I can't feel my thighs...

Turns out the bike riding is just what the doctor ordered to strech out the crazy muscle that's been kiling me softly for a week. Unfortunately, I'm so out of shape-or as I prefer to call it, soft and squishy- the three miles that we rode to the beach (and another three back), almost sent me to an early grave. With each push of the petal, I kept thinking dear God did I really do this EVERY freaking day when I was a kid? How in the world did I not give myself a heart attack?? Good grief. The only thing that stopped me from simply falling over into the ditch on the side of the street was the fact that I knew none of my equally unbalanced homegirls could've saved me. And I'd be the broken up chick on the side of the road in Edgarstown waiting for the ambulance to come get me and all my parts. Not cute.

But as usual, the actual beach was fun. Sure there was no soft white sand or seventy degrees, crystal clear aqua water but it was still a rocking, Pomegranate wine cooler, very opaque green water, seaweed filled time. At least until the jelly fish showed up. Then we scooted (yes, scooted) our jiggly behinds right up to the towels and prayed for the strength to pedal back.

Note to self: jellyfish are better viewed from behind the glass in an aquarium and I will never, ever, ever need to attend a spin class.