Bicycle

Let’s Pretend We Never Talked About This

May 5, 2011
By

So, last night I rode my new bike 12 miles. I’d put an exclamation point on the end of that statement except in the first mile I tipped into a pedestrian while doing my whole “flail, push, ahhhhhhh yell ahh push clip into the pedals” routine and he had to shove me back upright while I yelled swear words and a rapid “thanks!” as I tried to keep going.

It wasn’t pretty.

But I didn’t die. Nor did I inflict a tiny yet deep stab wound in my shin  - nope, did that two days ago thanks and I went through about five bandages over the course of 12 hours before it stopped bleeding. I now understand why my Mom is constantly complaining about the combo of my Dad’s oozing wounds and her nice sheets. Dad doesn’t “do” bandages.

I’m not here to talk about my brushes with death though – we could be here all day. Instead I’m going to pose a super awkward question that we will not visit again. I’d ask someone in a cycling forum chat thingy but those women scare me. Mostly because I don’t think they refer to bike parts as “doohickeys” and “spinny things” nor do they yell “OUTTA MY WAAAAAYYYYYYYYY” when hurtling over crosswalks. (Listen tourists: pay attention.)

My question is about cycling shorts.

And what you wear under them.

You catch my drift, no?

I have been told that with the whole chamois thing going on and what not, you are not to wear another layer between you and the padding (which incidentally, would it kill them to add a little more??) but I find that…sketchy. To say the least. And yet I find products like these even worse and I don’t want to be adding to the issues that one encounters. Of course all these chamois creams have horrible names like “Button Hole” like HI WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GETTING OUT YOU SICK CREEPS. But since whole products are dedicated to this “issue” I’m wondering if I’m going to cause bigger problems by…leaving things on…come my long rides.

Please. Enlighten me. How does this work?

(Also, I have become aware that many women don’t wear anything when they work out no matter what. I’m still processing this.)

Also, don’t you think I need this?

Me too.

Beep Beep

May 3, 2011
By

Our car old Silver is in the shop. Again.

The old grey mare, she just ain’t what she used to be. (She is not however, falling apart. Thus far it has been minor little things, but alas, these things happen. All at once because we all know that is how life works.) Anyway. It is probably a good thing that this zebra like beauty came home to live with me because I might be needing it if the car stays in the shop much longer:

Trek Lexa Road Bike

I wish I had a video of me getting going on it because: a) it is a road bike with skinny tiny road bike tires which OHMYGOODNESS are so much more wobbly than fat mountain bike tires and; b) hi, clip in road pedals which are NOT the same beast as clip in mountain bike pedals. At least not to me, wobbling along on my skinny tires yelling WATCH OUT to the pedestrians ahead of me because B said road bikes cannot have a bell. This “no bell” development makes me very sad as I’m leaving my trusty bell on my old bike, the bell that I’d ring pretty much the entire way across the bridge by Navy Pier because it is yay-narrow and has no barrier between me and the speeding cars. Which is to say: DEATH TRAP. WITH TOURISTS TO DODGE.

Also, did you know road bikes don’t have a kickstand? Me either. Which is why I promptly dropped it the first time I hopped off, although “hopping” is relative – it was more like a shlump and shlep and rip my feet out of the clips and balance on my new cycling shoes and I’m clipping and clopping along while balancing precariously on the cleat that sticks out of the shoe….and. Yeah. You get the point.

The point being: I LOOK LIKE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST DOOFUS WHILST WEARING COMPRESSION FIT BIKE PANTS. WITH A PADDED ASS. AS IF MY ASS NEEDS ANY PADDING.

To recap: I’m wearing compression fit pants, with a padded ass (which apparently, in the right sunlight, shows the pattern of my polk dot undies- THANKS HON FOR POINTING THAT OUT 4 MILES FROM HOME- but yet, PADDED) and teeny tiny shoes with a stiff sole and a cleat sticking out of the toe area so if I choose to walk the bike, my walk looks like a duck on ice skates.

Then, I get on the bike and carefully clip in one foot, and then push off with my other foot, except HI HARD CARBON SOLE so I kind of scuff along, wildly balancing and weaving, trying to keep the momentum and flip the pedal around and get my other foot locked in so I can start going. Sometimes I yell, at the world in general, but more often at a small child standing directly in front of me and hi, look, I can’t steer, pedal, clip in and not fall over all at once. One of them has to go and typically: steering. I’M NOT THAT COORDINATED. But then, whew, it all comes together and I start pedaling, my feet firmly attached to the pedals and I can finally take a breath before realizing, man, I need a sip or eight of water. Or beer. Preferably beer. But, no, I must pedal! If you stop pedaling you might fall into the open window of a cab at a red light, and listen, IT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE. Once was enough to learn that lesson. So, pedal, pedal pedal!

However, by the time I actually start pedaling like a sane individual I’ve lost all imagery of being a professional. I look like a moron.

In compression pants.

 

 

All About…Daisy

August 14, 2010
By

Daisy, circa 1985

I know, right? I write a blog all about my life and now I’m going to write a post all about me.  I’m just that self-centered! Perhaps I’ve done this before but frankly, I’m too lazy to look into my archives so here we go again. New readers: enjoy! Old readers: I hope I’m not boring you. Mom: hush.

1. I’ve lived in: Washington, Idaho, Arizona (twice), Virginia, Alabama, Utah, Dallas, New Orleans and Chicago. I also spent eight years overseas, living in England and Germany. My Mom and & Dad both grew up in California but my Dad’s family was from the South (Georgia) which is where we spent a lot of my summers as a kid. Now my Dad’s family is spread out all over the South while my Mom’s family is in California.

2. While I consider myself to be from the South, I live in Chicago and I’m married to a man who was born and raised in Detroit which is where my desire to make pot roast in December comes from. They don’t really make pot roast in the South, but my husband definitely endures a lot of grits for breakfast. He’d never had grits until we got married. Blasphemy. My point being: we love both cheese curds & cheese straws.

3. I have one birth mark, it is on the bottom of my right foot.

4. I have blonde curly hair but tragically didn’t really realize it was curly until I was about 16. That explains why my photos from age 10 to 16 are so……awkward. And poofy. I want to reach in with a straight iron and fix all those yearbook shots.

5. In high school I was on the cheerleading squad and the debate team. (I think this is where my Gemini personality comes in.) I was a better debator than cheerleader, which is why I’m now a lawyer and not in Dallas dancing for the Cowboys. Nothing shouts “cool kid” like showing up 5 minutes late to a football game and tying your ribbons in your hair as you run on the field because your debate tournament ran late. Nothing.

6.  I moved to Chicago from New Orleans 2 months before Hurricane Katrina hit. That storm is one of the defining moments of my life and I still cry when I see images from it.

7. I started blogging in law school when I needed an outlet from the absurdity of the gunners, the library, the final exams from hell and people with Supreme Court Justice aspirations (hint: it isn’t going to happen, idiot). After I became a grown-up lawyer I moved to this space, where I like to think I’m slightly more mature. In reality, I think I just swear a little bit less.

8. I cook, a lot. My baking skills are mediocre (I’m not big on measuring) but I’m slowly working on that as well. My husband’s most requested meal is pork tenderloin, goat cheese mashed potatoes and veggies. My favorite meal to make is risotto & I think that I have finally perfected the art of a roasted chicken and a homemade cheesecake. Typically not for the same meal.

9. I live in the city of Chicago but I work in a suburb 29.6 miles from my house. This means I spend about 3 hours a day in the car commuting, even though I leave my house at 6 in the morning and I leave the office at 3 in the afternoon to try and avoid peak traffic times. In other news: when I’m wealthy, my first splurge is going to be on a driver.

10. I have an obsession with dishes and china that you can read about here. I make no apologies, but if I invite you over for dinner, please feel free to request a certain pattern. I’m happy to oblige.

11. One day B and I will have kids, but right now we are enjoying our newlywed life. We got married a year ago in October in Savannah, Georgia. (10-10-2009) It was everything we wanted and more, especially the food. We served heavy appetizers and had food stations instead of a plated dinner and it was easily the best decision of our wedding. Bonus? I didn’t have to create a seating chart. Win-win! 

12. We have a beagle, Rhett Butler, who makes coming home from work even more fun. His hijinks are featured regularly here. We also have a nephew, Baby Z, whom we love dearly but don’t get to see nearly enough.

13. I have one brother and B has no siblings which means our future kids will not grow up like I did, with 12 aunts and uncles and cousins galore. This makes me a little sad, but I have no doubt I’ll assuage that guilt with extra trips to Disney World.

14. I’m a klutz, I often speak before I think, I chatter aimlessly when I am nervous and I have a constant case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. If you can get past these things, we will probably be good friends.

15. I am training for a 109 mile bike race that I’m riding in November of 2011. I am reminded daily of what a silly decision this was, normally when I’m putting on my compression fit biking shorts with the padded ass.

16. I monogram everything. It is how I do things.

A Mish & Mash

July 8, 2010
By

1. B & I are going to Europe late this summer and as such we realized B should probably get a passport and I should probably get a new one so that my airline ticket and my passport names match. They prefer it that way, you know. Anyway we’ve been a little slow in the process- the applications sat on our dining room table for a week, then B had to bring home more applications because I kept making stupid mistakes (poor directions US Department of Homeland Security, poor directions) and then they sat some more and this last weekend we moseyed down to Walgreens to have our photos taken. My hair looks dumb and I smiled a “small smile” and it made my cheeks look disproportionately huge. That said, no passport photo is worse than this one: passport(I was a precious 2 year old, no?)

But then, bad photos aside, we discovered that passport fees go up next week, and not by some measly $10 but rather, my passport will be $110 instead of $75 and that isn’t including the extra cost to have it overnight shipped back to me, a no-brainer ever since the Incident in 2007 that resulted in a passport, my birth certificate and my social security card floating around the country in a battered envelope no thanks to the US Postal Service. Anyway. Well played, US Government, well played. We’ll be sending those applications in tomorrow thankyouverymuch.

2. Rhett Butler is as freaked out as ever by the storms. Last night, as a particularly rumble-y storm came through I made him a tinfoil cape out of desperation. (Shut up. I read that it can help.) But it didn’t really work so he opted to retire to the bathtub where he could monitor the storm from a safe place.

rb bath

That worked until a particularly loud thunderclap shook the ventilation system so he skedaddled to the safest place in the house, which is underneath the master bed. All that remained for a good hour was the tiny white tip of a shaking beagle tail. Poor guy!

3. My indoor herb garden that did so well for so long went down in a fiery ball of tiny white bugs that ate everything save my parsley. It is now a sparse little herb garden and I now realize why gardening isn’t for me. Namely: really? Every day you want some water? And take care of your bug problem? I think not.

4. Is anyone else in Chicago the least bit concerned that parts of Lake Shore Drive keep buckling? No? Just me? Right. Carry on then.

5. I’m a total sunscreen fanatic and last weekend I had B put sunscreen all over my back before we went on a long ride through the city. I was wearing a racerback cycling top and B has apparently never learned the golden rule of sunscreen application, namely, don’t stop at the edge of the strap/sleeve/collar. While we rode my top shifted over and I now have this incredibly vibrant, swollen, painful “C” across my right shoulder-blade. Hot. Stuff. It has been 5 days and it is still the color of a stop sign so I’m thinking that it is here to stay. So long strapless dresses, so long. (Then maybe we went to the dog beach the next day and I just plain forgot to put sunscreen on so now I the always classy shoulder strap burn and frankly, I’m just a hot mess.)

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Subscribe
BlogHer Reviewer
BlogWithIntegrity.com