Karen and I logged about 10 miles on foot on Saturday dodging parades and tourists, investigating the nation’s attic, and walking to and from dinner. By the end of the day, I could definitely feel that we’d been out hiking.

Sunday brought another walk (but only 2 miles or so this time) and, following a disappointing Nationals game on tv, a bike ride.

Now, I’m not a bike-for-the-fun-of-it kind of cyclist. I don’t mind riding to work or to the grocery store, but you won’t see me jumping up and down just for the opportunity to ride around the neighborhood. But it was a nice day and I managed to find a ride that sounded manageable in one of Rudi’s books — 14 miles from start to finish. It didn’t sound terrible and it paused in Bethesda, where I could catch my breath. Plus Rudi promised a field of yellow flowers along the way, and how could I argue with that?

So I trundled out and down to Georgetown, where the Capital Crescent Trail begins. And, sure enough, there is a lovely field of golden buttercups (or something akin to them) in the middle of the woods. And a spot along the Potomac where there’s a picnicking grove. But I hit the 6 mile mark on the trail (about 8 miles in on the ride) and suddenly I knew I’d been too optimistic about my abilities. But I convinced myself to keep going with the ride, thinking that I only had 6 miles to go and that Bethesda was only a few miles away.

So I reached Bethesda and treated myself to an ice cream cone (strawberry cookies-n-cream — yum!) and then followed the directions to get me to the Rock Creek trail. Following Broad Brook Road through Rock Creek was lovely and downhill; I managed to get up to 23.5 mph for a while. But Rock Creek trail itself was mildly hilly and at one point I just had to dismount and push the bike the rest of the way up. And by the end my whole body was moving with my legs and I was saying aloud to myself, “Just a little while longer. Keep going. You’ll be fine.” I’m sure the other cyclists thought I was crazy.

And as I pedaled up the street the burrow lies on, I gave up and phoned Rudi at home to ask him to come open the door for me. He went a step further and acted as my crew — came and took the bike for me while I groaned at each painful step downstairs behind him.

I was useless the rest of the evening and am still a bit sore today.

But the total journey was impressive — just under two hours of riding (which means there was also 45 minutes of stopping along the way) and 18.6 miles (the book lied). Since my career-high is about 22 miles, that was pretty impressive for me. But definitely no more double-digit rides again until next weekend when my legs and back have forgiven me.

When I was in seventh grade, we had a grade-wide fitness competition. We jumped rope, did some ridiculous number of situps, and ran various relay and distance races. When we got to the hurdles, I started out and managed to stumble into one instead of over it. I got a face full of dirt, a cut knee, and the laughter of my classmates for my effort.

But I was stubborn. And I got back up and, in the second round, I came up with the best hurdling time of everyone.

These days when I run into hurdles, I tend to get down on myself and psyche myself out of getting back up for a second try. There are easier things I can do instead, I tell myself, so I avoid stretching to reach a goal that could be beyond my reach.

So today, I will remind myself back to think back to seventh grade, stick a bandaid on the cut knee and sore pride after my public faceplant, and take another shot at getting over the impasse.

I may not win a prize or have my name highlighted for all to see when I do eventually make it through the course, but I will know that I didn’t roll over and give up. Which should be enough for me.

Things are going to be quiet around here for the next few days, as Rudi and I have friends in town and I suspect time to write will be lacking.

Karen and Michael drive down from CT this afternoon. Erik took the train from NYC last night. Mercifully, no one wants to stay with us in the burrow (cat hair central during shedding season), so our cleaning plan is cursory and slapdash. They are old friends and will just have to understand that two adults and three cats cannot coexist in comfort without a certain amount of STUFF and that we have more stuff squeezed into our apartment than really it should hold — particularly during the in-between clothing season (that’s between winter and summer, not between wearing clothes, of course ;)).

So our weekend is going to be full of cherry blossom viewing, museum scouring, and eating. And visiting, which is the best part.

And on Monday I will be sad that I didn’t get to spend enough time with any of them.

But easily a double, possibly stretching to a triple.

Rudi and I just returned home from a sneak preview of Fever Pitch, the new Drew Barrymore-Jimmy Fallon baseball flick. I didn’t go in expecting The Natural, but I was hoping for something better than Major League II.

Drew plays a workaholic’ish (if she were a real workaholic, she wouldn’t come to the game at all, but then we wouldn’t have a movie plot) businesswoman. Jimmy plays a high school math teacher and a die-hard Sox fan. You know… crazy. You can see where this is all going, and it doesn’t stray from the predictable storyline. There are no knuckleballs or curveballs (a couple of screwball moments, but you expect those with these stars); pretty much you’re just going to get the straight fastball the whole way. And I think the audience is going to be okay with that in general.

For people who don’t enjoy the prosaic romantic comedy (Sam?), you aren’t going to find this anything unexpected and I wouldn’t recommend shelling out more than a matinee/discount ticket price for it.

But for folks who sometimes wonder if their current obsession may be driving their daily life, I’d say you’ll find something in here.

Fever Pitch aims to be a sweet, romantic comedy and is just that.

—-

Best baseball movies of my lifetime:

The Natural
Field of Dreams
Bull Durham
A League of Their Own

(I haven’t seen any of the earlier baseball films, but they’re on my list. Any recommendations for which ones to see first?)

I would just like to preface this by saying that I know it’s wrong to complain about having too much bounty. I’m sure summer squash growers agree with me on this.

But I am disappointed that I already have concert tix for Falcon Ridge for the same time James Taylor is playing in concert down here.

JT was the first concert I went to as an adult. And I’ve gone hundreds of miles out of my way (Virginia Beach is not really on the way from Salt Lake to Middletown) just to catch his show.

But Falcon Ridge has become an annual event and one I’d be sad to miss. We used to camp with the Dar-listers (who are a nice, welcoming bunch), since that’s how I learned about the event, but for the past several years, we’ve been sharing a campsite (okay, an imaginarily demarcated space in a hayfield) with my former co-worker Shelley, her husband, Mike, and their two kids. And while I might be convinced to skip the festival in order to catch another concert, I’d be hard pressed to deliberately miss out on the cameraderie.

So no JT concert this year…

And I’ll be okay with that.

I love the fact that the weather has been so warm as to allow summer shoes, but I could definitely live without the war wounds associated with them. My right foot is killing me and the only shoes that I can wear comfortably today are the flip-flop style. Owww!