Riding one’s bike against 20-30 mile per hour gusts is not as easy as one might think. One might have made the mistake of bicycling downwind on the first leg of one’s journey only to find that the ease that one found on one’s arrival was quickly and painfully diminished upon departure into a now blustery bike trail. If one is not an avid bicyclist (or an avid exercisist, for that matter) one might find that one must downshift to a very low gear so that one’s thighs do not burn in a matter befitting only hell. One who is out of shape might find that a jogger is running alongside one’s bicycle at the same speed yet with much less difficulty and a smile on his face. One might have to set aside one’s pride and health and either endure this slow and painful route or realize that walking one’s bike might prove to be easier. In the case of this one, one persevered with clinched jaw and sweating brow and last night slept like an exhausted baby.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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A brief tale of idiocy: Say you have a sister, who has a baby and perhaps a few extra baby-pounds, though she is lovely and glowing and (in your humble, screw-the-media-for-making-us-all-feel-fat opinion) needs to lose no weight. Say she takes a step aerobics class. Say you decide it would be fun (ha!) to take the class with her as a sisterly-bonding sort of thing. Say you think it won't be hard.
Say you fall of your step. A lot. And are yelled at by an eighty-four-year-old woman who's better than you are. But will you quit? No, you grin and bear it, because you are no quitter.
This hypothetical person and this hypothetical person's knees feel the pain of the person this entry is about and the person this entry is about's thighs.
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