waist. Sore shoulders, arms, forearms, wrists and jaw. No, I hadn't gone on a bicycle ride, or worked out (with the exception of a 5-mile run earlier in the day). I certainly didn't meet anyone special. Rather it was the collective result of a typical Saturday night involving friends, much laughter, and a pair of lace-up leather heels. Choose your own adventure, much?
Which brings me to the pain, the type that was very reminiscent of intense weekend bicycle rides that, admittedly, I haven't partaken in for quite some time. It's been hard getting people together and coinciding schedules, but to be honest there's no excuse not to get out there on my own. In training for next year's LA Marathon (I believe in taking my time), I've been running and building muscle, getting used to the good, deserving type of pain that requires a clench of the jaw, controlled breathing, and a deep stretch before bed. But there's nothing like the good pain of a long bicycle ride.
Although I haven't done so in a while, I enjoy that (with enough water and the right pair of Novara padded shorts) I can hop on and go for hours. I intend to do a 35-50-mile ride this weekend, and this is the event I'll be partaking in this June. Only 70 miles. Eventually I'll work my way up to 100.
I'd totally quote Madonna's "I'm Breathless" right now, but that might be toeing the line a little more than I originally intended.
Leslie Jones posts some stuff on Twitter
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