These days, I hate running. Or at least, I hate the idea of running. The feet pounding on the pavement, the slow pace at which the scenery changes. I used to love this. And if I go out and just do it, it’s okay. But it does not beckon my like it used to.
A shiny new birthday bike sits on the back porch, promising speed and wind in my hair. Riding it provides things running cannot: legs pumping, but providing a smooth experience; the click of gears shifting into place, my legs work a little harder, a little easier. No longer am I bound to a mere three miles of scenery. Now, my limits are doubled, tripled. I can rid out of my neighborhood. I can view distant vistas!
These days, the running shoes sit forlornly in the closet, but the bicycle gets a lot of use.