rhapsodic.org

I may be fat, but I'm slow

I put on my helmet while he wound an ace bandage around his ankle. We had never ridden together, nor had he ridden a bicycle since we had married and his nice one was stolen.

When we go somewhere in the car, he drives. It's not a chauvinistic thing, perhaps a bit of a control thing, but that is how it has always been and I have no problem with him driving.

Which is why the bicycle ride started so oddly: he was going with me on my ride, and I was to set not only the direction, but also the pace.

Which is a scary thought.

I've never been athletic. I was last nearly every time in PE class; he was usually first. It is physically incapable for me to do a pull up; he can pull it up until the cows come home. I have no idea how many weights my body can push or pull; he got his name on The Wall for breaking all sorts of school records.

I may be fat, but I'm slow.

Give me an integral and I will calculate circles around him, but give me a baseball glove and I will trot waaaay outfield, pray the ball never comes close to me, and when it does (because it inevitably does) flinch and close my eyes and probably cry.

We cycled for a few miles, two maybe, around my 'usual' short route. He would shoot ahead of me and then fall behind, sweetly calling out when a car was behind us or in front of us, as though I could neither hear nor see them.

One of the reasons I love walking with him is because he pushes my pace much faster than I would ever do on my own, and the same is true for cycling. I kept pushing it and pushing it so that he would not think I coasted my bike everywhere. And then my legs fell off.

Always being last in school physical activities I became used to people pointing and laughing. When someone doesn't laugh but, instead, enjoys time spent doing physical activity with me, it makes an impact.

As I coasted back home dragging my legs behind me, I thanked him for not making fun of me and my slowness. I've thanked him for this before and he has never understood.