Spousal Abuse

When Biggy informed me he'd signed me up for a women's mountain biking clinic this past Saturday at Blankets Creek, he failed to mention that it was an ADVANCED class. So I showed up on my cheapo North Face bike, wearing my Keen sandals and dorky mullet helmet, only to find myself surrounded by adventure racers riding Cannondale Lefties (um, like Biggy's bike), who were clad head to toe in Pearl Izumi. I felt like like Jane Hathaway in the secretarial pool.

So already at a self-esteem disadvantage, I had to tackle difficult obstacles, steep climbs, and treacherous descents in front of these gals. Oh, and while they were sucking water from their 80-dollar Camelbacks, I was stopping to unscrew the cap from my small bottle of Asanti crammed into the drink cage of my bike. This, for four hours in 100 degree weather.

The first thing we had to do was ride over a log about a foot in diameter. We were instructed to approach it slowly, crouch over the handlebars and then PICK UP on the front wheel. I tried it twice, and both times it was like hitting a brick wall. There were only three ladies of the twenty or so who actually accomplished this feat, despite the 500 years of experience among them.

Later, we attempted to climb a root-laden hill I couldn't have managed on foot. This little exercise was met with success by only about four of the riders and resulted in my almost breaking my ankle and splitting my heel open. I'm happy to report, however, that I did descend, without injury, the hill, which was actually like falling into a pit.

Alas, I didn't fare as well in the s-curve rock garden, even though it was one I've navigated before with no problem at all. There's just something about being watched...

By Saturday evening, I felt like I'd been in a car wreck. And not until then did I notice the drawer where Biggy keeps our life insurance policies was slighly ajar.

It looks smaller than it is:

rock garden:

These are just the bangs and bruises I can show you:


left inner thigh

right inner thigh



biggy said...

Allow me to add:
1.)Your bike is not "cheapo". It's a well designed entry-level bike, adequate at the time of purchase for someone interested in trying a new sport but not wanting to drop alot of dough for something she may not end up using often (ahem, like a certain sewing machine sitting in our basement). Ace a couple more clinics and I'll get you that pink and black Specialized Epic I haven't told you about.
2.)Being the fashionista you are, I believe I recall you picking out that "dorky mullet" helmet because the color matched your bike.
3.)I have a Cannondale Prophet. A Cannondale Lefty is a proprietary fork Cannondale invented, of which I happen to have installed on my particular most excellent frame. The name is derived from the fact that there is only one stanchion, located on the "left".
4.)To your uninformed readers, Pearl Izumi is a higher end apparel brand targeted specifically to bicyclists who think nothing of dropping $100 on a pair of spandex shorts.
5.)Camelbacks are a relatively new invention that is basically a backpack with a bladder and tube you can fill with water. The tube allows for hands-free consumption of the water.
6.)While you may have been the least accomplished, you were the most purdiest.

Tania Rochelle said...

Thanks, Biggy. I think.

Jennifer said...

Biggy, dear,

Here are a couple of corrections for you. "Alot" is actually two words: a lot. Also, make sure you put periods inside your quotation marks like this: "left."

If this horror is the kind of dangerous bullshit you're actually signing your wife up to endure, well, then all I can say is you, my brother, better be hung like a mule.

biggy said...

Jesus Christ J, you promised me our relationship would be free from the grammar nagging that I already receive at home.

ga said...

I think I might stop reading this from now on...

Tania Rochelle said...

Aw, it looks like the honeymoon's over.


poor Georgia.

Tania, you are a serious trooper. I applaud your effort and those are some most excellent scars...nothing like what you get from a month-long move into your girlfriend's house, but close.

Collin said...

How is there any enjoyment in this?

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