A few years ago, I had a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. A laparoscopic cholecystectomy is a major invasive surgery that involves cutting into your abdomen with lasers. I had to be put to sleep and everything, which was weird. It's "7…6…5…" and then you're in a different room with three holes in your stomach and a missing gallbladder.
The doctors said I'd be back to normal within a week. The doctors LIED.
Total recovery time was six weeks. Which, when you think about it, is remarkable. I had an organ pulled out through my belly button and I'm walking around today like "Sup, let's grab some peach cobbler." The human body is capable of incredible things.
Still, those six weeks were not pleasant.
There was pain, of course. Anytime I made a sudden movement, it felt like my sutures were about to rip apart and I kept imagining scenarios in which my intestines burst through my flesh, flopping to the hardwood floor and writhing around like a school of moray eels.
The worst part, though, was the weakness.
When I was younger, I would have these dreams (usually after watching a Steven Seagal or Sylvester Stallone flick) where I would end up in a fist-fight with a bully. For some reason, I could never actually fight in these dreams. I would move around slowly, as if I were standing in a pool filled with Jello and, if a punch actually landed, my target would brush it off and proceed to pummel me.
That's what this weakness felt like.
I couldn't lift my Macbook.
It took me forty-five minutes to walk to the Einstein's down the street. Normally, it's a two-block trip during which I couldn't finish a full Selena Gomez song. If I wasn't in so much pain, I could have listened to her entire 2009 debut album Kiss & Tell during the post-surgery walk.
But this isn't about laparoscopic cholecystectomies or bagels or Selena Gomez. This about Promontory Point. I'm just giving y'all the backstory. The setup. Like how "Lord of the Rings" is better if you read "The Hobbit."
Promontory Point is a beautiful park on the South Side of Chicago (in the Hyde Park neighborhood). It sits on a man-made peninsula that juts out onto Lake Michigan. Promontory Point is very pretty year-round and has one of the best views of the Chicago skyline. As such, many people take their wedding/quinceñera/both photos there. Promontory Point is also far.
For reference, our apartment was approximately 13 miles from Promontory Point. In a car, it's a short twenty-minute ride down Lake Shore Drive. On bike, it's a little over an hour. I had bought a bike a couple of months before my surgery, but hadn't gone too far with it. I'd bike to improv class and to coffee shops, but I generally stayed in my neighborhood.
Two weeks after the cholecystectomy, I was sitting on the couch eating some Goldfish and watching a Judge Mathis marathon. The pain was gone, for the most part, but I still felt weak. It was a major effort to lift myself up off the couch and the remote was in the kitchen which explains why I was watching Judge Mathis.
I grabbed a handful of Goldfish and shoved them into my mouth. A few fell, bounced off my belly and landed on the rug.
My dog ran over and gobbled them up.
"VICKI! NO! BAD DOG! NO GOLDFISH!" I shouted.
She ignored me. My dog knew I was incapacitated.
I kinda snapped at that point. Not at the dog, but I had been cooped up in the apartment for days, unable to really move or exercise, losing all of the progress made with lifting weights and doing cardio during the last few years. Cabin fever for reals. I had to get out.
"Bad dog," I repeated as I lifted myself up, grimacing.
I pulled the bike out of the garage and strapped on my helmet. Then I hopped on. I rode six blocks, turned around, rode back, locked my bike to a stop sign and then went back in to take a two-hour nap because I was wiped out.
But it felt much easier than walking. Maybe it was because I was sitting instead of standing. Or maybe pedaling is less stressful than walking. I don't know, but after my nap, I felt better. Any exercise is better than no exercise, right?
By the end of the week, I was biking to Trader Joe's. By the end of the month, I was biking to my improv class in Uptown. Although still weak and feeble, I was getting stronger with every bike ride (and every two-hour nap that followed). Wanting to see how far I could go, I set a goal to bike to Promontory Point before the end of summer.
With each ride, I would push myself. "Five more minutes" or "one more mile." By the time I was fully healed, I was biking an hour a day.
I reached Promontory Point in early June.
I don't remember much about that first trip. I would still get a little light-headed if I was over-exerting myself and that day was a 94 degree scorcher. But I remember the feeling of accomplishment. I remember sitting down on the grass, watching the waves of Lake Michigan crash into the rocks. I remember lying down next to my bike, feeling the sun toast my arms. I remember thinking "I fucking did it."
Then, like Forrest Gump, I thought "I've already gone this far. Might as well keep going."
A few weeks after that, I biked the entire Lake Front Tail (all 36 miles of it). A few weeks after that, I biked to Indiana.
I biked when the winds were 30MPH against me, at times blowing so hard that I was at a stand-still while pedaling. I biked in the middle of a thunderstorm, fat raindrops pelting me, feeling like junebugs smacking my face, the water soaking me to my core. I biked when it snowed. I biked to the suburbs. I even biked when it was negative 20 degrees (although that was only once and that's something I'm probably never going to do again).
One of the things I love about Chicago is that I can bike. This city is incredibly bike-friendly and man, I love biking. There's nothing quite like riding down Lake Front Trail on a hot, summer day, swerving in between moms pushing strollers and dads walking dogs. Shouting "ON YOUR LEFT" as you pass them by, your legs burning because of the lactic acid build-up. Push, push, push. It's exhilarating.
Biking is many things. Nostalgic. Liberating. Fun. And everyone has their reasons for doing it. I myself have several reasons which I've talked about before.
But when I bike to Promontory Point, I do it for one reason: to see how far I can push myself.
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