Whoever knew weight loss could be so life-threatening?
By:Minx McCloud
Of course, I knew the summer was going to get hot again. I knew it as soon as bought a nice shiny new bicycle last month to help me with my exercise program.
What kind of bike is it? I have no idea. Let’s just say it’s a shiny blue bike and leave it at that. Contrary to the bike salesman’s instructions, I haven’t even read the manual yet.
I glanced at it, but all the paragraphs start with the word "Caution!" and end with "can result in serious injury or death." I told my husband, Jim, that if I read the instructions, I’ll be afraid to ride the bicycle.
My new bicycle is a cross between a mountain bike and a street bike. The tires are thick enough so that I feel confident that I won’t fall (well, almost confident), and the handlebars go straight across, instead of down like on those classy racing bikes.
The thought of leaning way over on a bike gives me vertigo and with this bike, I’m sitting almost upright rather than crouching over the handlebars.
You’d think my huge butt would be naturally padded, but I always ached after riding my exercise bike, so this time I purchased a special gel seat so I can ride in comfort. My ample posterior still flows over and around the seat, but I’m hoping to reduce its bulk in time.
Originally, I had planned to buy a foam-cushioned seat, but the guy convinced me that the gel seat (at three times the cost) would be better. He looked pointedly at my rear end and said, "Once you sit on the cushioned seat, it sort of, um, gets crushed. The gel seat, er, retains its shape." He blushed.
He needn’t have been embarrassed. I am well aware that my actual weight far exceeds my recommended weight on insurance company charts. My weight would be perfect if I were about as tall as Michael Jordan, but I’m not, so it isn’t.
In his continuing effort to treat me like a serious bicycle rider, the salesman also reminded me that while my bike can be used on streets, tow paths and short grass, it cannot be used for mountain biking.
Shucks, guess I’ll put that bike tour through the Pyrenees on hold until I can get me a real bike. And we had planned it for September. Bummer!
Seriously, can you picture me mountain biking? I get winded if I have to run down to the laundry room because I forgot to put the fabric softener in the dryer. Last time I played pingpong with Jim, I had to take a nitroglycerine pill.
For those of you who might actually worry about my safety, I wisely purchased a helmet, but decided that knee and elbow pads will make me look as if I’m way too devoted to the whole endeavor, which usually involves wobbling slowly out of the driving, reaching a cruising speed of about 10 mph, and then calling it quits after about a mile.
On nice, cool mornings, I can do four miles, but a neighbor has to come in her van and take the bike and me back home. I guess I’ll have to get an odometer on the bike too, so I know when I’ve gone three miles and I can make it back on my own.
She’s been patient, but the last time, she showed up with curlers in her hair and cream on her face, so I got the feeling that 6:30 a.m. on a Tuesday was not a good time for her.
So far, I’ve tried to limit my biking to streets that have no vehicular volume whatsoever, quite a feat in New Jersey. When I do hear a car coming up behind me, I keep trying to look in my rearview mirror, and of course, there isn’t one.
When I was a kid, I had a rearview mirror, but I also had streamers on the handlebars and a baseball card in the spokes, and that seems kind of rinky-dink nowadays.
I am, however, rethinking the elbow-kneepads thing. I don’t really trust bicycles completely ever since my editor, an experienced rider, was klutzy enough to fall in the parking lot at the newspaper office, causing a fair amount of injury.
He thinks nothing of riding on busy roads like Route 206, and if he can bung himself up in a deserted parking lot, the possibilities of injury I can suffer are limitless.
Just the other day, they repaved half our road and when I hit the ridge they had left, I almost fell. Now I grip the handlebars so tightly, I’m getting muscle spasms at night.
My husband also wants me to put a light on the bike, because I might want to ride it at night. Is he kidding? When it’s dark out, I either watch TV or sleep. There are no other alternatives in Minxland.
I suppose a headlight would be good in case I’m actually still riding this thing in the fall when it gets dark earlier. However, I’m reasonably sure that by then, the bike will be just another oversized coat rack sitting in my family room (much like the treadmill in the exercise room, with my husband’s sweats and T-shirts draped over it).
My friend pointed out that I should drink water while I’m riding, so I have to buy a water bottle and holder. Yeah, sure, I’ll drink water while I’m riding. I can’t even pry my fingers off the handlebars to do hand signals.
I could stop the bike and take a drink of water, but that means braking and dismounting, and I’m not very good at that yet. In fact, my dismount could be featured on "America’s Funniest Home Videos."
The days when I used to ride no-handed down the road while unwrapping a Tootsie Roll are gone for good, I guess. Of course, those Tootsie Rolls started this weight problem in the first place.
OK, so I need kneepads, elbow pads, a water bottle, an odometer, a rearview mirror and a headlight.
Oh, what the heck, bring on the streamers and baseball cards. Oh, and do they still make those raccoon-tail thingies? That ought to make it really easy to recognize me.
So, if you’re driving along and you see a fat chick riding a bicycle erratically, it’s probably me. Please do not startle me by beeping your horn, because I will surely die of fright and end up on a slab in the local morgue.
Oh, and have pity.
Minx McCloud is a free-lance journalist who writes about life in New Jersey. She can be reached at [email protected].