Today was a good day. Today, I made progress – progress that I could feel. Every ride, run, swim is presumably running biking swimming me closer to my goals, but some days that progress is tangible and cheesily enthralling.

I woke up sore from a tough week and rode to [solidcore] where class was hard as hell but fun as hell too when I was pleasantly surprised that a bunch of workout besties were also taking class. My legs felt like spent cement even before our hamstring, glutes, and adductor sets sought to break my poor rubber-muscles down fiber by fiber. Climbing back on Koopa Troop for the mile back home after class, I could barely lift my leg over the 44 frame (yeah you read that right). It was GORGEOUS out though, and as I pedaled, the beauty of the day overshadowed (oversunned?) the lactic acid flooding my dead tired legs.

The sensations of the still-early sun, the mostly-clear streets, the satisfaction of an ass-kicking work-out, my loose shorts and tank blowing in a slight breeze, and the confidence gleaned from having put in the miles this summer combined into a little mid-morning euphoria. I realized, holy shit, I’m enjoying being on my bike. In the city. I don’t feel scared. I’m not death-gripping the handle bars. And I actually want to stay out here and ride further than just the mile and change home.

So that’s what I did.

I threw in a few extra turns and miles and took my time getting back. I walked into the apartment in a great mood, encouraged that I could actually feel and witness the progress I’m making.

Scott went and got us some Sbux egg sandwiches to celebrate (I’m a yuppie and I’m not ashamed.  [And if that’s a surprise to you dear reader, might I remind you that this is a blog about triathlons.  Yuppiedom pretty well assured by the subject-matter.]) After a few hours packing (ugh, moving. [Anybody want to buy a one-bedroom condo in Logan Circle DC???]) and lazing, I loaded Koopa Troop into Yoshi and headed to Hains Point to pedal out a few more miles.

My legs felt like lead and lactic build-up, so I decided to just do a few slow and easy laps to spin them out and at least put in more time in the saddle. It’s the only way to build the confidence and the handling skills.

At a slow clip, as I headed into my second lap I reached out to the end of my right aero and shifted into a higher gear for a little more work. As I did so, I let my arm hover over the shifter a minute, and, letting the good day motivate me on, dropped it down onto the aero bar.

As soon as I dropped my elbow onto the armrest, I felt a wave of hot/cold panic sweep over and under my skin. The prickly tingly fear that tries like hell to take over your thoughts and motor skills has become all-too familiar. I forced myself to remain in place, and recited the mantra I’d worked out before NYC Tri with Ellen: “Calm the fuck down, Liz.”

Seriously, that’s it. Calm the fuck down, Liz. And it works! It’s great. I repeated it out loud a few times, and as I did, the cold sweat and nausea subsided. I forced myself to breath, and told myself I was doing great. And I managed to hang on and hang out there on that aero, growing calmer over the course of a couple miles.

I didn’t work up the courage today to move the left arm to join my right, so I’m sure I looked like a clown biking around the Point in a half dynamic position. But I didn’t care. This was real progress. First the rediscovered joy and extended commute of the morning, and now this tangible move in the right direction.

I practiced moving my right arm on and off the aero bar a few times, and then spun out an easy couple miles to finish. As I strapped KT back onto my bike rack and maneuvered Yoshi through the tourist-clogged DC streets home, I felt so proud and so hopeful. I’ve still got a long way to go, (and there is no there there?) but at least I’m starting to see the distance I’ve already covered.