Gone, But Not Forgotten!

I was five the first time I accidentally dropped something I loved in the toilet. It was a harmonica, and it fell through the hole in an outhouse. I know - pretty gross! I remember that sinking feeling, watching it disappear. I was crushed when my father refused to retrieve it.

I felt exactly the same way last night, as I watched my beloved pedometer swirl at the bottom of the toilet bowl, and "Wait! Wait! That's my pedometer, and it's about to . . . Oh, no! It just went down the toilet."

My sister Melissa thought it was hysterically funny. We sat on a banquette in the lobby of that fancy seafood place in Plymouth, Massachusetts, and laughed until the hostess gave us the evil eyeball. Then we laughed some more.

Today, I miss my old buddy. I keep reaching in my pocket, and it's not there. How far have I walked? Walt said on Facebook that he walked 40,000 steps yesterday. I have nothing to report.

I also have some existential questions about the steps I took during the two and one-half weeks that pedometer and I were together. What becomes of the steps when the pedometer goes down the toilet? Is it as though they were never taken? Are they gone forever? Were they taken in vain? Or do my steps exist in some alternate universe and someday I will catch up with them again?

These are, unexpectedly, the questions I am pondering on the evening of my 65th birthday, sitting in a motel on the way between Massachusetts and Maryland.

Down, But Not Out!

Each day, I've been riding a little more and with more confidence. But early last week, I noticed that I had a tingling in my feet and hands that seemed to creep up into my legs and arms. No pain or numbness, just the tingling that never went away and was particularly noticeable when I was sitting still or trying to go to sleep. I had no idea what to make of it.

Since Kevin and I are going to Massachusetts and Maryland, I decided I'd better ask the doctor about it. He listened, typed many words into his computer, scratched his head, said, "Hmmmmmm. . ." Finally he looked up. "I think it must be related to riding your bike."

I laughed. I was relieved. Nothing weird or serious.

"Since you're going on a trip, and won't be riding the bike, the tingling should go away."

Trouble is, I've had three perfectly good days and no bike riding. I walk past my pink Cruiser and I pat its seat. "Sorry," I say - more to myself than the bike.

Today it actually called to me, "Wendy! Wendy! Let's go play."

"Sorry," I mumbled again. Later I went back to REI with Kevin and he bought me a Hydration Waistpack for my birthday. It has a nifty water bottle and a little pouch for my keys and stuff. I figure the doctor is right, that I've somehow overdone it and after a break and a trip to the East Coast, I'll get back to riding my bike.

Reasons to Ride the Bike

There's a wonderful bike and walking path along the Monterey Bay, running from our Pacific Grove to Marina. Maybe even farther; I don't know. Several months ago, driving past a lovely tree-shaded and mysterious part of it, I thought, "I'd like to see what it's like in there." I suppose I could have figured out a way to park and take a stroll, but the next thought came: "If I had a bike, I could ride through there." Such a little thought, such a big project.

Reasons to ride a bike:
+ see that part of the trail.
+ find out if I actually can still ride a bike.
+ try something new.

I've had my bike one whole week today. I take it up to Robert H. Down - the elementary school my children attended - and ride around the black top. After school hours, when nobody is around. I feel like such a child. I have to practice starting and stopping over and over. Wobble, wobble. Start. Stop. Try again.

Today I ventured out onto Spruce Avenue, the very street my children walked along to get to and from school. I rode a block. Two blocks. Then back to the safe school yard.

On my third foray along Spruce, it dawned on me that my grandchildren, Peter and Charlotte, are starting first grade and kindergarten on Wednesday. Teachers they don't know. Kids they don't know. For some reason, I thought, "If they can do it, so can I." And I rode my week-old pink bicycle all the way to the end of Spruce Avenue. All the way to the house we lived in, when Jennie and Sarah were little and starting kindergarten and first grade and a whole new life separate from everything they had ever known.

Another reason to ride a bike: to keep solidarity with your grandkids!

Pedometers and Overachievers

I ran into an old friend who was all excited about his new pedometer.

“Try it,” he said and handed it to me. I carried it in my pocket for the rest of the day, and I was hooked. On Buying-the-Bike-Day, Jennie and I first bought pedometers. Our model measures:
Number of steps per day.
Aerobic steps per day.
Calories burned per day.
Miles walked per day.

Jennie immediately turned it into a competition. “No fair,” I whined. “I’m 27 years older than you.”

“I’ll give you a handicap,” she offered. “I have to walk 50% more.”

Done.

And then her brother, Walt (29) arrived and had to have one, too. The competition escalated. That evening we had to walk to Lover’s Point and back after Jennie’s kids were in bed. (What? Oh, okay – that was my nightgown, with a T-shirt under it, but Jennie swore it looked like a summer dress.) I think we all logged over 10,000 steps that day.

Today on Facebook, Walt wrote to Jennie: “Total for Thursday: 16,602 / 7.33 miles. Total for Wednesday: 21,487 / 9.49 miles.”

Jennie countered: 13,150 Thursday. 12,738 Wednesday.

Wonder why they didn’t ask about me. Oh, that’s right – I’m the mom. For the record: 9,424 Thursday. 11,062 Wednesday. Not bad for an old broad who’s also trying to learn to ride a bike!

"It's like riding a bicycle. . ."

I learned to ride a bicycle on a golf course in Kansas. Improbable, but true. My dad took me up a little hill and let the bike roll down with me on it.

"Hold on, Daddy! Hold on!"

"I am," he shouted from the top of the hill, as I rolled down the slope.

At the bottom, I turned around, indignant. "You let go!" I protested.

"And you rode the bike alone, " he said with a grin.

And so I rode that bike in Topeka, Arlington, and Bethesda. Then when I turned 12, I got my heart's desire - a brand new English bike. Which I rode in the countryside of Maryland (rarely) and all around Michigan State (whenever it wasn't snowing). My last bike I used to ride Jennie and Sarah around Pacific Grove all those years ago.

"It's like riding a bicycle. . ." That's what they say about a skill which, once mastered, will stay with you the rest of your life? Well, they are mistaken. My head says it's true, but my body disagrees.

I really thought I could do it - just jump on and go like I did all those years ago. But some things do change. My knees have arthritis. My head has vertigo. The heart is willing, but the body is weak.

Nevertheless, I have a plan. My bike and I are going to look for a big, empty parking lot and we are going to try again.