Last Sunday

Sunday, July 21, 2019

Last night a storm came through and blew in a cool front. The temps are now in the low 80s instead of mid-90s to 100s.  The humidity is gone. There's a breeze. It's a beautiful morning.

Dr. BB decides that he's going to go for a bike ride. He has a new bike route he wants to try and his new yellow custom-made bike (from Sotherland at BicycleWise!) has been adjusted and he wants to try out the fit.  I decide that I'm going to take the dog out on a extra-long walk. 

This is what I'm dealing with.  Isn't she cute?  Look at those ears! That happy smile. That tongue that says "I'm so exhausted and hot and why can't we be home already?"!

I get Hannah home when I get a phone call from Ted that he's about 15 miles away and he crashed pretty hard so can I come get him. I ask him if he needs to go to the hospital (I would have recommended he call an ambulance and I meet him there), but he says "I'm not sure, but you'll need to get my bike."  He's worried about his bike, so I figure maybe he's got some cuts and bruises and I head out to get him.

Mistake #1: I have just been out on a long walk with the dog. I don't grab food or water for myself.
Mistake #2: The Elantra is in the driveway, so I just take it instead of messing with getting the new car out of the garage and doing to the car shuffle. This is a problem because the Elantra doesn't have the bike rack on it and it has a tiny backseat.
Mistake #3: I don't grab my Kindle or phone charger.

I rush out, grab an ice pack, and get to Dr. BB. He's sitting at a pump at a gas station, holding his arm to his stomach.

"My collarbone is broken. I can feel it move."

"I can't drive you to the hospital with a broken collar bone. Call an ambulance."

He's on the phone doing this while I'm removing the front wheel from his bike, attempting to muscle the stupid thing into the backseat (he interrupts his phone call to tell me to be careful not to scratch the fork on the bike), grabbing his water bottle and helmet, and slowly panicking.

It seems that a combination of gravel and a pothole got him and he just went over. He's bleeding everywhere and the adrenaline is starting to wear off and he's in some degree of pain.

The ambulance gets there faster than it had any right to.  I take off, head back home where I do the following:
1) Get a charger for my phone, his and hers Kindles, and pants and sandals for Dr. BB.
2) Throw some extra treats in the dog's kennel.
3) Leave the backdoor unlocked (it's a small town!) in case I need to call someone to walk the dog for us.

Things I do not do.
1) Get Dr. BB a shirt.
2) Eat or drink anything.


I get to the hospital before Dr. BB.  By the time I get to see him in the ER, he's had some pain meds, and they send him off to x-ray. While we're waiting for the x-ray results, they start cleaning out his road rash.  X-rays come back. Yep. Broken collar bone.

Meanwhile, they're starting to talk about releasing him and having him call an orthopedic doctor later in the week.

I am starting to feel...not great. I realize that it's mid-afternoon and I need something to eat and drink like two hours ago. I get some tunnel vision, so I put my head between my legs and when I feel better, I tell Dr. BB that I'm going to head to a vending machine.

I walk out of his room and head to the nurses' station to ask where the vending machines are and then...

...I remember nothing. I literally just passed out. On the floor. Of the ER.

I wake up to find that I had been admitted to the ER.

Life's a fucking joke, people.

Don't forget to drink water, people. Dehydration can do you in.

2017 Goals

One of the units I teach in my freshman seminar is on time management and goal setting.  I sort of feel like a charlatan when I teach this, but I understand that just because I'm not perfect at something doesn't mean I can't talk about it. Anyway, I have them do a weekly log in which they color code their activities (green = class, red = sleep, blue = studying, yellow = exercise, orange = hobbies, etc.) and then we discuss SMART (specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-bound) goals. I then have them see if how they spend their time aligns with their goals. 

I had moderate success with my goals in 2016 and in the areas in which I failed, I failed because I just didn't have good measuring sticks. When I was teaching this lesson last October, I realized that I hadn't actually taken "measurable" into account. (Also, you should note that my husband, while supportive of me reaching my goals, thinks SMART goals are ridiculous and he sort of mocks my pseudo-corporate jargon when I start talking about them.)  So. This year I'm going to measure.  The bold words give me a time frame and all of it is going to be tracked on a weekly spreadsheet. 

Area One: Fitness Goals
1) Workout four times a week - This is bumped up from three times a week in 2016. I think I can do it.
2) 11,500 steps a day - This is bumped up from 10,000 steps in 2016. Since my average in 2016 was over 12,000, I know I can do this.
3) Weigh myself weekly - I'm not actively attempting to lose weight, but I also don't want pounds to sneak on.

Area Two: Communication Goals
1) Update my blog twice a week - I didn't quite accomplish this last year, so it's going back on the list.
2) Make contact with four people (MDTT) at least once a week - This contact can come in phone, text, card, or in person, but at least once a week these people will know I'm alive and I will know they're alive.  These people are super important to me and I want them to know that.  I'm actively tracking this during 2017.  I'm hoping that eventually this will just happen and I won't have to track talking to people who I love, but for now it's a measurable goal I apparently need.
3) See my mom four times in the year -  I have a lot of guilt about how unequal the time is with Dr. BB's family as compared to mine. I think seeing my mom once a quarter is a reasonable goal. As a matter of fact, I think (and hope) that this goal will be easily met.
4) Send a letter or postcard to my grandmother and two of my elderly aunts at least once a month - This is super easy for me and something I regularly do, but this year I'm going to track it. 
5) Post a photo to Instagram at least once a day - One of the best people in my life is not on Facebook, but she is on Instagram. I feel like posting a photo once a day will help keep her in on my life.  The only condition I have set for myself is that the photos can't be of identifiable people. I don't have my privacy settings set particularly high, so it's mostly just photos of Zelda and landscapes.

Instagram collage!

Area Three: The Rest of My Life
1) Vacuum twice a week -  Last year I had some vague notion about keeping the house clean for unexpected guests. That was not at all measurable. I considered a cleaning time limit like 30 minutes a week of dedicated cleaning, but when I really thought about it, I realized that what makes our house look dirty is cat hair, so vacuuming on a regular schedule should address this.
2) Brush Zelda's teeth when I feed her at night - I have so much guilt over my cat's dental health. I used to regularly brush her teeth, but she hates it, so I don't push it, but the last time we were at the vet's, the vet made mention of tartar buildup.  Poor kitty.
3) Get my sewing machine out at least once a month - I don't want to even kid myself about finishing a project once a month, but I do eventually want to sew my own clothing and there's no real way to do that except to practice.

I'll let you know how it's going at the end of the first quarter. 

Scenes From Fall

We didn't take enough advantage of October. It seemed like time just flew by and then we only had one weekend before Halloween. We went to one haunt (could have potential, but let big groups move through, so we just kept coming up on the big group in front of us, which meant all the big scares were ruined for us).  We went to one corn maze (fun! beautiful day!).

The promised photo of dried out corn. It just sums up everything that is perfect about autumn in the Midwest.

We carved pumpkins, we bought bags and bags of candy, and exactly no trick or treaters came to our door. Whatever. More Paydays for me.

And my Christmas cactus is in full bloom. It's totally confused about what month it is.

And, honestly, I think it's important to point out that I rode my bike every day this week even though it's November. After six years of good work, my Axiom basket broke (here's a version, but it looks like the kind I used is no longer made, but you can see what it looked like in this old post if you're interested) and I had to buy a new one.

It was windy today. Look at my streamers stream!

Enter my new basket from Nantucket Basket Company. It's so adorable. 

Confession #2: Falling, Falling, Falling

This week I'm going to write posts about things I've had on my mind but have avoided talking about here on this blog because I'm embarrassed or even slightly ashamed about them. I'm calling it The Confession Series. 

In December of last year I fell on black ice and broke my lower leg and ankle severely. It's healing fine and I'll give you a full update after my one year doctor's appointment.

But I have some remaining feelings of stress regarding falling.  At first I sort of joked about this, but now these anxious feelings are really starting to become an issue that changes how I do things day to day and I'm not joking about it anymore.

1.  Showering stresses me out because I worry about falling in the wet. I have avoided wearing flip flops in the shower because it reminds me of some of the things I liked least about college, but I think that's what I'm going to have to do.

2. I will walk all the way around aisles of stores to avoid those slippery when wet signs.  I turned around and left a store when those signs were all over the entrance.

3.  Recently, we watched an episode of Chopped in which one of the cheftestants fell and I started sobbing.  I didn't fall. She did.

4.  I hate riding my bike. This is probably the worst for me, but I constantly worry, not about falling, but about having to stop suddenly and place weight on my left leg. I went on a few rides around town here and there, but I haven't been on my bike in weeks.  I'm running out of time in the season before snow falls and I don't know if I'm going to be able do convince myself to actually go for a ride.

5. I have nightmares in which I am crawling up the stairs with my broken leg trying to get help at least once a week.  I wake up soaked in sweat and freaking out.

6. I am so worried about the upcoming winter that I have agreed to and then rescinded an agreement to teach a class that would require me to travel in January.  I am actually turning down work because I'm scared of weather.

This makes me feel ridiculous.  Who reacts this way?  I have low level anxiety about reinjuring myself all the time.  There is absolutely no rational reason for any of this - I've healed well and my ankle is stronger than it was before I fell - but rationality has no place in this.  Ugh.

Quick, Quick, Quick

At my last appointment with my orthopedic doctor, he said, in his blase and dry manner, that I would be off crutches and out of my boot within a month.  This was on March 7.  On that date, I was still using two crutches and had my boot on for about 22 hours a day.  I may have laughed at him.

He told me to resume normal activities. End stop.  I was to restart exercising. I was to sleep with the boot off. I was to do everything I would have before I broke my bone.

So this was me the next day.

I look pissed, but I'm really just scared.  Terrified, really.  But I survived!

I have on two different socks here because I took my boot off and used my bike as a crutch to get downstairs on the elevator before we rode.  Admittedly, we only rode for about 5 minutes before we went back in, but the next time we went out? I rode for 30 minutes.

And today, it didn't even occur to me to put on my boot as I got out of bed. I put shoes and socks on, got off the bed, and hobbled out the door. I have not used a crutch at all in almost four days. I went to the dentist and the grocery store yesterday without a boot on and without a crutch.  I have a limp. I move slowly.  But, damn it, I'm moving.

Other accomplishments include:  taking a shower at my inlaws without a removable shower head or a transfer bench, vacuuming (I was so so so so excited to do this, you have no idea), two loads of laundry (up and down the hallway of our building carrying laundry baskets!), and driving back and forth to Minneapolis to drop Dr. BB off at the airport.

Maybe I shouldn't have laughed at my doctor, after all.

Unintentionally Long Post On Bicyles and Gear

So, I've been riding my bike a lot lately. But as I looked through the archives of this site, I noticed that I have not posted any pictures of my bike!! How do you guys even know what I'm talking about if you can't see my transportation love?

Here's my bike. It's a Rocky Mountain RC-30. It's classified as a "city bike," but I use the term hybrid. Isn't he beautiful? (The correct answer is yes.)


When I first got my bike, I gave the boy all the money I budgeted and this what he got me:
1) Bike
2) Helmet
3) Lock
4) Water bottle cage and water bottle
5) Headlight and taillight
6) Pump for tires
7) Streamers

That was it. I have since added to this list, slowly but surely acquiring lots of gear I swore I would never need. First up, let's just discuss the above list. I need a lock because I commute and frequently lock my bike up outside. If you are solely riding for pleasure, you may not need a lock. I have a Kryptonite U-Lock. No one has ever messed with my bike. Water bottle and cage are pretty important for staying hydrated on even the shortest ride. The pump I could have honestly lived without. There is free air at a couple of places on my commute. BUT, the boy is crazy about tire pressure, so, there you have it. We have like five bicycle pumps in our household. Headlight and taillight are necessary for me since I commute, frequently at night. If you are only a daytime rider, don't worry about it. Streamers are entirely optional, but I was insistent. People think I'm friendly and smile at me because of my streamers. I always appreciate the extra smiles.

Helmets. There is a lot of debate about the effectiveness of helmets. If you hit a car that's going 40 miles per hour while you're going 10 miles an hour, the helmet is not going to help you. But at a low speed accident, it may be helpful. I figure it can't hurt, so I wear one. It's up to you. Just know that if I see you cycling without a helmet, I will probably assume you don't care about your brain. But that's just me.

Below is RC-30 modelling streamers, U-Lock, and headlight. My U-Lock does not fit directly under my top tube where most folks seem to put theirs because my bike is, errr, small. We put it on the side like that and it doesn't bother me or interfere with my pedal stroke. The placement of that lock caused some stress in our early relationship, but we worked it all out. Gotta think outside of the box.


I have since obtained a few key things:
1) New saddle
2) Rack
3) New grips
4) New stem
5) Gloves
6) Pannier (bag)
7) Bike shorts
8) Basket

The saddle came from my friend, N., whose cat I also have. I guess I take everything from her. To be honest, I didn't have a real problem with the original saddle, but the one I have on there is also fine. The saddle was never a major problem for me. I bought bike shorts because everyone said I needed them and I spent a small fortune on them, but I have only used them about twice this summer. I don't really need them. But, just because that wasn't a problem with my rear doesn't mean it's been smooth sailing with this cycling business. I have had TWO major problems.

Major problem #1: My wrists hurt like hell. Seriously, I'd ride for an hour and my wrists would be killing me. So that's why you'll note all the things we changed on poor RC in an attempt to fix the wrist issue - the new grips, the new stem, and the gloves. Originally, the boy told me that gloves were for sissies, but once I tried them, it made everything better, and I told him to fuck off. Okay, I didn't really tell him that, but all the mechanical changes we made - adjusting saddle height, changing the stem, changing the angle of the handlebars - did nothing. Gloves fixed it all.

Major problem #2: Carrying stuff on the bike. Originally, I just used a backpack. Eventually we started blaming this for the wrist issues from problem #1 (too much weight on my arms and wrists was what we thought). I also decided I should look more adult and stop wearing a backpack to school at this same time. So the backpack got donated to a worthy charity, but then I was stuck.

That's when the rack came on. The rack is heavy. It's also useless on it's own. It requires you to have a special bag to hook on it, or bungee cords, or a basket. I have used all of these things. The pannier bag I have is a giant pain in my ass. It's heavy, it's awkward carrying it up and down the stairs with my bike. But, most importantly, I couldn't fit all my crap in it. For my jobs, I frequently have three or four heavy books with me. I couldn't fit all my books in the pannier.

Then the boy found my basket!! I love my basket. It's an Axiom Faux Wicker Basket with Brackets. The brackets attach to my rack. I have put upwards of 25 pounds of books in the basket. I usually put all my books in a tote bag and then just toss the tote bag into the basket. This basket? Has made me want to commute more frequently just because of it's total adorableness.



Note: I don't have fenders on the bike. I hate fenders. They ruin the line of the bike. Plus I refuse to ride in the rain or snow because I'm a diva. So no fenders. But fenders are useful if you ride year round. I guess.

The boy does all the routine maintenance on my bike for me. He trues the wheels every season and changed all the cables and the chain earlier this season for me. He has also fixed every flat tire I've ever had. I have no idea how much all this maintenance costs, since it is the boy's job. That's probably mean, but we have so few gendered chores, I feel no guilt about this fact.

And that's that. It's probably more detail than anyone wanted to know, but I felt like I needed to document it somehow. Happy cycling!!

In Which I Come Clean

Last month I didn't ride my bike much. There was no good reason for this. I am quite definitely underemployed this summer. I am in reasonably good shape considering I am a lazy dope. My bike is well maintained thanks to being married to boy genius. He put new cables, new brakes, and a new chain on it sometime in May. The boy and I went for a ride around the Lakes (Harriet, Cedar, Isles, and Calhoun if anyone cares) early in June and afterwards I simply put the bike up on its mount in our living room and ignored it.

I made excuses. It was too far to ride my bike. It was raining. We had gone for a run that morning. The bike path along that area was in bad shape. I was hungry. Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Then I thought about it. It was the last decent riding weather last November when I was an idiot and fell on my bike and broke my hand. And that was my last experience with my bike until that day we went around the Lakes. I thought I was over the fear that the accident of stupidity caused, but when I was honest with myself I knew that somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind there were some issues. The first time I rode somewhere for the first time by myself, I was convinced that something awful would happen.

I was scared.

I vowed that July would be different. I'd ride everywhere. I was going to fill up the gas tank only once and drive only to places far away and not in bike riding distance (and the grocery store, which...we probably should ride our bikes to the grocery store, but we just got ourselves some reusable bags so we're going to save the planet one behavioral change at a time people!). I didn't mention this to the boy because I didn't want him to know that I was harboring a fear of my bike in the first place.

So. That's what I've been doing. The truck has moved exactly four times since July 1. Twice to go to the grocery store (I know, I know), once for me to go teach a class in Wisconsin (which is another state, so definitely not bikeable for me), and just today the boy took it to go to a pseudo- job interview (he has the job, it's mostly a formality). Tonight I will be taking it again to Wisconsin, but I am a two wheeling fool.

And guess what? I am still a bit scared I am going to do something stupid and injure myself again.

So. What's a girl to do?

In Which I Piss Off Everyone

1) I'm riding my bicycle to work. There is a wee bit of a detour where there are, I will admit, very big signs telling cyclists to dismount their bikes. Now, that's all well and good, but there were no pedestrians and I am, I have to admit, an entitled bicyclist. I did not dismount. I slowed down and crept along. (Note: Campus is empty this time of year. The whole time I was on this detour I saw NOT a single pedestrian. Not one.)

As I was two pedal strokes away from a sign telling me I could get back on my bike, a bike cop waves at me and tells me to dismount. I smile, wave, and don't dismount. He yells at me. I sass back.

Eventually I get off my bike, walk it TWO steps, turn around, flick off the cop, say "fabulous" in a snotty voice, and ride off.

Yes, I was breaking the rules. The rules were stupid. And people who use their authority to enforce dumb rules in a dumb manner are also stupid. So. That's that.

2) I don't get the Michael Jackson fuss. Frankly I can't see why his death made the media go nuts and forget about all the other things going on in the world. Ahmadinejad is the winner of this news cycle.

I feel like I can speak ill of the dead because I spoke ill of the man when he was still alive. A musician who has been largely unheard of in the last decade and a half is not someone who needs to be mourned to this extent. Moreover, a man who clearly abused children is not someone I want to spend a lot of time thinking about. All those children he molested must be watching this news coverage and wondering when their voices will ever be heard.

I do feel badly for his children. I hope they can rebound from their loss and be productive members of society. But I don't mourn the man. I really don't.

3) My sister- and brother-in-law asked BB and I to be godparents to their son, Baby O. (I find that I am extremely touched and honored by this and I could write an entire post about that, but I will spare you all my angsty I love my nephew and would do anything for him, even if that involves some church type event diatribe.) Anyway, after we enthusiastically said yes, my husband, being the charming fellow that he is, said, "Oh, and don't worry. If anything happens to you guys, we'll be sure to raise him to be a Democrat."

Hee. These people STRONGLY considered naming their children Ronald and Regan.

4) So we did spend some time in the NICU this weekend. Rather, I spent some time there, while the boy stayed out in the waiting room. He has a cold and couldn't pass the health screening. I thought this was hilarious. He FAILED the screening.

As we left, I found myself pondering the fate of some of those babies. At the end of life, often people have advanced health care directives, instructing their loved ones what measures should be taken regarding life prolongment.

Do parents get to make these same decisions for their premature newborns? As far as I could tell, my sister- and brother-in-law didn't get to make any such decision. The babies were taken from them, hooked up to oxygen, put on warming tables, and, in Baby O's case, given many a blood transfusion. No questions asked.

Maybe doctors have to take these measures? The Hippocratic oath and all?

I'm not sure I would think badly of a parent who made a decision to stop the proceedings and have a child survive (or not) on its own. While BB was in the waiting room, he heard a father on his cell phone, calling his family, telling them how his premature baby couldn't keep her own heart beating. She was a machine for that, a machine for breathing, and he just couldn't take it anymore.

I don't know the answer to these questions. I don't know what I would do if I had a child or children in that situation. But I ask them. I wonder about them. And I hope all the parents out there with babies and little kids in ICUs know that people out there hurt for them, feel for them, and think of them.

Huh.

Well, two days after the bike accident of stupidity, the boy managed to convince me to go to Urgent Care. Now I have some delicious x-rays and a cast to house my broken hand. The same hand I have been telling everyone was just sprained. Oh, I am an all-star.

Once an idiot...

I forgot I had to teach tonight. I raced home, pissed off at myself for being so forgetful. I scarfed dinner, made the boy put air in my bike tires, and flew out the door.

I went eight blocks before I did a dumb thing* and ended up flying over my bike and landing hard on my right hand and left elbow. I type this entry now in the hunt and peck manner I haven't used since I was ten. I can't move my right hand without severe pain, although a phone call to my father-in-law, Doc, put the boy's mind to rest that it's probably not broken. We won't discuss the beautiful colors on my legs.

Some kind woman named Shelly stopped her SUV and sat with me while I made the requisite sobbing phone calls to my job and my husband. She also procured BandAids and an ice pack (!) from her car. Thank you, Shelly.

I spent the rest of the night watching Warren Sapp on Dancing with the Stars (he's adorable!) and forcing my husband to do things like take off my bra and make me tea and listen to me whine about how it hurts to move my hand.

Note: stop doing dumbass things on your bike.

*No, it wasn't texting while biking. I haven't been riding much and I'm just plain out of practice doing some really basic things. I was slowing down and going to turn, so I was attempting to signal that I was turning to the car behind me and I accidentally hit the front brake to slow down instead of the back brake and then I was jolted forward unexpectedly, causing me push harder on the front brake and then, shit, I'm going over the handlebars. It was no one's fault but my own andI feel really, really, really dumb. And in pain.

The Summer of Heat, Humidity, and Horribleness*

It was a chore, getting my heavy pannier and only slightly lighter bicycle down the stairs. I was halfway down the block before I realized that I wasn't wearing a helmet. By the time I retrieved said helmet (purple! with flowers!) and hopped on the bike again, sweat was pooling on my back.

Getting here was half the battle - I had sat on the sofa for twenty minutes preparing myself for the exhausting mental game about to take place. And had laid in bed for two hours before that, pretending I didn't have anyplace to go today. It's getting harder and harder to leave the house on my own and I'm waiting for the day when I just can't do it anymore.

Five blocks down. I pause at a stop sign and grab my water bottle. I guzzle. Great. Half of my water is gone and I have gone about 1/16th of the way. I can feel the sweat sliding down my back.

Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. I had come back from a trip last weekend and Biker Boy said, "I made a small change to your bike." I circled around my bike and saw nothing different, so I just went with it. I see now, as I am riding, that he changed the stem. Stems connect the handlebars to the rest of your bike and I had been bitching for two years about how my shoulders and wrists get sore when I ride. BB thought this might fix it. I can't really tell much of a difference, but hell, I've only gone eight blocks.

It's the scenarios going through my head that make this trip so difficult. What if a bus comes? What if that small child darts in front of me? What if the light is about to change, but hasn't yet? What do I do? I spend most of the trip focused on thinking about what might happen, not thinking about what is happening.

I want to be relaxed. I want to enjoy the moment and the freedom of riding. But eleven blocks in and I feel my shoulders tensing up. My jaw is clenched so tight that my throat hurts.

I turn on the bike path. This should be better - I am on this path for most of the rest of the way and I avoid traffic. No cars, no buses, no trucks.

Sweat is dripping into my eyes. I use my gloves to sop some of it up. Now that the worry over the motorized vehicles has gone, I worry about the pedestrians, if I will be late, if I am prepared for my meeting, what will happen when I have to get off the bike path. The tension continues moving from my shoulders to my lower back.

People going in the opposite direction often smile at me. It is the streamers, I know. BB says that rarely do people smile at him when he rides alone, but when he rides with me, people are very cheerful. I try and smile back. I fear it looks more like a grimace. Sweat drips.

There is a group of a couple of dozen children riding bikes with a few adults along for supervision. It looks like they're part of some summer program. It does my heart good to see all these little bodies working so hard. Their helmets are tiny. Their bikes are bold colors - pink, purple, lime green, and red seem to be popular choices. Their legs pump and pump and pump. I see one little girl struggling to make sure her hair is just right under her helmet. The girls all giggle at me as I pass them (please don't hit a kid, please don't hit a kid, just pass them and continue on). One courageous girl calls out, complimenting my streamers. I try to smile at her.

Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. I'm so eager to have this done, I am going relatively quickly. The only people passing me today are the men with skinny legs.

The scenarios are good for me, they say. I can work out in my head that I am capable of handling any difficult situation. But I spent two hours this morning working through scenarios before I even made it to the sofa. This, they would tell me, putting off the inevitable, is not good for me. Scenarios in moderation.

For a moment, I lose myself, step outside of my body, and enjoy the peace and quiet and exhilaration.

The next moment, my throat has closed up and I can't breathe. I grope for the water bottle. I have been practicing getting my water and putting it back while moving. I hope to impress my husband with my new skill. But not now. Now I pull off to the side of the path and drink deeply.

This is what anxiety feels like. I am stuck here. But I can't stay. I have to either go forward or go back.

Slowly get back on. Count pedal strokes. Counting will focus me. One, two, three...ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Breathe. Focus on breathing. Now focus on releasing the tension in your shoulders. The miles pass as I just count. And count.

By the time I get to the path exit, back to dealing with traffic, I am okay. Sweat. This summer is killing me. The heat. The humidity. I hate this. I hate how sweaty and sunscreeny I am when I get to work. I hate not being able to breathe. I hate the allergies. I hate my itchy eyes. But now I am relaxed.

But now is the true test. The last part of the journey has two obstacles. One, an intersection that is practically lawless and two, that building that gives me hives. I want to face both with honesty and bravery, but instead I skirt around both, pretending they are not there. The tension has crept back in. Jaw clenched, I cross the river, wiping the sweat away from my face with my glove. The panic starts now. What if I have forgotten everything and can't do it? What if this person knows I don't know what I'm doing? Will she know I'm a fraud?

As I'm locking up my bike, the sweat is pouring down my face. I have sealegs and can barely walk up the steps. I smile (grimace) and hold open the door for a girl wearing a skirt and sweater. She's wearing a sweater. I look at my arms, glistening, and wonder how she does it.

I take note of the fact that, although my shoulders are sore, my wrists don't hurt. I will tell BB that the new stem is a good choice. I will not be telling him about the rest.

Then I go to work, knowing the whole time that the process will be repeated on the way back home.

Sun Induced Tramp Stamp

I have a long torso. This means that shopping for pants is easy. I just buy what fits me at the waist and if the pants are too long, I either get them hemmed or wear heels. But shopping for shirts is a challenge. Most shirts are just too short and a bit of my rolly polly belly hangs out. I...am not fond of this.

Last summer was pretty awesome for us long-torsoed girls. Stores were making extra-long tank tops and camisoles. These extra-long shirts really just fit me like a normal shirt, but still. It was easy! This summer, I have a budget crisis and can not afford a shopping spree, but even if I could, the "long layering tees" of last summer have shrunk! At some of my favorites stores, shirts called "long,"ones that fit just perfectly last year, now do not. I am sad. Bring back the extra fabric! Please!

Since I have been riding my bike on my commute to work pretty regularly, I have been pretty diligent in the application of sunscreen to my face, arms, and neck. It sucks because when I get to work I am typically sweaty and covered in sunscreen, but you do what you have to do, right? Even if I could afford to actually drive further than the grocery store, I'd have to pay for parking and I have a Midwesterner's disdain for that. I could take the bus, but then I have to leave twice as much time to actually get there and that might cut on in the amount of sleep I get. So, sweaty and sunscreened I am when I get into work.

The other day, as I was getting ready for bed, I heard BB snicker behind me. I turned and gave him THE LOOK to let him know I was not amused. He pointed at my back. I have a nice tan streak on my back where my too short shirts don't quite cover my back when I'm bent over riding my bicycle. "It's a sun induced tramp stamp!"

Argh. This could be solved, I suppose, by buying some bicycling jerseys. There is clothing designed for the purpose of riding bikes. The shirts are cut longer in the back so that every inch is covered when you are bent over. The thing is, they are expensive and ugly. There. I said it. If I'm going to spend that much money on a shirt, I don't want it to be ugly. Why do performance fabrics have to look like that? Plus, when I go to try on shirts at the bike store, I have to try on extra-extra-super-jumbo large shirts because girls who cycle are TINY and I am not. It makes me feel self-conscious and awful and why can't Pearl Zumi get on the Gap bandwagon ("really? a small is too big? I'll go ahead and get this extra-small then? Geez, Gap, you make a girl feel good.")? I know that just because it's labelled "ginormous" doesn't mean I am ginormous, but until they fix this system, I am going to have to be sure to include sunscreen on my lower back!

The Ramble

There is no point to this post. It is mostly an update. It is indeed a ramble of massive proportions.

Update #1: The truck has been returned to us. Monster is shinier than he has ever been while in my custody AND they cleaned out the cab (they make vacuums you can use on cars, but I don't know if Monster has actually ever seen one of those) AND gave me a little accident documentation kit to keep in my glove box that includes a camera and a pencil and a piece of paper. Genius. The insurance company finally just gave in; I think they were sick of me calling twice a day.

Update #2: I am no longer dying. I guess I should add that I never was dying, but last Wednesday I wasn't so sure about that. Biker Boy and I even managed to go on our first real bike ride of the season together earlier today. My definition of "real ride" means we weren't commuting. We put on bike shorts and rode our bikes without locks or panniers. My bike goes so much faster when it's not carrying three really heavy books! It wasn't a long ride, just over to Lake Harriet and looping around the trio of lakes that include Harriet, Calhoun, and Isles. Altogether it was maybe ten or eleven miles, but it was certainly a reminder to both of us that we need to get out more and enjoy our bikes, instead of just using them as transportation.

Last Friday, I turned down several offers of social capital building and insisted that Biker Boy join me at the University Bookstore for a reading and book signing by David Sedaris. Sedaris has released a new book and if you have never read a book by him before, go out, get all his previous books, read them, and then read his new one. It was hilarious listening to Sedaris read his personal essays and even more fun was waiting in line with my husband, playing 20 Questions. (He thinks "throwing star." I say "a pink elephant"? I think "a meteor." He says "a Rickenbacker guitar"?) It took hours, but was well worth it if you ask me.

I also promised you a story about blood, but instead I will say that BB's family in Iowa is safe and sound. Grandma and Grandpa's basement flooded, but no other harm has come. The last academic year was the first time in almost fifteen years that a person in BB's immediate family didn't live in Iowa City and there is a palpable sense of relief for the entire family that no one is having to deal with the current flooding.

Oh, and I do have to say that I have never had eyes as itchy as they are this year. I have gone through two entire bottles of Visine allergy drops. Holy hell. What's up with that?

Does anyone know how to cook salmon? We're slowly trying to introduce new recipes into our repertoire and I'd like to do a fish dish, but it turns out I don't like a lot of fish, so we're going to do salmon. Only we don't really know how...

A Pain in the Rear

Last Wednesday I went for my first bike ride of the season. Ha! I rode from our apartment to my part-time job. It's probably five or six miles, and since I was going to teach when I got there, I eschewed my bike shorts in favor of...jeans. Because I have the brain the size of a peanut. By the time I taught my class and got back on my bike for the five or six miles back...ummm*...my inner thighs and other tender areas were somewhat sore. By the time I was halfway home, I was no longer sitting on my saddle, but practicing a sort of hover on my seat. By the time I was three-quarters of the way home, it was a tie between my ass and my quads as to which was more sore and I eventually got home with gritted teeth and a determination to NOT DO THIS AGAIN NEXT YEAR. Next winter, I'm going to get some saddle time in somehow. Even if a trainer must be purchased.

So then on Sunday, I cleverly arranged another session at my part-time job so that I would be able to ride in with my gorgeous fiance. But again, I decided that since I would be teaching when I got there, I would wear...jeans. And again, as soon as I got off the bike at my job, I found myself squeezing my buttocks and massaging my inner thighs, which is not as easy as you might think when you find yourself standing in front of four people you barely know**, trying to sound like an authority on something you are clearly not an authority on. And on the way home, I was sore again, but clearly I was putting more weight on my arms this time around because when I got home, my shoulders were tense, my upper arms were shaking, and I could barely carry my bike up the stairs to put him away. Yes, my bike is a boy. He's a very feminine boy.

Then last night, I again rode in with BB to my job. And I was feeling much better this time. But we rode back in with his boss WHO OWNS A BIKE SHOP AND RIDES 40 MILES EVERY DAY and even though he was clearly taking it easy because I could barely breathe at the pace we were going, I almost died when I finally got off the bike.

All of this to say, it was lovely. It's nice to go to bed and be physically tired, as well as mentally tired. It's nice to actually commute on my own free will and not in the confines of an overlarge vehicle with a broken CD player. It's nice to get outside and see the sun and feel the wind and be part of the city again. I have been burning the candles at both ends for a couple of months now and riding my bike again has reminded me that I really need to start taking care of my physical self, too.

I have had to hustle in other parts of my life to make sure I can get these bike rides in, but I am more and more determined that this is what I need to do. Not just the biking, of course, but occasionally leaving work before all those papers are graded or all those lesson plans are written, so that I can work out. So, that's it. I'll try and write more about my workouts. I have a working out tag, but I can't remember when I last used it. I'm hoping that it will gradually become just a part of my routine again, as much as it has been in the past before things got out of control crazy. (By the way, you won't hear so much bitching about this for much longer. In a month, everything will sort itself out, I will be unemployed again, and I will get enough sleep.)

Oh, but did I mention? That even though it was in the mid-60s when I rode home last night with the crazy bike shop owner, it's forecasted to snow tomorrow? Oh, Minneapolis, how I love thee.

*Did anyone besides me catch Geoff Nunberg on Fresh Air last Monday with his insightful, somewhat hilarious commentary on the word "um." I just about peed my pants and found myself examining my own vocal tics for the rest of the day.

**One of these people works for General Mills and made the super duper fantastic announcement that Rice Chex IS GLUTEN FREE. Oh, my God. The joy in Biker Boy's face when I told him this was unlike anything I could ever explain. We had been buying a cereal called Rice Crunch 'Ems, which was just like Rice Chex without the gluten. But it costs almost $2 a box more. And we had to go to the fancy grocery store to buy it. Now, we can buy Rice Chex ANYWHERE.

Rules for Irate Drivers

Okay, this is a bit of a rant. Forgive me.

All motorists should be required to commute to their places of work at least once on a bicycle. All motorists should be required to commute to their places of work at least once on a motorcycle. All bicyclists should be required to commute to their places of work at least once on a motorized vehicle. Do you get what I'm saying?

A couple of weeks ago, a bicyclist was hit and killed near Lake Calhoun. I've both driven my monstrous truck and ridden my bicycle near this location. The fury that was sparked by this incident on either side of the car/bike debate was immense. Cyclists claiming that cars just ram through intersections, drivers never looking, and motorists claiming cyclists break all kinds of laws and deserve what they get for pretending to be cars and taking up space on their precious roads.

And...both sides have valid points. As someone who rides my bike once in a while and drives once in a while, I've done dumb things on both modes of transportation (and for the assholes who say bikes aren't transportation, I'd like to punch you). I do dumb things, not because I wanted to almost hit the pedestrian who was cross 6th Street and Cedar Avenue legally the other day (oh, geez, dude, if it was you, I'm sooooo sorry, I didn't stop shaking for hours and I imagine you are still having nightmares), or because I wanted the truck to hit me when I illegally blew through the stop sign on the corner of Bryant and 32nd last week on my bike, but because sometimes we all do stupid things. I'm the first to admit that I'm a distracted driver. Billboards get me. The bad music on the radio gets me. Thoughts of what went wrong in my class get me. Oh, my god, this week I've been thinking about fucking ribbon* for our wedding invitations to the almost exclusion of everything else.

So, everyone needs to take their share of the responsibility. I don't know if it was the cyclist's "fault" that he got killed. Possibly he was doing something illegal. But if you're in a car, you have a responsibility to watch for dumb ass cyclists and pedestrians. Just like you immediately slam on your brakes when you see a ball fly into the street (seriously, when I grew up, I thought that was the dumbest driver's ed video in the world - now, since it's happened to me three times in the last two weeks because of the kids playing in the park across the street, I have a deeper respect for all I didn't learn in driver's ed), you take into account that cyclists do dumb things. Possibly the driver was not giving the cyclist right of way. I don't know. Frankly, I don't care. A person died. Everyone is responsible. So, some rules.

1) Don't scream at cyclists to get out of the way on the road. They are doing the best they can. They do have every right to be on the road.
2) Cyclists, don't purposefully do dumb ass things. Get yourself a headlight and a flashing light for the rear of your vehicle. Don't bike ahead of eight cars at a stop light so that you can go through the light before they do and then end up slowing them down in the end. Don't swerve in and out of the traffic lane. If you've got to be in a traffic lane, then stay in it. Don't make motorists anticipate what weird move you're going to make next. Don't wear headphones while cycling.
3) Make it clear what you're going to do. If you're going to turn left, signal. Warn people what you're going to do.
4) Respect others on the road. We're all just trying to get there safely. Don't let others die because you're a jerk who can't control his or her own road rage.
5) Try to keep your mind on the task. It's so easy to get distracted. Trust me. I don't think Biker Boy will ever get in the car with me after nearly killing that pedestrian. Cut the distractions. Does it matter that you've never seen that billboard for the Mall of America (stupid, NGS - look at it next time you go by on the bus)? Does it matter that your best friend is calling (don't answer the phone - chances are she'll answer it when you get to your destination in five minutes)?

Look, it is an important issue. There are so many cyclists in this city, I feel bad whenever I get in my car to go somewhere. But let's not realize that we all have the same goal - to get where we are going without dying or killing someone. Sure, if you're in a car or riding a bike, you should still enjoy the experience, but part of that is releasing your anger about things that are beyond your control. Stop being a butt-head.

*The ribbon is a source of consternation. We found the color we want. But it's grosgrain and I want satin ribbon. Yeah. That's right. I've become Bridezilla. Over fucking ribbon. Notice I said, "I want." Yeah. Biker Boy could care less. Yet he has patiently looked at ribbon with me in craft store after craft store and even made some half-hearted attempts to look it up online. I love that man.

Transportation Woes

I have one roommate who has a regular 9 to 5 job. Which is to say that he's always long gone before I wake up in the morning. So this morning, when I stumble down at 8:30 and start to pull out pans to make my breakfast (which my cousins in Pennsylvania call breakfaxt), I notice that my roomie has left his water bottle on the kitchen counter. Now, this particular roommate is a bit crazy about his water bottle. I remember last Thanksgiving, there were wine glasses on the table, pop cans littering the kitchen counter, even some little shot glasses here and there, but right there, hanging in, was the blue Nalgene bottle.

Jeez, he's going to be sad today. That's all I thought. Until I saw him come in the back door.

He had not forgotten the water bottle. His car wouldn't start. He was annoyed. He was waiting for a tow truck and a loaner. When he entered the kitchen, his first response was to question if I was just getting out of bed (yes, I am - you, too, can be a grad student if you don't want to have money to be able to afford a "loaner car" when your car breaks down) and his second response was to go into a tirade about how American made cars suck.

Now, when you start talking to a woman who openly roots for the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit Lions and admits, admits to being from MICHIGAN, this is a throw down. "Your car is ten years old. You have aver 150,000 miles on it. And you get mad when there's a slight electrical problem that will take a mechanic a day to fix. Pardon me if I don't agree with your non-American cars standard."

Then, on the way home from school today, my bike got a flat tire (that's an odd phrase, isn't it? Like my bike said, "today I will acquire a flat. I want a flat. I will get it."). I immediately began muttering, "stupid Canadian manufacturing."

Relevance Uncertain

I tried to find some sort of connection between the two stories I am about to tell you, but besides the fact that they both involved cell phones, I don't believe a link exists. And I'm in grad school. I can find a link between ANYTHING. But I can't. So here goes two unrelated items from the NGS news desk.

1) I wouldn't call myself an inconspicuous bicycle rider. As a driver, I am all too aware of obnoxious behavior of other cyclists on the road and I strive to not be an obnoxious cyclist (this extends to my behavior as a pedestrian, too, but that's another entry altogether). Now, RC-30 may not be the most visible bike in the world. I love him and he treats me well and gets me from point A to point B, but he's blue and kind of, ummmm, don't tell him I said this, boring looking. But he does have streamers. Purple ones. With pink and silver. And if that doesn't distinguish him from the other bikes on the bike racks, I don't know what does. And, then, there's RC-30's rider. That's me. NGS. And I have on a purple helmet. And my normally highly visible clothing.

So about three weeks ago, I left the house wearing the most obnoxious coat ever. It's pink (it's actually coral, but now we're arguing over hues). And I was following all biking rules. I was visible (and how). I was riding in the correct lane. And some SUV didn't stop at the end of an alley and HIT ME. AND RC-30.

I'm fine. The bike's fine. But I'm slightly paranoid now and I worry that within every car lurks a bike runner over. The guy said, "you came out of nowhere." And I'm thinking to myself (as any Harry Potter fan would) you can't Apparate in the Muggle world without getting into serious trouble. And I haven't passed my test. But what I really said was , "Did you see the pink coat? And the streamers? Could I have been anymore VISIBLE?"

Oh, and the cell phone part of the story. I was mere blocks away from my house when this "accident" happened. I packed RC-30 into the back of my truck and drove to my original appointment. Then I drove over to school. Then I called Biker Boy because I thought he'd be PO'ed if I didn't. This proved to be true when he said, "this happened THREE HOURS ago and you're only now calling me!!" Good thing I didn't wait until after the doctor's appointment. (Oh, and for anyone who cares, I want props because I went to that hideous class after the doctor's appointment. I so could have gotten out of it.)

2) Tonight I went over to Biker Boy's to watch the Cruft's dog show on Animal Planet. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who might want to catch the suspense-filled competition in reruns, but the winner was (look away now if you're going to watch) the Australian Shepard. FROM USA!! Take that, you Brits. Okay, my moment of unreasonable and unexplainable nationalism is finished.

I have to get up really early tomorrow, so I left Biker Boy's after the dog show and The Oblongs. BB, a gentleman through and through, insisted on walking me to my car, merely a block away. There has been much ribbing from me on this front in the past and as we walked out in the rain, I again asked him if he thought someone would look at me, the grad student, and mug me. He just smiled that smile. And continued walking.

Then a woman passed by us. She was stumbling a bit, but this is Uptown, so you get that sometimes. But her nose was bleeding. BB and I walk by her, then do that thing where you look at each other (in shock and awe, to use a cliched phrase) and then we immediately started walking backwards, towards the woman. After several "ma'ams" of which I am a bit embarrassed, she turned around and told us she wanted to go home. She was very disoriented and I was nervous she was going to fall down.

BB dialed 911 and pretty soon we had a whole posse of emergency vehicles to serve our needs. And this is what I want to say. The first responders were wonderful. They picked up the contents of her purse, which we found spilled a little bit aways, were patient with her as she started to mumble about going home, and were very polite to us, even thanking us for calling it in. I'm glad I live in a place where I can count on someone showing up when I call a number that everyone knows. And that those people will do something.

Oh, and lesson learned. I won't tease anymore about the escort to my car. I don't know what I would have done if BB had not been around.

I Can't Believe It

This is going to be a post about my bike. I can't believe I'm doing this. This is not a post about bike riding, which I feel qualified to talk about because, you know, I ride a bike. But it's about MY BIKE about which I know nothing except for the fact that it's pretty.

I have a Rocky Mountain RC-30 (blue, with streamers). I have valiantly tried to come up with a name for my bike, but he's (definitely male) a bit tricky to name. So I call him RC-30. RC for short. Which reminds me of RC Cola and sometimes I call him King (Royal Crown, right?), but most of the time he's just RC. Poor guy. He's blue AND he gets a boring name. HOWEVER, he does have kick ass streamers.

That's all. I don't know the specs on RC, so I'm not qualified to actually discuss the makeup of my lovely bike, but rest assured, RC likes to go fast. He's speedy. And because of this, I had to learn how to put air in the tires. See, I was under the impression that I could ignroe the tires of my bike altogether, much like I ignore the tires on my truck (but if my dad ever reads this - NO, I don't ignore Monster's tires - I rotate them every 3000 miles and check the air pressure every time I fill it up with gas). Alas, when I purchased my bike, Biker Boy strongly suggested I purchase an air pump for RC. My reaction was, "huh? I thought that basic maintenance was why I was dating you." His reaction, "Nope. Basic maintenance is all you. RC -30 has those crazy high air pressure tires. You need to be on top of it. I'll teach you."

Famous last words. I have never even checked the air pressure in the tires of my motor vehicle. Isn't that what the guys at the oil change place are for? (Dad, again, if you're reading this - it's not true, I check air pressure regularly).

So BB attempts to teach me how to put air in my tires. He goes through the whole drill. Great. I ride my bike for a couple of weeks. "Have you checked your air pressure recently?" "Of course." Hee. Then the guilt overwhelmed me and I decided I should actually check the air pressure.

Do you know what I did? I blew out a tube. My first bout with routine maintenance and I blew out a tube. I call BB, "um, I think I broke RC-30."

Okay, that was earlier this summer. I check my tires every four or five trips to school. I don't want to hear any comments about why I should do it more often. I won't.

Today, BB and I had serious business with RC. Biker Boy trued the wheels. Seriously. Who knew there was a machine with AN ENTIRE PURPOSE of truing? A truing machine. And then BB put me and RC on a trainer (a machine that allows you to pedal your bike WHILE STAYING STILL - again, who knew such a machine existed?). He made me pedal, walked around, looked at my butt, and fiddled with the saddle. I asked him if he looked at all the girls' butts and he didn't really have a good answer, except to say that most girls don't care about their saddles as much as guys, which I guess makes sense because of the whole what's down there thing. So we put the saddle higher and tipped it up. A good friend of mine had recommended that the saddle be tilted slightly downward, but that never worked for me. A while ago, BB adjusted it so it was level. I still wasn't happy, so we're now trying it tilted up just slightly. And it's a lot more comfortable.

Oh, yeah, and I got a new headlight because my other one kept falling off. So, goodbye headlight that looks like a rocket ship and hello headlight that looks like a cat eye.

That's all I have to say about RC-30. I promise there will be no more boring posts about my lovely bike until RC undergoes more maintentance OR I find the PERFECT saddle position.

Little Moments

For the most part, my bike ride home is pretty, well, to be honest, boring. It’s a bike trail that runs parallel to a major road and it’s just not very interesting. It’s great that I don’t have to ride on the major road and I love that there’s a bike trail, but it’s rather boring. But then there is this brief section where I get off the bike trail to get to my actual house. It’s on some surface streets in a neighborhoody neighborhood (and if you don’t know what that means, it’s because you’ve never lived in a downtown where the neighborhoods are really barhoods). Rarely does a car pass. When they do pass, they inch by me slowly, as if to digest the fact that there is a random person pedaling down the street with a billion manically flashing lights attached to her bike. It’s so quiet I can hear the CRICKETS. Crickets, people. Crickets in Minneapolis (spell check just underlined Minneapolis – I was momentarily convinced I had been spelling the name of this city wrong for three years)! Who knew that there were noisy bugs here? I can hear the wheels of my bike on the asphalt and the wind echoing around in my helmet. I pedal slowly to savor every last bit of the stillness. The smell is Downy-fresh, as if someone is constantly running a dryer full of towels, strictly for my benefit. I can act as a voyeur as I ride along, peeking in open windows to see who’s watching Monday night football, who’s chatting on their computer, and who’s holding hands on the porch. And the porches – the porches are all lit up and people sit in them. Some people read on their porches, some people talk to each, and one cute little family is always on their porch playing games. It’s a moment of peace I am thankful that I get when I am biking home at 10:30 on a Monday night.

The Joint

On my way to and from school, I pass by a bar called The Joint. The slogan on the sign for The Joint says, "Where the ride begins and ends." Everytime, EVERYtime I pass by, I think to myself what a bad, bad, bad idea that is. Let's have a couple of beers and then go for a ride. Then come back, have a couple more, and drive home. But now that I've written this down, maybe I will stop thinking it EVERYtime.