And after this evening’s attempt at riding a bicycle after well over 30 years, a Big Wheel is just about what I need right now. Except I couldn’t even ride it!
If you don’t know me, you don’t know that there is a lot of me to love. A lot. A LOT. I refer to myself as a “little dumpling” but I’m only little because I’m short. I’m doughy and I giggle and if I weren’t married I’d be best off if I swiped right on the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
In any case, I’ve been trying to lose weight; not by dieting, but by eating less. Yeah, I am playing mind games with myself. But so far, so good.
So I decided to add some activity to increase my metabolism and burn some calories (160 of those suckers in 1/2 cup of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate).
So we bought bikes. We didn’t spend a fortune–Chuck got a Mongoose and I got a purple one. Wal-Mart had to order it for me because their online presence said they were Available Only in Stores. And after they ordered it the website said Out of Stock so I might have gotten the last reasonably priced purple bicycle on this green earth. Except the two they had in stock but had been displayed outside and were all rusty. Those don’t count.
My wonderful Chuck put them together. He know how to do that stuff. Apparently it’s an art form, which you start to realize when you look at all those brake and gear cables–kind of like a spider and a puzzle procreated.
“They” always say that you never forget how to ride a bike. I think that’s true; you start off a little shaky but some muscle memory wakes up and remembers the last time the asphalt kicked your butt (or knees, elbows, face) and your body does everything it can to keep you on that bike and propelled forward.
And then comes the moment of truth: you have to pedal.
Unencumbered pedaling isn’t too hard, but when your beer belly is the size of a keg, not a growler, your knees have nowhere to go when your pedal reaches the top of the rotation. You know how your dog looks when it’s trying to scratch a spot it can’t quite reach and it back paw just kind of flails around scratching the air? That was my right foot. And then my left foot when I tried again. And then my right foot again, because sometimes I am a slow learner.
We tried raising my seat (on the theory that it would put my belly a few inches higher) and my butt appreciated it, but my legs couldn’t have cared less. They were totally oblivious to our efforts to accommodate their needs. So after I stood there and boo-hooed like a baby whose butt had recently been kicked by the asphalt, I decided to shelve the bike-riding thing for right now. My ever-patient Chuck, who has been looking forward to riding even more than I have, is going to have to ride without me or wait for a few more pounds. It’s going to be a goal until I can get a little bit less belly. I’m pretty sure sit-ups ain’t gonna happen; toe touches might be a good start. (I can’t see my toes when I stand up, but I know they are down there because I need a pedi right now.)
Because nobody should have to wear Spanx in order to ride a bicycle.
And Big Wheels have a similar knee-to-belly situation going on. So that’s not an option, either.