First Ride of the Season

I'm a cyclist and do some indoor training, but the first outdoor ride each spring is a sobering experience.  Yesterday was no different.

                                                      First Ride of the Season


                                  What would be called cold in August warms March
                                  enough to lure fair weather cyclists like me
                                  onto the roads. Each year it’s back to square one,
                                  but today it feels like square minus one.
                                  A headwind welcomes me back to the open
                                  road, rough and pocked with winter potholes.
                                  My September fitness faded with my tan,
                                  I struggle to maintain my former speed.
                                  Two younger riders pass me. “Hop on,”
                                  the lead cyclist says, offering to shield me
                                  from the wind. “No thanks,” I say and think
                                 Maybe in June. Or July. Or never.
                                 They’re dressed in summer shorts and jerseys
                                 and already have their summer legs and lungs.
                                 I’m still bundled in winter top and tights
                                 to protect myself from the brisk breeze
                                 and could never keep up.
                                 Two young women in bright racing gear
                                 whoosh by, going the other way. I’m tempted
                                 to turn and follow, but I might pull a muscle
                                 sprinting so soon if I tried to catch up,
                                 adding injury to insult. At the bottom
                                 of the hill, another rider half my age
                                 edges past me. I hang with him for a while;
                                 then he shifts into a gear I no longer have
                                 and is gone. I check my heart rate – Zero.
                                 Either the battery’s died or I have.
                                 Still, I make it to the top of the hill
                                 at my own speed. The wind dies down.
                                 My legs begin to find their rhythm,
                                 and I go a bit faster. Spring is here.
                                 It’s early yet.