Week Ten - Day One

BIKE: Mike
TIME THERE: 25 min.
TIME BACK: 27 min.
WEATHER: overcast, -2C, 6km/hr wind there; overcast, 6C, 9km/hr wind back
WHAT I WORE: yoga pants, turtleneck, waterproof shell, double gloves, scarf
NOTES:
I woke up with a fierce determination to bike to work today. Regardless of the weather or how I slept overnight or the state of my cold, I was biking.

The first thing I did upon waking was look out my window to check whether it had snowed overnight and to gauge how frosty the roads looked. No snow, good; minimal frost, great. I'm riding Mike today! Screw you, Eastwood!

I plodded into the bathroom and caught the first glimpse of my sleepy face, rutted with pillow creases and sporting gray shadows under the eyes. Sexy. My eyes refused to open fully, but even at half-mast I could see that the whites of my eyes were more pink and bloodshot than God's-robe-white. Once again: sexy. I knew I didn't sleep well last night - a lot of tossing and turning, adjusting the covers, surrendering to that barking cough of mine, and having to blow my nose in order to breathe properly - but did I really have to look so much like I didn't sleep well?

On the way to work, everything felt just a little bit off. There was the repetitious whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of something rubbing against the back tire (the fender? the brake?). There was sitting in that hunched-over position, on that hard, narrow saddle, after getting used to Eastwood's short, wide, cushy seat and more upright position. My legs felt heavy, the bike felt heavy, the road felt hard and rough under my high-pressure, unyielding tires. I felt like I was hardly moving, and yet panting and sweating all the same. Where's my rhythm? Where's the pleasure in all this?

I was pleasantly surprised when I got to work and discovered I'd made it in 25 minutes. Huzzah! OK, maybe things felt off but weren't really off, objectively. Maybe it's just that it's been too long - four days - since I last biked, and maybe it's that I'm still fighting this cold. I'm just rusty, that's all. Nothing a good, solid week of bike-commuting can't fix.

I walked into the office bark-coughing until the walls practically shook. My supervisor stepped out of his room and looked at me quizzically. "That doesn't sound good," he said, a hint of concern colouring his voice.

"It's just the cough," I responded, "I'm actually feeling a lot better, [pause for hacking fit] but this cough [hacking fit] . . . I bet the biking doesn't help."

"I'm sure it doesn't."

"Well," I countered, "if I let a lingering cough stop me from biking, I won't bike all winter. So I'm biking through the cough!" And with that, I buried my face into my sleeve and hacked away for good measure, then went into my office to change and get ready for the day. Cough or no cough, I'm glad I biked today. I always miss it when I don't.

However, I must say, I could have done without the taste of my own lungs floating at the back of my mouth. "The taste of lung?" you ask. And I reply: "Oh, yes, my friend, lung. It tastes like blood. Just a hint of iron tickling the back of my tongue." That's the taste of having a hacking cough and continuing to bike-commute in cold air. I have to say, it's kind of gross, I wouldn't necessarily recommend it. But you know what? I'm just happy I'm back in the saddle again!