Monday, May 2, 2011

A Pain in the Behind

I was chuckling to myself as our Young Women Camp Director was trying to emphasize to our young women the importance of getting their rear-ends "in shape" (aka calloused) before their 8 mile bike ride into camp this year.

I was reminded of my own mountain biking experience after I graduated from high school. While attending Boise State University for my first semester I decided I would save on gas (which was 98 cents per gallon at the time) and purchase a bicycle. I went to the local bike shop and picked out a sweet Specialized Rock Hopper with the new Rock Shox for 500 bucks.

{Looking back I realize I could have purchased lots o' gas with that, but I was excited to be communing with nature... or at least Federal Way}

I'm terrible at distances but my guess is that my route was about 100 miles. Okay, maybe more like 8-10. Any of you who are familiar with the route I took may feel free to correct me. Just don't correct me if you think it was a mile, or something. I know it was longer than that!

I digress.

I was feeling pretty cool with my new bike helmet, water bottle, and sweet ride. Monday morning I strapped my backpack to my back, hopped on my bicycle, and headed off to college. Boy, did I feel at one with nature. The wind was whipping in my hair and the smell of exhaust from the passing vehicles filled my panting lungs {cough, cough}. This was the life and I was saving gas money!

I made it to my first class on-time and sat down wanting to share my feat with everyone around me. But I refrained. I couldn't wait to get back on my bicycle to head home after classes.

Classes came to an end and I cinched my backpack on again. I'm sure I looked like a magazine ad as I threw my head back and took a drink out of my new water bottle. Let's ride.

I threw my leg over my bike to settle onto my seat.


Okay, I really have no idea what came out of my mouth when my backside touched that evil seat and I'm sure I would not have a PG blog anymore if I typed it anyway. I had never felt such a horrific pain in my pelvic floor (having birthed no children at age 18). There was no way I was going to get back on that torture device and ride it 8-10 miles uphill to my home. What was I going to do??

Just then, my good friend Brent happened upon me. I'm sure my pathetic self plead with him shamelessly for a ride home and being the good friend that he was, he did. Never has there been a more grateful, or humbled, college student.

I never got on that bike again. I shunned it. I scorned it and all it stood for.

I immediately put an ad in the paper and sold it two days later with its matching helmet and water bottle for $450.

That camp director knew what she was talking about. Callous your behinds ladies.

And, no, I'm not going to camp.

... path of least resistance...