I’m very conflicted when it comes to cycling.  In my 20s, I loved my mountain bike and the thrilling adventures we had together.  When I became a mom the idea of potentially putting myself in harm’s way, no matter how exciting, became much less appealing.  Plus, the amount of time riding requires to get a decent workout was really impractical/impossible while also being responsible for an infant and small child.

Although I had previously logged many miles in tandem with biking, this was the point in life when running took on new and sacred meaning.  Provided I had gotten ample sleep, it was completely feasible to leave my dependent appendages in the care of another responsible adult for a mere 30-40 minutes.  I could breathe, move, and be (however temporarily) without worrying about hiccups or rashes or having anyone hanging off my utilitarian frame.  I would return home from these escapes sweaty and clear-headed, much better equipped to handle tears and spit-up than before I had left.  Don’t get me wrong- I loved my babies with mind-numbing ferociousness.  But in the early years of motherhood, running forced me out of my head, in to my body, and back to my self.

All these years, and several derogatory comments regarding the character of cyclists, later- the irony of present reality is not lost on me.  Somewhere between dabbling in diversifying spinning, endurance building brick class and recreational beach cruiser riding- it seems my steady, my safety, my sanity (running) has led me astray.  I now must rely on the tool of my maniacal multi-use path adversaries, to keep me conditioned and strong for the marathon.  This morning at Urban Escape Fitness, decked in padded shorts and cycling shoes, I was never so happy to climb aboard a spin bike.  Hungry for cardio but unable to run the 8 miles scheduled for today, I rode in place for what seemed like forever but turned out only to be 1 hour and 6 minutes.  On my own 2-wheeled island- I warmed up, performed wattage drills, cooled down, and logged 25 miles- all while a Boot Camp class was conducted a few feet away from me.  I was so tempted to leap from the bike in to the camaraderie of class where I would much rather have been.  It helped that my feet were clipped in and in the time it took me to untangle myself from the bike I was transported back to my senses, puffy ankle and all.  Ultimately the goal was realized, my old friend (the bike) being the means to this end.  I left the studio dripping with sweat on strengthened legs, and with a butt much more sore than my ankle.