Last week, I finally got the front-mounted bike seat that I have wanted since I found out I was pregnant. It's an iBert safe-T-seat. It's the most hideous shade of green and orange, but apart from that it's perfect.
Today, TLB and I took our first ride. We'd walked that morning (sort of) with Dad, but I only walked two miles instead of three because I knew I was going to take a bike ride later. After a quick jaunt to Starbucks, we donned our helmets, I threw my keys and my Blackberry in a little backpack, and we ventured out.
By the time we got to the entrance to the neighborhood, I knew I'd struck gold. TLB was having the time of his life! He was laughing and looking at everything, patting my arms and smiling up at me -- it was the perfect mother/son moment!
"Go down the hill, Mommy!" I knew he was saying. "Let's go fast!" So down the hill we went -- the same hill I rode my bike down every day to elementary school. We went so fast! TLB laughed even more!
Out onto Kinglsey we went to try out the bike lane. I've always wanted to ride in the bike lane. As we passed in front of an ambulance on a side street, I thought to myself, "Well, if I were to get hit by a car, I guess I'd want it to be an ambulance." <-- FORESHADOWING
We were about halfway back on Doctors Lake Drive when I started to think maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew. But I used to run this all the time, the eager part of my brain cried. That was ten years and a zillion pounds ago, the rational part of my brain informed me. Stupid rational brain.
I was already planning my Facebook status upon my return: "-Went for bike ride with TLB. He had a blast. I nearly had a heart attack." The further I went, the more I thought this might be true. But I can downshift, I told myself. Sure, you don't go as fast, but you don't have to pedal as hard!
To make a long story short (too late!), I was soon walking. I was short of breath. My chest hurt. I was feeling very much like an idiot. I was pretty sure I wasn't dying, but I wasn't positive. I was incredibly fatigued. The sun started to look very bright and it hurt my eyes. I realized that I was not going to make it home on my own.
Acknowledging I was a big fat 'tard, I pulled my phone from my backpack. I could call Philip, but he was 30-40 minutes away. My dad was even farther. I was struggling to breathe, let alone push the bike. If I collapsed, TLB would fall. This was my primary concern, followed by the fact that a cardiac episode would really ruin my spring break. Reluctantly, I dialed 911.
The dispatcher for the sheriff's office quickly transferred me to the fire/rescue dispatcher. I calmly told him my location and condition, and that I had my 11-month-old son with me. He told me to get in a comfortable position and have my son flag down the rescue vehicle when it arrived. I assured him that while my son is quite advanced for his age, he could not flag down the truck (though he might wave at it). I told them to look for the hideous green bike seat.
The EMTs arrived in short order and confirmed (as I suspected all along) that I was not dying, but that I simply "overdid it a bit." They reassured me that I was not a moron and that I'd done the right thing, but told me next time I should ride a little closer to home until I was more certain of my capabilities. I recalled the day when I was about 8 years old and my mom and I biked to Burger King for breakfast. It wasn't that far of a ride, really, but I simply cannot function without breakfast. I barely made it.
I was perfectly aware of my capabilities. I had just ignored them.
The EMTs asked if I thought I needed to go to the hospital, but I told them that apart from being stupid, I was probably okay. I told them I'd called my husband and he was on his way, but he was coming from the Southside and it could take awhile. They kindly offered to drive me home (or rather, asked my son, "Want to ride in the firetruck, buddy?").
We arrived at my house with my bike strapped to the top of the firetruck, green iBert safe-T-seat displayed proudly for all to see. They deposited my bike, my son and me in my driveway, advised me to take it easy, and drove away -- with my backpack and house keys still in the cab of the truck.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in my house, safe and sound. The hubby arrived and fed TLB his lunch, and I collapsed into my recliner with a tumbler of ice water to try to pull it together.
Moral of the story: BREAKFAST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY.
