We could talk all day about my curves.  No one wants to do that trust me.  Buzz, your girlfriend…woof.

After injuring myself and myself esteem a few times one would think I would learn.  Sadly this is not the case.

A successful bag class completed at the gym and the tires were rolled out.  Notice the plural s on tires; don’t let that single fella fool you.


A handful of us stood around.  A few completed the jump.  I simply started sweating as a contemplated the idea.  I told myself absolutely not.  No matter what the outcome I would end up looking like a donkey and probably end up injured.

Let me be honest.  I am not scared to be hurt.  I am afraid to not be able to get my sweat on.  My eating habits are out of control and curves will be the understatement of the century if I am unable to workout.

The tires and I went a few rounds.  Of course I attempted just with minimal effort.  I would jump up and barely close enough to touch them with my feet.  I figured everyone including myself would be satisfied with my attempt and we could move on.  Yea right.  Where was the effort?

Enter my irrational decision making skills and inability to say no, yet again. More commonly referred to as my life.

The owner of the gym offered to stand behind me.  The logic being I would fall on him and not the cement floor.  I told him for his safety it wasn’t in his best interest; he insisted for insurance purposes that it was.  I made a few more legitimate attempts, but still no luck.

One of the successful jumpers suggested I use my arms.  As people started to walk away, I did just that.  Result jumping so far that my shoes went inside the tires and I flew backwards.

Hello broken tail-feather.

I could possibly be over exaggerating the severity of the injury, but on the drive home I was sincerely concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get out of my car.

The only thing we are sure of that day I was injured at Curves.  Please allow me to quote the gym owner, “Wow, really sorry to hear you were hurt at Curves.  I hear it’s intense over there.”

What followed?

Laughter…naturally.  Subconsciously, I channeled my dad’s creative cursing.


Who says no?

I try not to partake in reckless endangerment at my own freewill.  Be that as it may, persuading me is one of the simplest tasks out there. I am unsure of where this easily convinced gene stemmed from. I choose to blame it on my older brother and his friends.  Take years of them telling you what to do without an option of saying no and you’ll understand.

Granted I try not to be completely irrational.  I often momentary contemplate the consequences.  Yet the intrinsic pressure to participate typically outweighs the logical option of spectator.  After all sitting on the bleachers probably causes hemorrhoids; so that isn’t a safe bet either.

My asinine decision making skills have injured just that.  Not once, but twice.

Enter the road bike incident of summer 2012.

If you aren’t aware bicycles can have different pedals.  Particular pedals require certain shoes.

I have the pedals and the shoes – I lack the required skill.  This was discovered the hard way, after countless failed attempts and a significant amount of creative cursing from my dad.  F-bomb was flying.  I will not fail to mention the countless bruises in places I didn’t even know existed.

Who know a road bike that weights 12 pounds could dominate me from one side of the road to the other?  Rough day, trust me on this one.  Or as someone put it, un-f’n-believable. Tears and laughter – both happened.

Solution to the road bike dilemma: Summer 2012 – ride the mountain bike with sneakers instead.  My dad determined this option is insufficient and that I will be attempting the road bike again this year.  Enter again – life without an option of saying no.

I’ll let you process this stupidity and soon fill you in on the other asinine injury of mine.  I know the suspense is killing you.

Some thoughts in the mean time:

Warm weather is approaching.
A trip home to visit my parents is in the near future.
My rational reasoning strategies have yet to turn up.  I am sure they are out there with my ability to successful clip-in and out of bike.  I doubt they will be found anytime soon.
Saying, “No.” is yet to be considered acceptable in my childhood home.

Wish me luck.

Out there.