"It's about two miles to the gym," my partner smiled at me, "we should ride our bikes." I quickly did the math, that would be four miles total, of course, two miles there and two back. Doable. It's what I had been doing this past week, and we wanted to join the gym anyway. Because I have no sense of direction, I would rely on hers. After all, I knew that in the car anyway, the gym wasn't far. How far could it be on the trail riding our bikes?

It's such a production for me to get situated on my bike. The padded underpants, the gloves, the helmet, turning on the blinking rear light, the water bottle, getting my phone in its case on the handlebars, finding my sunglasses. A spectator would think I was going into battle. I felt confident that a four-mile ride to the gym would be a breeze, after all, I had been doing four miles for a week now.

So we rolled out. My water bottle was ready to go. My partner prefers 7-11 ice, so less than a half a mile in we stopped so she could fill her bottles. My rear end and legs were burning already and I wanted to quit. Ugh, I hated myself for letting it get this bad for letting myself get so out of shape. And a quick word about my partner, she is an actual cyclist. She tours, she actually trains and when we ride "together," it's more like me following behind her several blocks. She wears this weird mirror on her sunglasses, she says it's so she can see cars, I know it's so she can keep track of how far behind I am. What a tangled bike ride we pedal.

We continued to pedal along and the sun was beating down. I know my face was red and I was sweating buckets. Plus my little computer was creeping up on three miles. I'm no mathematician but we would be at six miles roundtrip here soon. I cursed my partner, the weather, and the burning in my legs. I was out of water and out of patience. We passed people on the trail, "Good morning," they would chirp. I would mumble something back and curse under my breath.

By the time we coasted into the gym parking lot I must have looked like I had pedaled there from Idaho. I was soaking wet, red-faced and thirsty. I wasn't sure I could swing my leg over my seat to get off my bike. I played it cool as my partner chattered along about getting a pass and speaking to someone about membership. Wait a minute. Does she want to work out now? I thought this was going to be a chat with someone about getting a membership. I can't walk, I certainly can't work out.

I was so weak I was struggling to get my helmet and gloves off. My partner was already in the gym. I stumbled around my bike, trying to get my phone unhitched from its container. I fanned myself to try and maintain some sense that I had not just pedaled for dear life, 3.99 miles in this ungodly heat. I practically crawled in the gym only to see her seated in a cubicle with a spry young woman discussing memberships. I flopped down in the extra chair and sat dripping as I half listened to the pitch. I looked at the small poster with prices and couldn't comprehend what she was saying. I was wondering where the water fountain was and how on God's green earth I was supposed to ride back home.

I didn't work out that day. But I did spot my partner as she worked out. I did ride home, though. It was a new record for me, I rode eight miles in the midday heat all total. I didn't ride fast, but I did ride steady. I might not be progressing as fast as I wish I would, but I am progressing. At the beginning of the summer, I couldn't have ridden my bike to 7-11 without freaking out and giving up. I'm riding eight miles a day now. It's not where I want to be, but I'm on my way. I'm farther than I was, with further to go. My trainer says,"You didn't get like this overnight, you can't expect the changes to occur overnight either." Wise words. Change is hard and sometimes slow. The first step is the hardest and sometimes the sweatiest.