Fifteen minutes after waking up this morning, my dad rallied me to join him for an "easy" spin in the woods.
Groggy, I cobbled together some cold weather gear, sucked down a caffeinated Gu and was off.
As Max would say, the trails were beautifully littered with "crunchable leaves," and I enthusiastically led the first leg of our little ride.
As expected, my lungs gave out pretty directly and I was huffing and puffing up every little rise.
Surprisingly, my legs didn't let me down and I felt stronger than I had hoped for.
My illness has robbed me of about eight to ten pounds, so while I'm gasping and panting and eating BP's dust, at least there's slightly less of me suffering to keep up.
I love being back on my bike.
I don't care that it's cold.
I don't care that all the colorful leaves have already fallen, leaving most of the trees barren and naked.
I don't care that I'm out of shape and slow.
I'm so happy to have a healthy means of relieving all this stress.
It's been a hell of a week and I miss my brother terribly, but I need to take care of myself, too.
And this is the best way I know how.