It's Not About The Bike

I don't think a lot of Lance Armstrong. His recovery from cancer was a miracle, there's no doubt about that, but as a person, I'm not impressed with his life as a ex-husband and father. I have gained respect for his ability on the bike. I recently borrowed a road bike from home, and just a brisk ride around White Rock Lake has taken me one step closer to knowing what it's like to ride competitively. I have no plans to do anything more than a ride around the lake a couple times a week, but what's more surprising than the physical exhaustion, is the dangers of the course when the tires are a half an inch thick. I've watched YouTube videos about how to change a tire, but I'm fearing that it will happen when I'm at the south end of the lake.

A flat tire wouldn't be the worst thing on earth, since I could still walk home if I had to. The real fear is that I'll have to have someone use the emergency info I put on my helmet. It's there in case I can't tell the paramedics anything, this way they know what type of blood I am.

I think I'll go give blood again, since I guess I've increased my chance that I'll need some. I hope they still think of me as a Type O Hero. Maybe the blood center has a nice spandex onesie I can buy!