I didn’t go to the doctor because the paramedics said I seemed fine. But they offered me a ride in the ambulance to the hospital, if I felt I needed it. And then I flashbacked to the last time I rode in an ambulance. Wait, no, not true, it was in a helicopter. And I still don’t remember that. Crikey, why couldn’t I have remembered that I didn’t remember that when I needed to? An ambulance in comparison to a helicopter is chump change. Katie, you idiot! I only saw the dollar signs floating above my head, reasoned it’d put me deeper into the red, and said, “Oh, no, Ossifer, I feel fine, I’ll just ride my bike home.”
What was I thinking?
Well, it’s been a week and a half since I ran into that moving car that was illegally passing me in an intersection as I was turning left, and I will say one benefit from this trauma is that I can’t lift heavy weights in the gym — I mean, I physically can’t even lift the weights to put on the leg press, for example — and so my legs are fresh, and that makes riding a bike fun and it’s giving me a false sense of confidence and I’m freaking out wondering how long this spring in my pedal stroke is going to last.
But a drawback to the aformentioned incident with the crazy lady behind the wheel of a rolling weapon is that my tailbone and lower back are in discomfort, but not like last week.
So I’m sure you are thinking, Katie, if it’s that bad, just go to a doctor, and my response to you is, Would you get off my back. I have another point that I would like to illustrate, and that is how gosh darned good I have become at wallowing in my misery on group rides, better than most whiners. I get just enough sympathy without ever sensing that I have become annoying, which is a terrible feeling, and I think that this technique is worth sharing.
I first ask my next victim if I have mentioned my aforementioned brush with death and the pain that came with it. If the answer is in the negative, I proceed with explaining my saga, and then there is much commiserating and empathy and I start to feel better.
This all goes back to our primal need to be accepted and embraced by a community. There are healing properties in sharing our pain with others. We are a village; we need each other.
If the answer is in the affirmative, then I shut up.
So it’s just good to put those feelers out there. Because the last thing you want to be is obnoxious.
I am feeling better, though. And thanks to everyone who knows my family and hasn’t told my mom and dad. That’d be bad. So glad they don’t read my blog!
Let’s talk about dating now. I think it’s silly. So my confession is that for the holiday season, I signed up for an on-line dating site, and I’m not going to tell you which one, but it has to do with fitness and singles, but I signed up for it so I could feel pro-active during the holidays, which has traditionally been a dark period for me starting in 1996, when I learned there really isn’t a Santa Claus.
That was one of the worst days of my life.
Well, here’s the problem. Men were responding to my ad. Yes, I know! Nuts. And I was thinking, Oh, no, this isn’t going to work. What are you doing that for.
I wanted to write to all these otherwise decent human beings, I’m sure of it, and ask them if they were out of their minds. Like, Helloooooo. Did you not see that I ride my bike 100+ hours a week? Do you not see that I have no outside interests, other than pushing little circles around with my pedals?
Did you not read in my profile that I am not a family-oriented person? That I abhore romance of any kind, that the thought of motherhood makes me want to throw up?
No, I have absolutely no interest in all that this life has to offer. That’s the cliche I despise the most, by the way. “Oh, I want to explore this bountiful world and all it has to offer.” Gag.
Most of the time, I didn’t even respond. And I was finally met with blatant hostility by one fellow who calls himself BaseballBobby23, who really likes baseball. Oh, gee, we have so much in common.
I did look at his profile. His profile photograph was of a man’s bare torso, complete with six-pack abs and well defined pectoral muscles. His bio said, “I’m a helluva guy, interested in diving into this sea of love and absorbing all it has to offer. Give me a chance. You won’t be disappointed! Signed, your Love Sponge.”
Well, he expressed to me in an e-mail that I was rude and classless for not responding to his first e-mail, and I deserve all the loneliness I get, and he even called me the b-word.
We’re meeting for drinks next week.