When Good Intentions Create Major Pain

May 13, 2011 by winjaw

Ever get in the mood to improve your life? You know, like getting in shape or something along those lines?

Yeah. Don’t.

Unless you realize you are going to create major pain in places you didn’t know pain could exist. And it doesn’t go away, regardless of how many pharmaceuticals you take.

Why do we do this? A health scare, getting ready for the summer bikini, the old whatever happened to my washboard abs, walking up the stairs gives you pause? For me, it was pretty simple. I was getting real tired of a bunch of pre-teen boys jogging past me up some hill on some backpacking trip. I’m not ready for the term “gramps” or a cute “is that a hiking staff or a walking cane?” comments.

I was at a point I was ready to call for a “rest” … once I had my backpack on.

So I considered various options and dismissed just about all of them. For example, to me, running is a perfectly normal activity … when your house is on fire.

Time to dust off the mountain bike.  

t’s funny how things change. I remember when everyone had a bike, and it had one gear. Then you got a little uppity and got the cruise version, with five gears. And the Mormon Tabernacle Choir would break out on Christmas morning when Utopia arrived – the 10-speed. Times change.

Yeah. Mine has 24 gears – three “major” sprockets/gears/whatever up front and eight “minor” sprockets /gears/whatever in back. Lets just say years ago I was pretty hardcore into mountain biking.

And I did a lot of it around the nation’s capital – D.C. itself. That seems rather odd, as I lived right in the city, but there actually tons of trails within riding distance. The problem was you had to get through the gazillion tourists on The Mall checking out the capitol, Lincoln’s Monument, Washington’s Monument, the museums, etc., etc., etc.

Did you ever visit D.C. with your family and nearly get run over by some crazy guy on a bike whizzing past you about 50 miles an hour? I mean it scared you so much you started using words in front of your little children your spouse hadn’t even heard you say?

Yeah, that was me. Sorry.

So let’s jump up in time to a couple of days ago. I at least did the prudent thing and took the bike in to get the “precision tune-up.” I never really understood the difference between that and the “basic tune-up,” other than it cost $20 more. But it sure sounded cool.

I also got one of those fancy new “Made Especially For Mountain Biking” helmets, which again, I never really understood other than it cost more than your standard “Bike Helmet.”  And I don’t care what colors, styles or extra-special aerodynamic functionality your helmet has, when you put it on, it still says “DORK.”

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Like I said, stuff comes back to you. So I figured out which was the front and which was the back brake. So I’ve got that going for me.

So I get on the bike and the first thing I wonder is why in the world and how did I ever sit on such a tiny freaking seat. It’s more like a pin cushion. But I’m determined to get this whole “get in shape” thingy going. But again, memories started to flood again, and I knew my butt was going to be about as sore as a woodshed visit in a few minutes – and more so the next day.

And off I go and am immediately completed flustered in trying to figure out the gears. The gear shift for the major gears is on one handlebar, the gear shift for the minor gears is on the other; and I’m just a complete idiot trying to figure out which is which. See, the whole point of all these gears is to be able to adjust per the terrain. High gears (I think) which are harder, are for going downhill; low gears (I think) are easier, thus for uphill. Or it’s the other way around.

The problem is figuring out the major gears, because every time you shift you’re actually shifting eight gears. Make sense? I don’t get it either. Because sure as the world you’ll shift a major gear – on a big uphill – and you’ll shift the wrong way, meaning instead of going down eight gears and making life a whole lot easier, you’ve actually shifted up eight gears and basically, you are hosed and will be walking your bike up the hill. And all the motorists driving by will think you are a wimp.

So I’m looking down at the gears trying to figure this whole thing out and just happen to glance up and realize I’m about a nanosecond from smashing into a parked car. This is what we call a panic situation, and as everyone knows, you forget things in said panic situation. Like which brake is the front wheel brake.

Fortunately, I hit both and skidded to a stop like in those movies where the huge semi’s bumper just touches the hero’s nose. And I kind of, sort of, fall over a bit. And there’s this little girl in her yard who has stopped playing with her dolls to watch this whole scenario.

And I get “that look.” The kind that says “DORK” (because of that helmet) and a “I got my training wheels off yesterday and I can take my little pink bike with the wheels the size of your foot and the little white basket on the front and the streamers on the handlebars and the really, really obnoxious horn and the princess flag on the back and just flat-out leave you in the dust any day. Bring it on.”

I’m about to tell her there’s no Santa Claus and I hate puppies, but I might need her to call the ambulance, or the Little Black Dress, to come get me. So I don’t. I mean I don’t tell her there’s no Santa Claus and I don’t have her call The Dress.

I continue the ride and my butt is getting so sore I can’t feel my left foot. I have no idea what the medical correlation is, but it’s happening. I also realize you have no concept of “hill” when you are in a car. What looks like a slight incline becomes the Matterhorn, depending on your mode of transportation, in this case, a bike with gears I’m still trying to figure out.

I finally make it up one of those “hills” and stop. Because I’m ready to die. I can actually see my heart pounding against my chest, trying to get out, just like in those cartoons with the ugly dog who sees the really cute doggette.

And as I try to see if I can get enough air into my lungs before I suffocate, it dawns on me. I can do this tomorrow, or get a motorcycle.

For the record, they are both bikes.