I went out for a bike ride today. I love being on the bike, but I have been off it for months. Probably five or six weeks since I rode at all, and probably three or four months since I put down any serious miles. But yesterday in the shower before work, feeling tired before my 6am shift, I shaved my legs for the first time in months. It just felt like it was time to get back on the bike. I spent all day yesterday knowing that I'd be riding today and it felt good to have that before me. The actual riding was not idylic. Put air in the tires and went out. I used to ride on the PCH (magnificent!) but now that I've moved I have the Godforsaken Hwy outside my porch. The first turns of the crank felt wonderful and smooth. But the legs weren't right and it was dismaying. After a half mile I knew that I had put myself into a deep hole. It's going to take while to crawl back to decent physical shape. I had known it would be like this; harbingers of doom had been all about me for months: my heart pumping too hard after racing up to a code on the fourth floor, my calves no longer filling out the legs of my jeans, catching my reflection in the window and wondering "Whose chicken legs are those." It was bad, and embarrasing, but so be it. It felt like these weren't my legs, like I had borrowed them from someone who had spent a large part of his life sitting on a couch drinking beer and watching his ass widen. I only put thirty minutes in. I think riding here will be okay: there are hills, and a few long desolate stretches to burn miles on. It will be okay.