Bikes hate me

I know it's been a while. I've been busy wallowing in self pity and hatred of work and life. I do believe I have turned a corner and I am happy to say this was not a very long episode. Don't get me wrong I would still rather have all of my self diagnosed diseases, including the new Ebola diagnoses, at the same time than go to my office. Add a little gangrene in there and I think it would be perfect. The bills have to be paid so I have to work, but I am not going to let it get to me until the next time it gets to me. At least I'm not delusional about that. To be honest when I started training again is when I started to turn the corner. Exercise is an amazing depression killer, at least for me. It just takes a while to get out of bed sometimes. HA HA

Happy, happy, back to training! Happy, happy back to ridiculous shit happening to me!

I titled this blog post as "Bikes Hate Me" because I believe the devil has a pact with Huffy to kill me. A few months ago I was running around the bay, just clip, clapping
along like I normally do when I heard a grunt behind me. Next I know, there are handle bars between my waist, a bike pedal (literally) in my calf and something hit me in the ass. O.k. Wait- read this again and then imagine what it looks like. It felt like I was hit from behind by a Mac Truck! Only, not a truck... 7 year old girl with a new bike that can't use her brakes yet. The thing that hit my butt was her helmet protected head. Remember, I was running so I almost fell down because I got caught up in the spokes of her bike with one leg and my other leg had her pedal stuck in it. I swear to God I couldn't believe it.... I still can't believe it. So, her straight out of Lakeside Dad, complete with missing teeth and Rascal Flats T-shirt turned his bike around and looked at me and mumbled sorry. Her Mom caught up to us and started to comfort her daughter (the devil) and didn't say anything to me. I pulled her bike out of my leg and hastily decided to use the adrenaline rush to my favor and start running again. Good training for possible racing injuries, no chance of getting any diseases, the bike was brand new, no rust. Very mad running. Bleeding. I deserved a crown!

I ran for about ten minutes and I kid you not the parents had the nerve to ride past me with the little devil. If this were my child I would have stopped riding bikes, ran to the car and gotten the hell out of dodge. But NOOOOOOOOOOO, they had to ride past me all happy while my leg was bleeding all over the sidewalk. The little devil even had a No Fear license plate on the back of her bike! RUDE!

As I'm contemplating my next move the little girl almost takes out two other runners. Now I was really getting upset. So while the parents were talking to the child I happened to run past. I stopped looked at the family and said
" You should really have your child in a bicycle safety class. They offer classes at R.E.I., it is on Convoy."

The Mom got all crazy eyes on me and started yelling " She's only had her bike for five hours....."
Wait.... is that supposed to make me feel better about the bike accident? Looking back I feel bad for the girl. Her parents are retards and she'll likely never get back on a bike. My leg was pretty bloody and they past me twice after the accident. So being the bigger person. I gave the Mom a disapproving, I am so much better than you are look and started running.
- Heres the part of the story I'm not so proud of and most of you know me well enough to not believe this for a second, but please believe the following did happen. Prologue: My gift to myself for my thirtieth birthday was this " I will no longer let anyone walk all over me. I will not be afraid to tell people that!" (hence the work issues) My gift has really worked out for me, not so good for others. OK back to the story-

So I'm running angrier than ever and they pass me again! YES AGAIN! The Mom says something really snotty to me (I don't know what it was). So I waited until the kid got far enough away, ran up to the Mom and said " Why don't you go and F*** yourself!"
I started running so fast I could believe how fast I made it home.

A few weeks have past and I have a lovely scar on my leg the size of a snausage, yes the dog treat. Wen I see it I do the "Snausages!" jingle in my head. I can no longer run for Miss America because of me scarred up legs but, but I'm coming to terms with it.

I just proof read this and realized how long it is. Stay tuned for bikes hate me part two. It's way better than this as it was a self-inflicted injury. With my own bike- my precious.