ride a bike

I have fond memories of getting my first ten speed when I was a kid. The beautiful navy frame that sparkled in the sunlight, the freedom. I could go anywhere (like, all the way to school). It was very exciting. 

After I moved out of my parents house, I forgot about bikes for a while, and didn't own one, walking or driving everywhere instead. Brett got me back into riding again, with a hand-me-down bike from an old girlfriend of his, but even then. It was functional riding, not fun. 

When we moved back to Ottawa, I knew I really wanted to start riding again, even though I wasn't sure what "riding" really meant to me. But it was something I wanted to figure out. 

So, given my newly minted solo status (as a freelancer working out of my house in my jammies, with the occasional client site visit), I invested in an adorable, putt-putt dutch bike from Linus. Beautiful and green (you can't miss it in a crowd!), it became my preferred mode of getting around in no time flat, taking me from on-site meetings to the grocery store, and eventually to some of the gentle (and less gentle) hills of Gatineau park.

I started tracking my rides with Strava, rejoicing when I beat my own personal records and loving the data that tracking rides gave me. Average speed! Kms this month! And so on. By the time last winter rolled around, I was sad to tuck my lime green partner in crime into our basement. 

After spending February wandering through Europe's cycling cities, spring in Ottawa couldn't come soon enough for me. I was, for the first time, looking forward to getting out my bike and racking up some kilometres. And that's when I realized I was really bitten by the bug. Instead of needing to get on my bike to get from A to B, I wanted to get on it. I stopped caring about helmet head (ok I still care!) and confessed to owning bike shorts. 

Which led me to this: my new bike.

I had been looking for a new bike for a while, and hadn't stumbled upon quite the right thing yet. Until a couple of weeks ago. With a new job that is a substantial bike commute away (40km round trip, and a very cruel hill), and some ambitious late summer plans, this was exactly what I needed to upgrade my cycling into "I'm getting a little more serious about this" territory. It's light, where the dutch bike is not, and it's going to be perfect for a 200km trek I'm doing next week with a friend. 

If you had asked me a few years ago if I would care about derailleurs, or owning spare tubes, or even the difference between a Presta and a Schraeder valve, I may have laughed at you a little. And now, well, I own fancy padded bike shorts, I rack up kms by the dozen, having two water bottle cages on my bike is a perk, not a nuisance, and I'm packing everything I need for four days into two teeny panniers. I'm so so so looking forward to hitting the trails on le petit train du nord (even if I am totally freaked out by the idea of cycling 75km in a single day). It'll be an adventure! Stay tuned for photos, obviously. 

winched.

winched., originally uploaded by mintyfresh.

well, we survived sailing, round two.

Some key highlights:

• I did not throw up (this one was pretty important).
• Brett almost lost the winch handle, but we SAVED it. Thank god for the triangle-method, and crew overboard drills.
• May is still really freaking cold - yesterday I wore two tanktops, one long sleeved shirt, my cross country ski jacket, a nylon windbreaker AND a lifejacket. And I was still cold. See also: mittens.
• I think I am a knot-nerd. I can tie them all.
• People who are out sailing with their fenders down look ridiculous.

Now, to write the exam. So much to memorize!

old man winter

It's snowy here - and frosty - and cold. And we are loving it (except for our radiator-driven apartment, which was perfectly content with those crazy 0-degree days).

We were out for our first cross-country ski of the season yesterday. Beginner skiers be warned - don't take the trail at P7 in Gatineau park. Unless you *prefer* to initiate yourself on a 1km-uphill slope (and then have nightmares about how you haven't really figured out the snowplow yet for the 1km trip down). Because that's what I did.

But to make up for my wussyness (and the spectacular wipeout I had yesterday afternoon) we went skiing at Mooney's Bay tonight. 5K of blissful not-so-uphill glides and only one hill where I swore I was going to end up cosying up to a tree. Not the hardest workout I've ever done, but it went a long way towards helping get my ski legs back from last season's solitary trip. I can't believe that I've never learned to ski before now. I am a chicken.

This weekend we also discovered that Lucy likes Corona (boxes). Smart kitty!

and you can walk right back to where you came from

Our last soccer game of the season was tonight. It probably won't come as a surprise to anyone that I'm one of the quietest members of the team. When I first started playing almost 5 years ago, I was full of apologies.

"Sorry! My fault."

"Oops! Didn't mean to bump you."

I got a little more feisty as time wore on. I no longer apologize unless I know I need to, and I stand my ground. When you push me (figuratively speaking) I push back, within reason. You want to play dirty? I'll play rough but clean and fight you for the ball until the end. But I'm still kind of quiet.

Now, this season has been pretty tame. I play in a women's competitive division, but we have more fun than competition. But tonight, hoo boy. Did we ever have competition. Or, at least I did. My usual position, defence, involves a lot of standing behind people, staying between them and the net. This team tonight just didn't get it. I'd be standing, stock still, guarding my player, who would then proceed to walk backwards, directly into me. I'm NOT moving. They'd push back a little more, I still wouldn't move. Then, because I wouldn't move, they'd complain to me instead. And then to the ref, who fouled me once for, well, standing, which made no sense.

"It's a big field, you know"

"Do you have to stand so close?"

"Relax, there's no need to push."

Now, if I had done anything other than stand there and get walked into, I could probably use some of this advice. But I haven't. The more I was quiet, the more I didn't respond, the more annoyed they would get, especially when I would then proceed to strip them of the ball. And I'd occasionally comment back. Feeling snarky. "It IS a big field. And you chose to stand right here in front of me. How strange." I hate ending a season on a snarky note. But....we do get to play them again this spring. I can't wait.

The kicker was when the, um, *largest* girl on their team (lets say easily outweighed me by 40 lbs) moved to walk back into me once again, then went to take a ball and dropped her entire body weight (plus that nice graitational force) onto my big toe. Ouch ouch ouch! I suspect it will be black and blue tomorrow. It's already a little scraped up, and the nail is slightly split (how it this for grossness over your morning coffee?). So much for an early sandal season!

The other downside of the night was me taking a ball in my rib cage. It totally knocked the wind right out of me. You know the feeling where you can't breathe and you're involuntarily crying? That was SO me tonight. The worst part? The ball was shot by my own keeper, about two feet away from me. This means hexagonal bruise patterns on my stomach tomorrow. So sexy.