I didn’t tell the entire story last week. I told the truth but not the “whole” truth. I wrote a story about going for an extended bike ride because I didn’t want to hang out in the store wearing a mask. That was the truth, but I had another motive. I had to see if I could ride 13.1 miles. If that distance is not familiar to you it is the distance of a half-marathon.
Ivy had enrolled in a half-marathon and asked me to ride along for companionship and provide pace. Before beervirus, runners could use other runners to provide companionship and pace. Beervirus social distancing prevents racers from racing other racers.
Those type of races are organized months and even years in advance. Race organizers decided to hold the race anyway by allowing each racer would run 13.1 miles at their leisure and by themselves. I know, that doesn’t sound like a race. Sounds like a run, a long boring run.
Luckily, the race organizers had an idea. Racers could race their “smart phones”. Its’ true! You can get this app thing and it tells you how far you have run, how fast you are running and how much farther you need to go. It even draws a map to show your course.
After running, racers send the info from their phone to race organizers. The race organizers tabulate the info and tell you where you placed.
I suggested to Ivy even pick a course that we can use the car. Ivy told me, “I’m not cheating!” I think that’s a trait she received from her Mother. Frankly, I never heard of such foolishness.
Now that I think about it, Ivy not cheating is a lesson she learned when she was really young while we were camping in Northern Colorado. Elaine’s sister was visiting from wherever she was living at the time, so we decided to take her camping.
On this camping trip, Ivy’s brother challenged Ivy to a footrace. Being four years older, those were the kind of challenges he liked. I convinced Ivy to accept. I had a plan. Alex and Ivy lined up on the starting line and I said “GO!” Alex took off like a rocket, before Ivy moved.
I hadn’t shared my plan with Ivy. My plan was to scoop her up from behind and beat her brother to the finish line. I probably should have told her of the plan. When I picked Ivy up from behind, I was running full speed. She freaked and squirmed. Her legs were tangled up in mine. We went down, hard. I pushed Ivy’s head into the gravel and skinned her face.
The race was over before it started. I tired to comfort Ivy, when both kids noticed my leg was bleeding. Did you know bones are white even when they are still alive and in a body? I had exposed my kneecap. Yep, there it was, still working, just there for everyone to see.
It was decided, and I agreed, I needed medical attention. The small town urgent care, cleaned my wound and told me, I needed a big town surgeon, but not before giving me some kind of injection in my rear. I asked why there and the nurse told me it needs to go into my biggest muscle. Do you supposed she knew me, and judged my personality with that big rear thing? Watching her dad getting a shot in the rear upset Ivy. I have never asked her if it was the shot that upset her, or if it was seeing my butt. I tried to comfort Ivy
By the time we arrived to the big town hospital, it was the wee hours of the morning. The orthopedic surgeon was so happy about waking up and coming to work, he left his bedside manner at home. He was so unpleasant, Elaine named him, Dr. Mengele. The guy never talked to me. He would only speak to his aide, who gave me Dr. Mengele’s instructions.
As a side note, a couple years ago, I read Dr. Mengele’s obituary. I didn’t attend his service.
The point of this addition to the story is that I have always helped Ivy win races (and always will), and Ivy doesn’t cheat.
Ivy ran her half-marathon yesterday, while I rode along. Man, was it hot!
Not to bring the story back to my rear end, but why can’t bikes have those big “banana” seats that we had when we were kids? I know you can get those shorts with like a Maxi-pad in the crotch. I have one, but I couldn’t find them. Again, would a “banana” seat be easier?
And what’s with this helmet stuff? They’re Styrofoam! It’s like wearing a McArches coffee cup on your head. We didn’t do that when we were kids.
I love riding bikes, always have. Here is my promise to you. I will never ride my bike with 30 of my friends wearing Maxi-pad shorts in the middle of the road.
Buy yarn! Stop by the store! Shop online! God Bless!
Our crazy lives!