We’ve all tried this one. From now on, it’s biking to work every day, getting up at 5:30, reading the entire newspaper, the one that doesn’t talk about anyone’s beach cellulite, and also maybe it’s time to be vegetarian.
What is it about humans that makes us want to do everything balls out for about 3 days, then we lose all of the steam we ever had?
I did the math. Living pretty close to work, riding 5 days a week would save me about $50 a month. I figured I’d shoot for 3 days a week. That seemed like a decent goal to start with. Then, once I loved it, which I would, I could up it to every day. Then maybe start juicing or something.
Day 1:
The first day, the ride went fine. Then when I got to work, I saw a regular that hadn’t been around much. He looked the same except for his hair. It was grown out in an 80’s metal shag that was impressive enough that I almost said something about it.
Good thing I didn’t.
Turns out, the guy got hit by a car on his bike back in the summer. He’d been in the hospital since. He was just now up and about, and he had a couple new pins in his ankle.
I have no idea if he hurt his brain. In the nicest way possible, it’s kind of hard to tell with this dude. Although they clearly didn’t shave his hair off. If there’s a silver lining to going into a bike accident coma, I guess it’s finding out just how spectacular your hair might become left to its own devices.
He’s a talker, this guy. He told me the whole story, then when someone else stepped into his sphere, he told her the story for the first time while also telling me again.
The entire story was that he was riding. Then he woke up in the hospital.
So first day riding a bike to work, nice story about a hit and run accident that destroyed a man’s body and knocked him straight into a coma. Perfect. Going great so far.
Day 2:
A little forgotten friend reared his head. From the rear. I’m talking, of course, about my good friend hemorrhoids.
Two days in, already getting into the danger zone.
Once you’ve had these bad boys a few times, you can feel them coming.
When I told a few people at work, I got the same question. Do you think it’s your bike seat?
And yes, I tell everybody. Because they’re a butt problem, but they really, really suck. And I always worry that someday I’ll get some kind of butt cancer and die hilariously. So I’m laying the groundwork for butt ailments to be less hilarious.
I mean, maybe it is my bike seat. I did opt for the upgrade where you ride pantsless and a series of tubes provides heavy suction to the rider’s open asshole. So this IS helpful advice.
And a little googling brought up a couple alternative bike seats, such as this delightful gem:
Wouldn’t I be the envy of every old man in a track suit. Look at Mr. Fancy Ass. His ass is so fancy he gets a separate chair for each ass cheek.
Day 3:
It snowed like a mother, and the high this week is 7. That’s in American degrees.
So far I’ve saved an estimated 3 bucks. Hooray for me.