Finding Myself

Starting something like Tai Kwan Do would rank seriously high on the list toward finding myself, wouldn't you agree? I thought so, and pleased I was to receive some nice encouraging words through the Class Teacher's email straight after class this morning. Okay, its only a beginners' class but given my advanced years during which time I can count on one hand the number of gym sessions I have completed, added to the number of pilates stretch classes and other rudimentary bouts of muscle toning along the way, I would say that it's more than pleasing.

My husband was suitably impressed when I reported back after my initial stint at the martial arts centre and I could hear him thinking that he might now have someone at last who might possibly develop the potential (finally) to at least have a decent cycle with him on a Saturday morning, without him having to do two laps around the mountain bike circuit just to get a bit more of a stretch. A cycling partner who wouldn't turn bright red, sweat profusely, gasp loudly for breath and threaten to turn back before we had even gotten out of sight of the car park. It's not my fault, I just can't help the thumping of my heart, which at every push of the pedal threatens to jump out of my chest or strike me down with complete failure, the lack of balance and the inevitable falling off my bike - in soft sand (and there is much of it on this route) , off the bridge (it really is a sneaky narrow plank bridge which suddenly takes you by surprise. Just after a nice level meander, the track narrows into a ninety degree turn, dips downhill where this nasty little bridge lays in wait before sweeping you up a steep section, causing the unsuspecting cyclist to panic and, in my case, lose momentum). I now walk that bit after falling down, falling off and even falling into some rather thick bush beside the track, with the bike on top of me, wedged between my legs somehow and my one foot still on the pedal, because the pain and humiliation and resultant bruising on my legs, ankle and the backs of my calves every Saturday are just not that worth it. In fact, I seem to walk a lot during our Saturday morning cycle jaunts. My face remains frozen, eyes glued to the track just in front, mouth twisted in a churlish grimace amidst calls of "Did you see those birds?" "Did you see the Red Bishop?" "Look! Egyptian Geese in the field, over there...!" I notice nothing other than my irregular heartbeat, the pouring sweat and pain in two legs which feel like I've been trying to pedal push a Boeing, uphill with a fridge on my back. I mention the fridge bit because my state of the art "Camel Back" caringly filled before every ride by my DH with ice-cold water and ice cubes, to ensure my cool wellbeing, leaks! At one point during the ride one morning, I complained bitterly as my back felt icy-wet instead of the usual hot sweaty-wet and, after skidding to a halt (once again), DH's eyes rolling exasperatingly heavenward, a closer inspection revealed that the thing on my back carrying ice cubes and water, was indeed leaking.

With the Camel Back sorted out, the cycling will continue, I guess, but in the meantime, with weight loss and super fitness within reach, mastering the martial arts will be my next stepping stone/goal (nemesis?).