Like some sonorous seafloor-dwelling creature, I slide my way around the house, grabbing onto furniture to support and propel me. And as I squeal pathetically when descending a single stair, I can't believe that a stroll down the rocky hillside of that rainbow-spewing beast had the power to incapacitate me like this. But incapacitate me it did. And now, if I can walk at all, it is with a stiff, clipped gait, heaving my body forward like a pile of broken luggage that won't roll on its own.
It is in this sorry state that I move, mincingly and with a deranged grimace, toward my bicycle. With a trembling hand, I keep the handlebars steady as I jerkily bring an aching leg across and gracelessly hoist my bottom onto the saddle. I am almost afraid to push off, wincing preemptively in expectation of pain. But instead, I feel the bliss of non-pain. I feel a lovely, liberating weightlessness. By some miracle (okay, science), the muscles that hurt when executing every other movement do not hurt when pedaling. Today the bicycle is my mobility chair. Again!
A funny theme to this summer has been engaging in activities that wreck my legs even more than the bike itself. Running 7 miles on too-soft sand first did this to me, making my calves feel like led injected with fiery poison for days. But that was nothing compared to climbing mountains. I wrote about climbing Croagh Patrick a little while ago. I have since also climbed the steep and pointy Errigal, and, most recently, the near-vertical, flat-top Muckish.
Now, when it comes to scrambling up a mountain, I absolutely love it. I don't find it particularly effortful to climb, even fairly steep sections, as long as I don't try to go too fast. And I love those moments of looking back over my shoulder and discovering how the views have opened up. Getting off a mountain, however, is a different story! My balance, though greatly improved compared to several years ago, still isn't great, and I seem to lack an intuitive sense of picking a good line. On the way down, I slip, slide, misstep, and stumble a lot. I also feel as if I'm constantly fighting my body's desire to let itself go and tumble down at full speed. By the time I reach the bottom, I am drained of energy and my legs are aching - which is nothing compared to how they feel the next day. The culprit of the pain are those long bands that run along the outer thighs. They aren't just tight; they bind and dig in like a row of steel nails.
I remembered this pain again as soon as I got off my bike to walk the short distance to the supermarket entrance. I cursed it as I shuffled around the isles feebly. Perhaps it was my lack of confidence when descending responsible for this; no doubt I was over-bracing myself and tensing those muscles too much - the walking equivalent of riding the brake.
At the till, the checkout girl gave me a once-over and said with a chuckle. "What were you at theday?"
"Mountain," I mumbled, and she laughed and nodded in understanding. Been there, done that.
Well, the pain will go away in a day or two. Until then, at least I got my bike to get around. If only I could ride it indoors!