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Whoever it was that said “it’s just like riding a bike!” Needs to go off somewhere and fuck themselves.

While we were at the beach, I had a brilliant idea that would spruce up my fitness routine a bit.
I would start a fitness routine.
Yes, folks, I would get up off my fat ass and do something all exercisey. I would get a bicycle.
I remembered my youth and all those carefree days on my bike. I remembered my teens when I used to ride my lavender ten speed for exercise. I wore a sports bra and some spandex shorts and headed out on the open road. It was more than exercise then, it was a public service to all the pervy old men in my neighborhood.
So the other day I was at Target (and I know what you’re going to say here, you’re going to congratulate me for choosing such a well respected bicycle retailer) and I saw my bike.
It was 85 dollars.
First lesson learned–Perhaps the most important lesson I have learned so far– don’t buy a mountain bike for 85 dollars. It seems so clear to me now.
I have children, so I know that I have to have a helmet to ride a bike, trike, or fucking walk out my front door in the rain these days. So, although it put a serious cramp in the vision I had of myself on the bicycle; 50 pounds lighter, hair streaming behind me as I speed down mountain trails, (or through my neighborhood… you know, whatever) I bought myself a white helmet. Lame.
I had all the essentials. It was time to ride.
I put on my selected bicycling outfit. I put on my white helmet. Lame. (And which the fuck way does this shit can go on my damn head, anyhow?) I snipped the book off the handlebars (because really? Do I need a book for this? It’s like riding a bike.) and I went.
Before I made it out of my driveway, I noticed something for which I was not quite prepared. The pedal, at its highest point, is really high. My fatass leg didn’t quite reach it, and reaching it is quite necessary for takeoff. I had to do a little jig to get it up there, which I will not describe, as I hope that you will never witness anything like it. Also, when you have a giant belly and you’re leaning over, pumping your legs up and down, you smack your wobbly jiggly belly with your legs like a jello mold in a fucking commercial. Right, left, right, left–Imagine it in slow motion– it’s much more effective.
I made it (wobbling like a child on training wheels) to the neighbors house before the chain fell off. I fixed it. Shitty ass bike.
I live on a mountain beside a lake. My destination was the lake, which, for our purposes, we will call “down”, and down I went. It’s about 1/4 of a mile.
Luckily, I have the shittiest brakes on the planet to quell my speed. Bonus: they also make a horrible piercing scream. The right brake says “screeeee” and the left brake says “85 dollars buys a shitty ass bike which cannot support your girth”.
I was approaching the lake fast. I passed a car and waved (you have to wave to everybody you pass in my neighborhood) and was grateful that, although they saw my 85 dollar shitty ass bike, and heard the screech of my brakes to prove it, they did not see my belly jiggling as my legs pumped the bike forward. At least there’s that.
I got to the lake and was at last comfortable on flat ground. I looked to the other side of the lake, 5 miles. Daunting. I decided to turn my ass around and go home.
As it turns out, after you go down, you have to go back up. Fuck me with a pair of piranhas, for I had not foreseen such a crazy turn of events.
Time to try the best 7 speeds that 85 dollars can buy.
I got a speedy start, my belly jiggling, left, right, left, my lame white helmet shining in the sunlight. Fat lady on a shitty mountain bike speeds up to take the hill. ..
Up I went. I changed gears for the first time. My shitty bicycle nearly tossed my fat ass off in protest. I decided to take the rest of the speeds down at once.

Man, I am working. My legs are slapping my belly, I’m sweaty, I cant breathe, my heart is in my throat, I must be almost home, so I sneak a peek behind me…
I’ve gone 10 feet up the hill.
I’ll never make it.

With a heavy heart I got off my shitty bike, and started the long 1/4-mile uphill walk of shame, rolling my shitty bike beside me.

It is at this moment that all of my friends and neighbors choose to drive by. They all wave jovially at the fat lady in her lame white helmet sadly walking her shitty bike up the hill. One after the other, neighbors, friends who live close by, friends that live in the next town, even friends that live in other states pass by….
They wait in line to wave hello to me at this shining moment in my life. I wave back pathetically; what else can I do.

It’s like rush hour at the Lincoln tunnel. I’m pretty sure some of them circled back just for a second look.

I got some good exercise walking back up the mountain, anyhow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try it without the bike. Eventually I made it home, where I tossed my piece of shit bike in the front yard and hoped it would rain.
Fucking piece of shit.