So, I’m 31. And, I can’t ride a bike. I sort of learned as a kid, with training wheels. As in, relying on the training wheels to a point that they had to continually be bent back to the shape they were supposed to be. So, in all honesty, I never really learned.
Yesterday, my mother-in-law gave her old bike. It’s a really nice Huffy, the same kind I had as a kid. This will mark the third bike I’ve owned in my life. This time, I’m going to learn to ride the darn thing.
Because I’m super short–5 foot 1.5 on a good day–the bike she gave me is too tall for now. I can’t sit on the seat and touch the ground. Thankfully, my dear husband didn’t get rid of the shorter bike I’ve had for six years and barely moved. It’s a bit rusty, and I had to climb a tall stool to get one of the pedals out of the bucket hanging in the garage rafters, but I don’t have to worry about destroying it.
I spent a good 45 minutes this morning just practicing balance and crappily riding back and forth across our yard. I was able to get both feet on the pedals four times, and may a half-revolution once. I had to put my feet down a lot, but I didn’t fall completely off, and I’m not dead.
I call it a win for today.
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