Rusty and I went mountain biking today. I have not been mountain biking since some time last year because I have a tendency to fall into trees and did not want to fall into a tree while housing a fetus. So today we went. And we rode. And I thought my lungs were going to come flying out of my mouth right there on the trail. It was awesome.
I had forgotten how much I enjoy biking, the rush of flying (in my case, braking) down a hill covered with roots and rocks, the excitement of getting hit in the face with sticks and vines, the thrill of nearly smashing a half naked running man.
At one point on a particularly awful hill when I was somehow still going up though I certainly shouldn't have been, I thought about giving up. I thought I could just sit down and wait for Rusty to come back and find me and then he could carry me and my bike all the way back to the car. But I knew I couldn't actually give up. I've had a baby! I can certainly ride my bike up a hill! So I encouraged myself by thinking "At least I'm not riding my bike through the French Alps." Or "At least I'm not trying to swim for the Gold with water filling up my goggles."