Last Monday evening I rode 50 miles on my recumbent exercise bicycle. Whew. Longest ride ever.
["Rule 1. Air out the shoes": photos GH]
Tuesday I ran 4.5 miles, after a two-year hiatus from going outdoors in running shorts.
Wait, I lied. I didn’t run.
["For now, I'm more like Jello-man!"]
I walked, I jogged, I shuffled, I wheezed like an old train with rusted sprockets - you know the kind. And, my gosh, my legs were as white as Bambi bread. Look away!
On Wednesday I played hockey, and if I recall correctly, I actually had glide in my stride and covered the black team’s best man like a blanket.
["I'm ready to roll on the exercise bike"]
On Friday I rode another 35 miles and on Sunday I walk-a-jogged another 5.5 miles (good for 11 points, based on a complicated series of mathematical calculations and some knowledge of the position of the moon at the time).
["I aim for 100 points or miles per week. So far so good"]
At this rate I should be ready for a half-marathon before Dec. 31 rolls around and - quite possibly - beat The Swede into the ground.
Into.
The.
Ground.
Tonight, if there’s a full moon, I’ll aim for 6.0 miles.
It's a long and winding road that I'm on.
.
