First Ride. Second Ride. Third Ride.

Enough is enough. It is 55 degrees on the last day of 2010. I am going for a ride. With or without my right knee. It is undramatic to everyone around me. Even my girlfriend, who has witnessed my decent into madness off the bicycle, has other things she needs to be doing.

It's dirty. And thats how I like it. 

To me, however, the earth is shaking. Fireworks are exploding with every pedal stroke. I am not even off of my street yet, and I can't wipe this disgusting smile off my face, or the tear from my eye. The air is crisp, but not uncomfortable. The sun sits low in the winter sky, casting shadows of the buildings and trees and wheels on my bike. I am listening to my brother's mix of house music (which, to this day, I am a little embarrassed to even admit), and my skin erupts into goosebumps as I stand and climb for the first time in months. People shouldn't be allowed to feel this good.

The euphoria subsides, though maybe not completely. I am aware of my knee. I am not in pain per se, but I cant stop focusing on every twinge, ache, and tickle. It is especially noticeable because my left leg feels fine. I try and analyze why, and mimic my right to the left. I twist my foot in all kinds of directions. I watch how my knee tracks. It is everywhere but where it should be.

On the return stretch, I turn my music up slightly and slow down. I focus instead on how incredible it is outside and on how much I love this.

I finished my one-hour-out-and-back ride. I have ridden 16 of the slowest miles I have ever done.

I am now cautiously optimistic about getting back on my bike. If all things go well, I will be doing base miles in no time. Fingers crossed folks.