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I was riding home tonight with the full moon rising and the sharp, clear January air making me not want to dawdle much, when I noticed that I'd gotten up the ramp on the east bank of the river in fourth gear.

I've never, ever made it up that incline in any higher gear than second on my Dutch bike, and usually I'm all the way down to first before I'm halfway up the slope.

A bit later I realized that the incline that makes my work-to-home commute five minutes longer and considerably more heartbeat-intensive than the morning route had kind of vanished. "Here comes that last little hill," I thought. "Here it comes. Coming up. Oh. Wait, that was it back there."

This sudden improvement is brought to me, I'm pretty sure, by a convergence of cool, clear, still weather, a fairly low-stress, high-protein day, and eighteen months of practice.

Physics, however, says that the deciding factor is the thirty pounds that I'm no longer pushing up that slope. It seems heartbreakingly slow most days, this weight loss, so I pause to remind myself that it's very real.

It's like five pounds of flour, a quart of milk, a three-pound bag of spuds, five gala apples, two large yellow onions, a box of sugar, two quarts of yogurt, four carrots, a bunch of spinach, a bunch of kale, half a dozen big navel oranges, and, um, ten pounds of something else--that I'm not hauling around.

It's beginning to flatten hills, improve my gear ratio, and let me go faster. That has to be worth something, even though my damn jeans still aren't quite falling off.

Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are comment count unavailable comments. | Comment at Dreamwidth.

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