Grrrr

This probably isn't going to be a very interesting post for anyone but me, but then again I don't have readers so what do I care?!

Picked up the bike in the afternoon yesterday. First red flag: they hooked up the wires wrong so the motor was going- but it wasn't actually working. The tech could have rolled his eyes and seemed more responsive to my request that it be fixed. At first he said something about not having space until May 30. Yeah, no. It took me being polite but persistent (read not leaving as they closed for the day) for them to open it up and fix the connection right then, not May 30th. Semi-satisfied, I head off into traffic without my helmet- which I thought was in the storage box on the bike, but wasn't, so I don't want to accuse them of theft, but, where the fuck is my helmet? I decide to let go of the helmet issue, after all, I could be mistaken and I don't want to charge in their sputtering accusations when so much has already gone wrong.

I start pedaling my way through traffic and right away even with the motor charged up I feel a lot of resistance. But I ignore it. I put it down to my first ride and nervousness (the whole time I keep thinking about the person who will, at any moment, snidely take me to task for not wearing a helmet not to mention all the shitty looks I will get). I ignore the resistance and keep going.

But then I get on the goose. And I just know something is wrong. Even still I don't listen to that little voice. I tell it to shut up. But my back tire is flat. It has to be. It's dragging and bumping and I can hear the rubber smacking against the pavement. I may not be Lance Fucking Armstrong, but I'm pretty sure my back tire isn't supposed to make slapping noises. But I tell myself to shut up. Because I just picked up my bike from the shop and paid $100.00 to get it repaired and tires changed. The little voice whispers FUCK. I keep riding. Maybe I'm wrong, what do I know about electric bikes? Maybe this is normal, I hope. A lady calls out to me. Inwardly I cringe. I just know she's gonna say that I should be wearing a helmet. Instead she calls out, "I think you have a flat. In the back."

I make that helpless 'I know, whatt'ya gonna do face'. Cause really, I'm half way home, I have a flat and the bike shop is closed. So what can I do? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

These situations really get the best of me because I find the bike shop intimidating to begin with. They all look very athletic. Like the kind of people who think nothing of pulling a century over the weekend for shits and giggles. (A century, for those not in the know is a one hundred mile ride). And the bike weighs a ton so getting it there is epic. Plus, I paid for a service and they screwed up the connection and gave me 'tude about it. And they didn't change the tire or the tube in the tire correctly. So now I have to go back. I have to lug that heavy bike into the trunk of our car, drag it in and I just fucking know they're going to be dicks about a quick service and a refund. I don't think I should pay for any labour for this fix, and I should definitely be refunded for the last one. Plus, the timing is all fucked because their hours don't fit with mine so that means the weekend, which means who knows when I will actually get to ride my new (fucking) bike.

So why does it make me so mad (aside from shitty customer service and wasted time)? Because, this is screwing with my plans. I had hoped to use the bike as a catalyst for change- forward momentum, man. And the truth is, I have some kind of screwed up way of being that says if I don't exercise every day I am a bad person. If I don't eat right every day, I am a bad person, too.

You combine those two commandments (thou shalt exercise and thou shalt eat right) and I am bound to screw one or both of them up on a daily basis.

But I figured, I have to get back and forth to work, so, building a bike ride into my routine was my crafty attempt to take a little bit of the pressure off myself- and avoid daily jaunts on the smelly loser cruiser. (Plus I desperately want to be one of those sporty people who think nothing of hopping on their bikes for a half century on a weekend for shits and giggles). Commuting by bike would mean I'd accomplished half of my daily "to-do list" 5 days a week. (Imagine the sweet relief of getting at living up to one commandment at least!)

Now though, my plans have all gone to shit. I had to sit through two weeks while the bike got serviced and that caused me to be anxious (unfinished business). Then you add in the fact that I had to shell out $450.00 for the bike and $100.00 for repairs and I feel guilty for spending so much money on myself. Then you factor in my mounting terror about riding in traffic (compounded by the fact that I have to wait to face my fear), and, my embarrassment that I need an electric bike versus a regular bike and I really just feel like... like I am on hold. And the feeling of being on hold is just anxiety- it's like being in a waiting room, waiting to start to feel more in control, to stop feeling like a failure.

Why do I feel like a failure? The usual stuff. I'm 100 lbs overweight, I gained back 20 of the 70 lbs I lost last year. I hate my job and am in a "junior" position, I left a higher paying position due to someone sexually harassing me in an already toxic environment (and I can always just imagine every one's nasty comments behind my back "she couldn't cut it", "she brought it on herself by being too friendly", "she's weak and broke down under the pressure"). What else? I don't have a degree. I don't have sex enough with my husband (anti-depressants take away my sex drive), I'm not a good gardener, I have bad knees, I have cellulite on my calves (who the fuck has ripples of cellulite on their calves beside me?) I don't floss often enough and have gingivitis. I have corns and wide feet. Lately, I can't wear heels because they hurt too much. Oh, and I seem to have permanent camel toe nowadays. (The C-Toe, combined with my "comfortable flats" makes me look about 20 years older than I am, with a big vag, to boot.)

No wonder I feel like a failure. Actually, the wonder is that I actually get out of bed every day and continue to make an effort. But then I seize upon a plan- a plan in the making for a year- to ride to work every day. It took me a full year to devise a means by which I could reasonably attempt to ride to work every day on a bike. It took a whole year- more than a year- to gently cajole myself into braving traffic and other, potentially judgemental bikers, it took me spending money on myself, it took me planning safe routes, contingency plans, coordinating apres bike ride grooming plans and supplies, psyching myself up and god knows what else. It took a year to get here and now the whole fucking plan is delayed (and sullied) because the bike shop made me wait 2 weeks to get it serviced and fucked up the servicing and now I will have to wait who knows how long to get it right. (Plus I have my suspicions that bike people will be like restaurant servers and get back at me for asking for my bike to be fixed and not be charged the equivalent of spitting in my supper- they seem like a petty and vindictive bunch).

And, it's bike to work week next week, and I signed up for a team. It's a small thing, but being able to drop my participation in bike to work week into casual conversation would have meant a lot to me. And I would have felt like I was part of something- but nooooo that's all over now. That is just dashed. Ruined.

Maybe some people can take these things in stride and shrug their shoulders and say, oh well, it's gonna be fixed eventually. But I'm not one of those people. Besides for me, this is like waiting for a year, not two weeks. This was a series of baby steps on the way to a larger goal and now external obstacles are in my fucking way. And I feel like external obstacles are also in the way of my career. They're beyond my control. I can't change them. I have to be zen. Okay, well I've adopted a zen attitude on my job, but now the universe wants me to be zen about the bike, too?

Come on. Give me a fucking break. Actually, no, give me a fucking bone. Just something. One little thing I could do to feel a little bit more in control, a little less like a fuck, a little more like I won't be 100+ lbs overweight with a gaping camel toe for the rest of my life. One little fucking win is all I need right now.

But instead, I'm consigned to the waiting room.