Trust the hands

I climbed two of my Everests today. Or at least a couple of K2s.

First, I went for a bike ride. Officially, it is a trike. But either way it is hard as heck. It is really hard because I ride at my folks and going away from them is a nice modest downhill that I can ride forever just about. But then I have to come back, and that nice modest downhill becomes steeper than Everest. I could use some oxygen, too.

You know it is bad when cars stop and the driver leans out the window and asks if you are OK. I just said yeah and kept plugging away. My ankles bend too freely. I really can't keep them straight, so that hurts my pedaling, too.

But I survived and it was time for K2-2 -- my shower.

I have written about it before and called it my Everest. I think I was a little off-base. It is really my dad's Everest.

It is really hard for me to take a shower at my folks' because it is upstairs, but if there is one body part I trust, it is my fingers and hands. Not to be arrogant, but I have Kung-Fu grip -- no denying it. And the GI Joe kind, not any other kind that Google may retrieve. I know that while I may bang my head or hurt my calf or grunt like a maniac, I am not falling.

My dad does not trust my Kung-Fu grip or any other part of me. So he worries about me doing anything but especially the shower, and he helps, which makes things easier for me. I worry, though, that it makes things too hard for him, or at least harder than they need to be.