Surviving the Zombie Bike Apocalypse

Yes, we are now the proud owners of a new indoor bike.

No, it’s not a Peloton.

(I’m not sure why I feel the need to add that clarification. If someone wants to drop that kind of dough on an exercise bike, more power to her. I’ll judge someone for leaving the Christmas lights up through June. Or not properly returning a shopping cart in the stall. And, for the love of all that is good and holy, PUT DOWN YOUR $*#&! PHONE WHEN YOU’RE DRIVING!!! But I won’t judge you on how you spend your money. That’s your business. The Midwestern farm girl in me, who’s worked since she was 16 years old and put herself through college and is a cheap son of a biscuit, just can’t justify buying a bike that cost more than her first car. That’s MY business.)

But here we are. With a new bike. Something my husband can use when the weather turns ugly in the winter, which is upwards of 95 percent of the time in Northwest Missouri.

And he insisted I use it too.

…wait…what?

Yeah.

OK.

I’ve had peripheral neuropathy since my early 20s. I’m not diabetic. I don’t have a wonky thyroid, a vitamin deficiency or dozens of any other “easy” to diagnose neuropathy causes. So I went about my business over the past two decades. And the neuropathy has slowly evolved over the years. It’s no longer isolated to my limbs. Today, my entire body buzzes. My scalp. My back. My ass. My right cheek. On days when it’s really bad, the tips of my fingers go numb. Or my mouth. Sometimes a foot. It’s a blast!

So, my husband, the physical therapist, recommended I use the indoor bike as well since that type of exercise gets the blood flowing in a way that can actually help nerve damage and “You can work online with a trainer, do a spin class, follow videos or get off the bike for some different aerobic stuff,” he gushed. “You’ll love it!”

No. 

I love chocolate.

And golden retrievers.

I do NOT love biking.

…but when you spend that kind of money on a “bike,” my farm girl brain kicks in and demands I get our money’s worth.

Plus, he bought me special sneakers for it.

Awww.

Who says chivalry is dead?

***

He handed me said sneakers, and I immediately noticed something wrong.

“Uh, what’s wrong with these?” I waved said sneakers in his face. “There’s something attached to the bottoms.”

He tells me they’re for the clips.

“The what?” I asked.

“The clips,” he repeated. “I put clips on the bike pedals.”

“You. Put. Clips. On. The. Bike. Pedals,” I repeated slowly. “What does that even mean?” I cocked my head to the side and asked, “Is that Klingon or something? Or a sex toy?”

He explained that the thingy-ma-bobs on the bottom of my shoes click into the thingy-ma-bobs he installed on the bike pedals. He then delved into some kind of kinetic concept that might have involved inertia or maybe the circumference of the sun?

I have no idea. Let’s not even pretend I was paying attention.

So I put on my snappy new sneakers, hopped on the bike seat and….

Proceeded to spend the next 37 hours trying to figure out how to make my new #$*&ing sneakers click into the new #$*&ing bike pedals.

Seriously.

Forget waterboarding.

Make ‘em try to attach their stupid shoes onto their stupid bikes and we save the world.

***

So I finally figured out how to actually use the damn bike.

And, yeah, it’s been kinda fun.

But let’s be honest. I’m not doing any of those fancy training videos. Haven’t worked with the hardcore trainer my husband lovingly refers to as “that bitch.”

Instead, I’ve been checking out the Back to Campus tours. Riding around universities like I’m some young coed on her way to class. Living the dream. Checking out Stanford and Yale and Berkley. The University of Utah? Bee-yoo-tee-full! And a tad bit hilly.

Then I decided to up things a notch and delve into the World Tour circuit. Yesterday, I tooled around London.

Again, cool.

Until I realized…about 35 minutes in…that…my left foot had gone completely numb. And the toes on my right foot? Yeah, they’d left the building too.

But, dammit. I only had a few miles left, and I really wanted to see what Covent Gardens looked like.

So I stayed with it.

And, yeah, trying to unlock a numb foot from a locked bike clip isn’t as easy as it might sound.

I may - or may not - have bent over too far and teetered off the bike.

Not saying I DID.

Not saying I did NOT.

But I should be wearing a helmet for this.

After I finally extracted myself from the death trap, I limped around the house for the next two hours like a survivor from the Zombie Apocalypse.

But that’s OK. I’ve still got my fancy bike shoes on. I’ll be able to take out two or three of them before they get me.