Sensitive.

I feel them. Each and every one of them.
  
Every crack, ripple, bump, pothole, and other imperfection in the road. I feel them. They ripple up my right side in jolts of moderate pain. Nothing I can't stand, but not something I generally enjoy.
  
I notice myself tensing up in preparation for a hit and have to remind myself that it will be better if I take it loose and absorb it more. I tell myself that, but I don't believe it. It's going to hurt either way.
  
It seems the whole Anchorage road system is a living, interconnected thing, birthed with the sole purpose of playing xylophone on my ribcage.
  
Still, I'm turning the pedals. Out-of-saddle efforts are an exercise in futility, immediate regret, and a few tears. I can't climb (not that I ever could). Standing starts from stoplights elicit a few winces and grunts before I'm moving. Nothing aggressive in cornering or bike handling. I can't afford another fall at the moment. The wife would take away my bikes.
  
I can turn the pedals over, though. For now, that's enough.
  
The cracks and bumps are a reminder to ease back into things. I'm not there just yet.
  
I'm hoping the riding will make things better. At the very least, hit me with the endorphin rush I've been missing and level my moods out. I missed it. Pain and all, I missed it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

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