Sass, Sweat & Surprise Armadillos
Welp, color me proud because Mama is out here doing the damn thang! Up at 5 A.M.—yes, FIVE, as in the time the coffee hasn’t even kicked in yet—and what’s the first thing I did? Oh, not much… just casually crushed a 4.76-mile BIKE RIDE before the sun even clocked in. BOO-YAH, baby! I laced up my tennis shoes for the first time in probably a year, strapped on my brand new super comfy bike helmet, and took off—like the boss I forgot I was.
Flashback time—we spent a whole summer in Kentucky a few years ago riding bikes and pretending we were in a family-friendly version of Fast & Furious, and I loved it. So now that we’re here in Florida, we’re getting back to it. Mama and Daddy are sneaking in those pre-sunrise rides like two fitness bandits while the boys are still snuggled up in their beds dreaming of waffles and screen time. We’d love to take them with us, but let’s be real… their stamina is currently set to “snail on vacation.”
Now, let’s talk about the one thing I did not see coming: how much riding a bike HURTS MY HANDS. Like, what kind of betrayal is this?! I was out there feeling the breeze and living my main-character moment when suddenly—BAM—hands on fire. SnRA sucks. For real. I expected my legs to burn, maybe a little booty soreness, but not my hands screaming for mercy halfway through the ride.
Still, that’s not gonna stop me. No ma’am. There’s got to be something I can do to make it more comfortable—gel gloves, special grips, a magic spell—I’ll find it. I refuse to let a few angry joints take my morning freedom ride away. This mama’s got goals, and joint pain is not the vibe.
Also, let me hit y’all with a plot twist I didn’t know was part of Florida living: ARMADILLOS. Real, live armadillos! Well… the two I saw were technically not alive anymore (RIP lil’ fellas), but still—mind blown. I nearly swerved trying to confirm what I was seeing. I thought armadillos were Texas-exclusive or something only found in dusty textbooks and toddler cartoons.
But despite the hand pain and the unexpected roadkill safari, I gotta say—it was magical out there. Just me, the hubby, the quiet streets, a suspicious breeze, and whatever mystery creature might pop out next. Florida might be weird, but she’s got charm.
So yeah, you’ll catch me cruisin’ at dawn like Dora the Explorer with sore wrists and a mission. Stretchy shorts, helmet hair, and all.
