Am I moving?

Some of you may have read the weekend roundup on my other blog, but in the interest of trying not to look like a total wuss in front of all my friends, I neglected to tell the full story of the ride from Hades. Since us Strattons tend to revel in the pain and/or embarrassment of others {especially family}, I present "The Ride: I Thought I Might Die":

A few months ago, my friend, Richard, borrowed my bike for a friend he had coming into town. Apparently she's really short because my seat was all the way down on Saturday. I hadn't ridden in awhile and didn't even think to check the seat height. About 7 miles into our ride, after thinking I was the biggest wimp ever because I was so tired, I mentioned that I thought the seat was at the wrong height. Andrew, Matt's cousin, said, "Yeah, I thought that a long time ago, but I don't know you that well and didn't know if you were one of those people that would get mad if I said something." {Scary how well he know the Strattons, eh?} So, apparently, I rode for 7 miles like I was on a kid's bike. I mean, my range of motion was bringing my knee up about 30 degrees past parallel and then extending it about 30 degrees below parallel. I was essentially doing leg presses for 7 miles. I adjusted the seat up a good FIVE INCHES and continued riding, thinking the adjustment would make everything better. I neglected to take into account how fatigued my legs already were from my workout. By the time we were about 5 miles from home, I was pedaling a whopping 4 miles an hour and thought I was going to die out by the river. I was seriously ready to get off my bike, sell it to the first person we saw and NEVER ride again in my life. Matt and I fell behind the others {and may or may not have been passed by two rollerbladers} and when we got back to his cousins' apartment, Andrew told us that Ali (his sister, Matt's other cousin) had started making smoothies for us. Instead of telling them that I was too tired and we had to leave, my pride got the better of me and I walked up the STAIRS to their apartment. I'm surprised I didn't fall over then or when I had to walk back down those stairs to get to the car. My legs were burning constantly and I couldn't stand for long periods of time. They were a little better on Sunday, but if I stood or walked for any amount of time, my legs started burning again. This was, of course, a vast improvement over Saturday night when I literally had to use my arms to lift my legs into the car.