Okay, I think I've been very patient. Hardly whiny at all.
Ask my wife Suzanne. She will tell you that's one of the first signs of me feeling better.
But now that I can no longer ignore the fact that it is fall - after a full three weeks of summer here in the northwest - it's ticking me off that I can't ride my bike.
I know, I know . . . small price to pay and all that.
But my motorcycle is what keeps me sane. Honestly. Riding is a form of therapy - a zen-like state of machine melded with the forces of physics into a symphony of gravity and acceleration. Punctuated only by teen-age girls on cell phones.
It has now been a little over three months since my posterior graced the saddle, and I'm gettin' a tad twitchy.
I know that I still have a couple of weeks to go before my butt hits the seat. And as I watch the days get shorter and the temps fall, it feels like I'm in a race for those last few magical days of non-rainy riding.
In the meantime I plan to start back on my regular swim schedule. The local pool has been closed for a bit and now that it's all shiny and clean, it's time to get back to my other home - the water. I won't be back to full workouts for a while, but I know swimming will be a boon to my soul as well as my body.
But still, it's not like a few hours riding around Mt. Rainier, or hopping over Chinook pass. Twisting and turning up those hills with Suzanne in the seat behind me, stopping for lunch or a picnic beside a quiet river - that's what's required to make me feel . . . normal.
That's really all the therapy I need.