T minus 7 days.      


It wasn't supposed to be a biking day.  It was supposed to be a swimming day.   And it still might be a swimming day.  With a swimming lesson.  From a real swimming instructor.  Joy.

It turned into a biking day when I went outside to get the paper.   The sun was shining, the sky was crystal clear blue, the birds were chirping. The morning was inviting me to get on my bike and be the triathlete that I am.  I accepted the invitation.

Everything is perfect.  The weather is perfect.  The roads are perfect.  My outfit is perfect.  I am riding my bike in a perfect world.  I am riding, riding.  I see a slight hill on a road off to my right.  I have never been on this road before.  It looks like a pretty road.  I will climb that hill on that new pretty road.  I ride to the hill.  It is a little hill.  I ride up that little hill.  That was perfect.  I am perfect.  I am a perfect triathlete.  I turn the corner.  And I see....a mountain.  There is a mountain ahead of me.  There is a hidden mountain in the middle of Simsbury.   But it is a perfect day.  And I am a perfect triathlete.  I can do this.  I am strong.  I am invincible.  I got this.  I ride.  Up.  And up.  I stand up and pedal.  Push down hard on the left pedal.  Push down hard on the right pedal.  Feel the burn.  Left pedal.  Burn.  Right pedal.  Burn.   I am sweating.  My legs are shaking with the effort.  But I am strong.  I am invincible.  I got this.  Pedal.  Burn.  Pedal.  Sweat.  Pedal.  I am a mass of quivering muscles.  I am dripping sweat.  I am...   I am...  I am going...backwards.  WHAT?  I am standing on my bike pedaling and I am going backwards!!  How is this even physically possible?  I am going backwards down hidden Mt Everest.  I can make out a stop sign at the top of the mountain.   I  just have get to the top.  Going forward would make it easier to get there.  I redouble my efforts.  Pedal Burn Pedal Burn.  My heart is pumping.  My breathing is labored.   I am breathing so hard I can't hear myself think.  Pedal.  Burn.  Pedal.  Sweat.   Pedal.  Is that the stop sign?  Is that the top? Sweat dripping in my eyes, vision blurry.   Pedal.  Pant.  Getting closer.   Must keep climbing.  Must reach top.
      "CLEAR!"
  Clear?  Clear?  Why is a loud voice yelling out clear??   In my nursing experience, and as all you Grey's fans know, the word "clear" yelled out means one thing and one thing only.   Trouble.  Big trouble.   Am I headed towards the light and McDreamy is about to defibrillate me?  (Not that that would be all bad).  I am on a mountain.   I don't have any oxygen. I don't have a sherpa.  Did I  cycle so hard up the mountain that I passed out, fell off my bike, hit my head, and lay there until some poor unsuspecting passer-by saw me splayed out on the ground, called 911 and I am  now about to be shocked back to life?  I shake my head, wipe the sweat out of my eyes, try to focus.   No.  There is no doctor.  There is no ambulance.   There is no defibrillator.     But there are other cyclists.  About a hundred other cyclists.  All going forward.  Going forward up the mountain.  Clear.  They are clear of the cyclist going down the mountain.  Backwards. On a bike.