About to embark on my Cambridge adventure so naturally I need a bike. I have a cute old 1960s original bicycle who goes by the name of Daphne. Is she a secret boy disguised as a woman? (10 points to your Hogwarts house if you know my fav film I am referencing and naming things after). Who knows….her bow tie hides a lot. Anyway shes an old dear so today we fixed her up a bit (and by we, I mean my step-dad because I just stood and pointed at things I wanted him to do).
ANYWAY I forgot why I stopped riding my bike. Mainly it was because I live on the crest of multiple hills so any bike ride turns into an unnecessary amount of excercise that I just didn’t sign up for. The second reason was because I injur myself too damn much. Anyone who knows me knows I always have some war-wound, never from a war…always from something ridiculous. Example? When I was in secondary school I got sent home because I hiccupped, trapped a nerve in my back and almost passed out because I couldn’t breathe very well… because I hiccupped. My diaphragm spasmed and my entire body broke down. Curses upon my useless skeletal form. Almost every day I’d have a bandage on my wrist or ankle or finger from some stupid accident. Most recently I got tendonitis from changing gear in the car. I was not born to survive.
ANYWAY BIKES yes bikes this post is born of the bike. So in readjusting the height of the saddle I obviously had to sit on it. As soon as I stepped off I DROPPED THE BIKE ON MY PREVIOUSLY BROKEN FOOT. I HAD ONLY HAD THE BIKE IN MY HANDS FOR A MINUTE AND I SEVERELY WOUNDED MYSELF. This was the foot I had already broken (actually, in saying that I have broken both of my feet in the exact same place so I was screwed either way really). How the hell am I supposed to adult let alone with the torture weapon of a bicycle to look after too. AND I HAVE TO CYCLE ON ROADS, WITH CARS AND OTHER PEOPLE AND DANGERS holy crap.
This might be the end of me as a functioning human being. But it sucks, why are some people clumsier than others? Why do some have to endure this extra torture while others side-step all misery and pain. Most people think if youre clumsy you can’t do anything right and have no hand-eye coordination etc….but um no. I was captain of sports teams in my day and good at it too…..I just obtained a large quantity of boo-boos. (I hate myself for using the term “boo-boos” but it’s too late, I must just admit this evil and move on). ‘Maybe its my eyesight’ I ask myself? How can it be when my glasses are on my face 24/7? ‘Maybe its my long limbs’ I ask myself? No because I am 5″3, a monkey is taller than I am. ‘MAYBE IT’S IN MY GENES?’.. I capitalised that one because who freakin knows the answer, I’m an archaeologist I dunno about fancy stuff like that, gimme a skeleton instead pls.
This is only a short post with very little point because I have to go and nurse my foot. It wouldn’t hurt so much, only I broke it on the final day of my holiday in New York last summer because I pulled my jacket off the heavy ass chair, ready to leave the room to go to the airport and the chair SLAMMED ME and broke my foot…. safe to say that 7 hour flight was pretty hellish but hey, I got carted around JFK airport in a wheelchair and beat all the queues so who is really winning here? (yeah, still the chair…. and the bike actually).
The moral of the story is:
its alright to be a clutz, you are not alone