People ride bikes for different reasons. Some like the fellowship. Some like being outdoors. Me? I want to live. It really is that simple.
Tiffany’s death last fall scared me. We’d grown up together back in Michigan. One day she was Facebooking about the most recent cuteness of her 5-year-old son and the next day she was gone. pulmonary Embolism. That’s not fair.
My mother is 71 and is dying from COPD. She has suffered from severe depression on and off for most of my life and hasn’t had a drink since Aug 12, 1977. I would do anything for her, we even offered to buy her a house so she could live near us and she turned me down. Her depression keeps her from truly seeing and receiving love and some days it’s hard. She has convinced herself she would be miserable here and that she would die within six months if she moved. I have no choice but to let her live her end of life as she sees best.
While I spent roughly 30 years in Alanon, Mom doesn’t have a recovery program and I wish she did. Maybe that’s why I like Anne Lammot so much. She and my mother are a lot alike, only Anne chose a different path. I get jealous sometimes when I read her books. I still read them because I hope they can help me find my path and stop trying to live everyone else’s.
Don’t even ask about my Dad. I feel responsible for him as well.
I started having chest pains last summer and was sent to a cardiologist. When the tests came back perfect (except for a slight murmur) we assessed that perhaps my issues were more on the emotional bend rather than physical. I finally fessed up to some of the stress I was feeling and told her what was on my plate. Her response was a very simple statement. “I’d smoke too.”
Not the answer I was looking for, but she was right Codependency can kill.
I’m one of those people who puts off dealing with things until I can get away from people for a few days and have a private melt down. Then I pull up my bootstraps and carry on as the song goes. I didn’t get to do that last summer. August was full of commitments and I kept telling myself that this would have to wait. I could cope for a while, I’ll deal with it later. As if later will somehow take the sting away.
I should have known I was in trouble when I went in for my annual check up. If my doctor had been any nicer I would have burst into tears on the spot. It’s hard to handle kindness when we aren’t being very kind to ourselves. I had a very difficult time hearing his kindness over the voices in my head and my own woundedness screaming “What do you want from me!”
A middle of the night trip to the ER with stomach pain that made childbirth feel like a paper cut and chest pains that made me throw up scared me enough to change.
I can’t fix the people I love. I can’t make their choices for them, nor do I need to make myself responsible for their choices. The serenity prayer tells me to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can, and find the wisdom to know the difference.
Instead of buying a house for my Mom, I bought a bike for myself. That’s a good step in the right direction.
Instead of reading blogs on fixing other people, I read blogs written by people who are after the same things I am; Healthy living. Emotionally, Spiritually, and Physically. The link below is one such writer. He’s a recovering alcoholic and is open about it. He rides to live, just like I do. I hope it inspires you as much as it does me. Click on the link to read his story. Full Circle….
If nothing changes, nothing changes. Let it begin with me.
My new 18 speed Giant. My very first true road bike purchased just last fall.
A few people have been asking so I thought I better fess up. I have not been on a bike of any kind in almost two months. I’ve also gained back the 10 pounds I lost while riding.
I know, I know. I do plan on returning in a week after my oldest comes home from college. Not that it is any excuse, but I have been fully immersed in my youngest son’s soccer season. He’s a senior and this is his last year to play varsity. I’m having a blast. I LOVE SOCCER!
The soccer season ends next weekend, my oldest will be home as well, and I will be back out on the trails with my new toys after May 6. I will post on cycling again once that happens.
Fear and desire are two sides to the same coin. – Vis-a-vis my stupid fortune cookie.
We ordered take-out tonight. I love fortune cookies if for no other reason than they make me laugh. (Not that I believe in them, just to clarify they are for fun) And I love Chinese food. double bonus. I do not love the ” fortune” I got tonight and offered to trade. Until I read his anyway. Do you know what his said?
“Engage in group activities that further transformation.”
He chuckled when he read it and then he asked me the rudest question, “So how’s the cycling thing going?”
I didn’t see the trap and lit up like the 4th July. For 1o minutes this man, my soul mate, listened to me talk about this blog and that book and this group and that ride. He stopped me at rides.
“So when are you going?”
“On what?”
“That group ride you’re talking about. When are you going to ride with a group?”
“Oh I’m not ready to ride with a group, there’s too much to learn.”
“Sounds to me you got the right fortune, but you want mine. You can’t have it. “
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll never find what you are looking for in a book. You want the experience without actually having the experience. It can’t happen. Put down the books and just ride. It’s the right next step.”
Busted. He’s right and I know he’s right. The only way I’m going to learn how to ride with a group is by riding with a group. Books aren’t going to teach me that.
My question to you , Do you remember a time where you desired something but were afraid of it at the same time? What did you do?
DISCLAIMER: Loyal readers, you KNOW I like to poke fun of just about everything. I mean I once wrote a humorist rant about sedation gynecology (still think it’s a good idea if for no other reason it keeps me from saying something stupid to my doctor like “Oh that’s so gonna cost you a roofie.”) so you KNOW nothing is off-limits for my warped mind. I love my new bike, I love the adventure. And like everything else I love, I love to poke fun.Most of my cycling rants are very much tongue in cheek – if by some small chance a REAL cyclist reads my blog – cut me some slack kay? TY
A local cycling enthusiast posted this on Twitter today for levity sake I’m sure. The first time I watched it, my brain started to freeze up. That’s a lot of new words. The second time I watched it, I laughed. Dear Readers: Please promise that if I become like the guys in this video you will slap me, kay?
I’ve learned four words in the last two months. I know Carbon, Kit, Toe Clips, and trainer (Which isn’t a bra by the way). Those are the only cycling related words I know right now. I’m happy with those words. Carbon means a really light frame, a kit is what I need if I get a flat (unlike my car, my bike doesn’t come with AAA), Toe Clips are the sadomasochistic buggers attached to the pedals that tried to kill me, and the trainer is a metal contraption used to lock your bike in place while riding indoors – kind of like Madonna’s bras back in the 80’s?
A lot of cyclers do speak about “Spin Classes” and somehow I don’t think it has anything to do with yarn. One guy twittered about doing 20 miles in an hour at a spin class with his wife. I’m an ADD redhead, I have been spinning at 90 to nothing my whole life. 20 miles does not sound impressive. I’m kidding. Okay so I understand FIVE words. Yeah me!
I have only two a few questions:
Is fartlicking anything like what the boys learned how to do that one late night while at church camp?
Does it involve bic lighters and a dark room?
Is “peaking too early” really a phrase guys want to be using in public?
What is”Bonking?” It sounds like one of those words you don’t want your mother to know, you know?
If you don’t ride or do triathlons you won’t understand these words either, but enjoy the video anyway kay? Have a great weekend y’all!
When it comes to learning new things, I am like a two-year-old with a “me do it myself” attitude, only with better resources. Blame it on my DNA if you must, or the fact that I was raised by a boomer to be independent. Who knows. Either way, I’m a book nerd through and through, and have spent most of my 46 years believing if I can’t find it in a book – fake it. Pulling my nose out of the books and interacting with – gasp – humans while I learn, stumble, fall, and learn some more is a HUGE growing experience. The whole everything is better in community stuff. Getting over the whole I-hate-to-look-stupid mindset is a trip and a half down a dark alley. Fortunately my close friends know this about me and love me anyway.
I’m learning a lot of things right now. All of them on purpose. Most of these new adventures do not affect my ego really. Not much anyway. I used to design ss7 switching protocol for a living, complete with electronic and geographic diversity for a major player in telecommunications. (SS7 is, or perhaps was, to telecom what the central nervous system is to the human body.) While that isn’t exactly rocket science, it isn’t easy either. I remind myself of this fact rather frequently these days while I stumble through my new adventures.
Jo is teaching me how to ride horses –– We practiced jumping this week and while I fell off Cowboy during a jump last week, I didn’t die and we were right back at it the following week. We literally raised the bar and the speed and I am having a blast. I’ve known Jo for almost ten years. Having her teach me how to ride, race, and jump does not bother me. This is my escape from the testosterone around me. Nothing against the guys, but being the lone female in a house full of men can get overwhelming sometimes and I need a break. There is a coolness factor involved here to be sure. There is no way I could simply saddle up a horse and start jumping all on my own. I needed someone to step me through it.
Ruth is teaching me how to make a quilt. I cannot presently sew to save my life. I was raised by a woman’s rights baby boomer. My never learning how to sew is no big deal. My mother wanted more for my life than to be domestic slave. I mean housewife. – I am a housewife today. This kills her. That status is changing ever so rapidly, but I digress. I’m learning how to quilt because my grandmother was a blue ribbon quilter. She cut small squares, pieced everything by hand, and even quilted by hand. That’s a strong legacy. My mother also quilts, but uses a sewing machine. My mother is dying and does not have the time left to finish all of the quilts she had in mind. Mom gave me two boxes of material when I was home last summer. I’m learning how to quilt as a way to honor both her and my grandmother. Ruth is taking our small class through every baby step imaginable. This too is fun and does not bother me.
Soccer Mom meets Hipsters and Racers – oh yeah this one bothers me a little. – Broomfield this is for you. Riding bikes with the kids on our Mom bikes is NOT the same thing as wanting to go the distance with adults. I’m just sayin. There is a learning curve so curvy that it makes Dolly Parton look like an A-Cup.
My Bicycle evolution: (do not be fooled by the photos, owning bikes and knowing what to do with them – are not the same thing.)
An example of my Very First Bike -- I got a banana seat Schwinn for Christmas when I was 10. It was totally decked out with streamers and a flowered basket. Being the only girl on the block I raced the boys up and down hills and destroyed it in no time. But I still loved it.I got my first and only 10 speed when I was 13. Oddly I never had to change a tire or anything major. I owned this bike until I was almost 30. My husband and I used to ride the trail systems of Chicago back in the day.Example of the "pretty" 5-speed from Wally World. I HATED this bike. Nuff Said.My new 18 speed Giant. My very first true road bike purchased just last fall.
I bought a new bike last fall because I wanted to get back in shape – easy peasy. It’s just a new bike, how much is there to know? Apparently a lot. I learned this week that leaving the sporting goods store behind and going to a local bike shop is fun, exciting, and scary. Scary because I’m a soccer mom. They are well, not soccer mom’s. They are mostly grown men (save for one nice gal that helped me pick out my bike) who get to work on gears, chains, frames etc in what I will call an oversized garage – only much cooler looking. — If I could pick a dream job for my youngest son, it would be this. They also race and I hear there is beer involved at the end of the day. — Testosterone heaven, minus the pin up calendar.
For some strange reason, I find myself slightly intimidated at this point. I love this store and I really like the staff. Yet walking in with my questions, I feel like Velma from Scooby Doo walking in to a surf shop wanting a boogie board. I could swear there were moments when I could see the backs of people’s heads through their eyeballs. — My first attempt at picking out a new bike last fall met with some quiet smirks and a few giggles. It seems I picked out a rather expensive trick bike that was primarily for “hipsters.” I wanted to know what a hipster was, but decided it was one of those words that if you don’t know, don’t ask. We landed on a just my size Giant and I’m very happy with it.
Not a whole lot of humility has been required at this point. I order a bike, I pick it up. I notice the tires are thin and bald, but I don’t ask why. It doesn’t have a kick stand either but I don’t notice that until I get home. — I later learn that street bikes come that way. OH! — I try my new bike out for two months and keep falling over because of the death straps on the pedals. I get a post card in the mail reminding me the shop will tune up the bike for free after 30 days and to bring it in. They lure me with the promise of 15% off any one accessory.
I get to accessorize? OOH! I’m there.
I wasn’t feeling intimidated when I dropped off my bike for its check up, I did however feel intimidated when I had to pick it up. Dropping off was easy, the store was empty. Picking it up, the store was full — of pros. Racers et al. Some nice fellow puts my bike back on the rack because whoever worked on it forgot to remove the death grips. While talking about those little buggers that want to kill me, I did learn that they are called “toe clips.” OH! — I can hang any hope for cool points out the window. This is Walmart meets Lance Armstrong all the way. Part of me was secretly wishing for my soccer van back.
Watching him work on my bike, I am suddenly transported back to Chicago, 1987. My car is in the shop, running badly, and the mechanic is little lady this, little lady that – trying to convince me that my sweet pinto is on it’s deathbed but for $500 he can hook it up to machines and bring it back ala Frankenstein. I grab my keys, turn the motor, and the car shakes like crazy so I pop the hood. I jiggle the spark plugs, reconnect the loose wire that wasn’t loose when I dropped it off for the oil change, and viola my car is resurrected from the soon to be dead. hmm. Jerkface was trying to rip me off.
Truth is, I knew more about cars at 22 than I know about bikes at 46. I also paid more for this street bike than I did for my first three cars. I am completely at the mercy of these guys. These men who probably have other jobs, but maybe not. Who race, sweat, get covered in grime, wipe out, drink beer and live to ride another day. If you really want to know, I’m not a mercy rule kind of gal, unless I am the one dealing the mercy cards anyway. I’m more often than not the two-year old who insists “I do it myself.” sigh.
Thankfully, none of them laughed at my questions – at least not to my face. I needed a “kit” and helmet. Having no clue what either entailed I had to rely on the guys. The kit I learned is made up of an inner tube, tire repair kit, bag that fits under the seat, some blue plastic sticks and a CO2 Cartridge. The look on the guys face when I asked what the sticks were for was priceless. Yes I’m sure I saw the back of his head through that one. He then walked over to the bike on the rack and mimed how one would use them to pry off a flat tire. That was nice of him. A real mountain biker walked in at that point and needed his expertise and so Mr Mechanic dude took over after that.
He seemed far more well, amused? Empathetic? Tolerant? Closer to my age – yes that would be it right there. He got me a CO2 kit that was “idiot proof, no offense.” none taken I assured him, put the kit bag together, double checked everything on my bike, and helped me size my first helmet. A simple grey deal which I consider my starter helmet.
Being helped to pick out a helmet that fits by a total stranger, that kinda bugged me. Dear lord, you’d think he helped me pick out a training bra or something. I’ve never worn a helmet in all my 46 years, there is no way I would instinctively know anything about sizing, so why it bugged me I don’t know. Must be my EGO pure and simple. It’s not like I put my first pick on backwards or anything, I just happened to pick up a kids helmet. Yep – I needed help with sizing. It only killed me a little bit. You know?
So now I have my re-tuned bike, a road kit, and a helmet. I’m ready to step up the challenge and learn to ride with a group. Maybe. That is my eventual goal I know. Can’t ride the MS150 by myself. I’m thinking I should try the trails on my own first, maybe? That way I know them and I”m not learning group etiquette and geography all at the same time. Baby steps and all that jazz.
I know I said I was going to post miles each week, but I can’t figure out how to gauge that. Probably another toy or something. I’ll figure it out eventually that or I’ll ask someone. Just not today.
I fully planned on keeping track of how many miles I ride on my new bike, and did not do that last year, therefore I figure it best to start over and track from the first of this year. That would be easier.
Cycle Date 09 — as in January 9, 2012 I have ridden ZERO miles since the first of the year because my bike is still at the lake and I am back in the burbs. I plan on fixing that on Tuesday when I go out for my horseback riding lessons. The weather is promising to be far too beautiful this week to miss riding. That and I got a post card – and a twitter message – reminding me to bring my bike back for its 30 day check up. I should probably put a few more miles on it before I do that. While I’m there I will purchase a helmet and gloves and ask them to please remove those toe strap things that keep making me fall over because I forget they are there.
While I may not have ridden last week, I am at least down 3.5 lbs since the first. That’s good, right? Losing the weight was easy.
I’m out of cookies and egg nog.
I’m back to cooking fish, chicken and veggies.
I have not had a bite of red meat in almost 9 days.
I’m also thinking about Juicing, but I’m not convinced on that one yet. If I try it, I will be sure to let y’all know.
I promise not to spend 2012 writing ad nauseum about my cycling adventures. I do however want to keep an online journal about it. So if you don’t mind – I’ll post updates on Mondays.
This keeps me accountable
It might inspire someone else.
I don’t know about you, but it’s easy for me to read about people like Lance Armstrong, or whomever and think “Oh sure, they are professionally trained, of course they can do x.” — and thereby discount myself from the race. I still read about Lance, follow LiveStrong, read Iron Man Spence Smith’s Blog, and what not. But I also read about every day Joes like Sprinting the Bell Lap (See Blogroll) and Ken Davis and feel encouraged. Kind of like if they can do it, well then so can I.
I would love to find a female cycling enthusiast who blogs, but I haven’t yet. So I read the guys and that is okay.
There is a great post by Spence Smith on Three Steps to Buying Your First Bike. Honestly, I wish he’d written it before I got mine. Then again, I was encouraged when I read it because it turns out I did a lot of things right. — He’s a credible athlete with great advice. Go ahead and read him.
Three frogs are sitting on a log when one decides to jump off.
How many are left?
Three.
One only DECIDED to jump.
Deciding to do something and actually following through are not the same thing.
I decided to get in better shape in 2009 because of this story – Beaten By A Stroke: A True Story and even bought myself an automatic shift five speed.
While the bike was pretty, it is also difficult to ride. I peddle like crazy to get it to shift and as soon as I coast down a hill it shifts back to first gear and I have to start all over again. I rode my new bike a sum total of six times before hanging it up in the garage. As a result, I’ve lost and gained the same 20 pounds because I didn’t follow-up my deciding to do better with real action.
Now that’s not to say I didn’t try to do better.
I tried C-Fit.
I tried Zumba.
I tried walking.
I tried the couch to 5K thing.
I even tried riding my bike with a group.
I wasn’t the best and I quit.
I was inspired but nothing more.
I got sick in 2010 and wound up in the hospital and even had surgery. Again, I’m inspired to do better in this area of my life, but I don’t follow through. I even read Fully Alive in 2010 – by the same author who now is not only riding his bike, he’s racing it. The dude is 62 at this point.
Another friend, whom I also met in 2009 has completed the Iron Man competition, not once, but twice since then.
I’m no longer inspired, I’m embarrassed.
I’m 46.
I have learned something very valuable.
Inspiration without perspiration is fantasy.
It isn’t enough to keep my sense of wonder, to be inspired, or stirred and do nothing with it. True inspiration births action.
To be fair, I’ve taken a great deal of action in other areas of my life. I’m out there performing comedy when I can, acting in movies, volunteering, and even taking writing classes. I’m feeding my brain and my heart but not my body. I’ve over come many fears and it wasn’t until today when I was riding Prince that I realized I have some physical fears to face.
I’m afraid of falling.
I’m afraid of getting hurt, which is ridiculous when I consider that I used to compete in Tai Chi and Shaolin. I got hurt all the time. While it’s true I do have a slight disability with my ankle being permanently messed up now, however, that shouldn’t be stopping me.
I’ve been riding horses since February. I’m now at the point where we can gallop for longer durations and are working barrels. Today, the speed scared me. My eyes were on the ground more than they were on the obstacle ahead. Because of that we couldn’t get good speed.
It’s the same with my bike.
I purchased a Giant Brand bicycle from a locally owned shop in Tulsa and it is much faster than my older one.
The speed scares me.
I’ve fallen off more than once and I stopped riding it for two weeks.
It wasn’t until I was racing Prince today, that I realized what was wrong.
I’m looking at the wrong thing.
I’m allowing my fear of pain, not the actual pain, just the fear of it, to keep me from fully committing.
I fixed that today and rode again. It was 33 degrees and sunny.
The wind hurt my cheeks. I froze my tukus off, and my legs hurt.
But I did it.
And I didn’t fall.
I shared on Twitter that I’m riding today and someone asked if I was hardcore or had a conspirator.
I gave him a smart-alack answer at first. “I spent $1,000 on a new bike and my husband made me promise to ride it every day.” — Later I told him the truth, someone inspired me and if he can do it, so can I.
Here’s the deal. I don’t want to be sitting here another year from now, weighing the same as I do today, reading how someone else I know won a triathlon or a marathon while I allow fear to keep me trapped.
So here is my challenge to you:
I promise to face this fear every day, fulling committing to following through on Ken’s inspiration in my life. What action are you willing to take today that follows through on a decision you made? I’m not asking you to change your life, I’m asking you to name one action or one fear – and face it with me today. Will you do that? When you do, I want you to pay this forward and be that inspiration for someone else.
Ready. On your mark. Set. Go!
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved and all that jazz.
I love this sign. I see it every time I saddle up to ride. Funny thing is though now that I’m learning how to barrel race and eventually rope, Jo thinks it might be good for me to learn how to fall off a horse safely.
I’ve never really viewed falling as something I do safely. I always thought falling to be the equivalent of being unceremoniously dumped on my butt.
To help me better grasp the concept Jo changed her verbiage. Rather than thinking of it as falling, it’s really an emergency dismount. I don’t want to show you how to fall, I want you to learn how to land on your feet and stay out of harms way.
I fall off my bike a lot but I’ve never fallen off a horse. When faced with dangerous situations, dismounting is sometimes your safest bet. It doesn’t matter if it’s a horse or a bike. A rider should always pay attention to their surroundings.
Knowing when and how to fall, is as important as knowing how to ride.
I have believed for over a year that I am gluten sensitive. Turns out I’m not.
Apparently if you are popping Advil like it’s candy and your doctor asks you what medications you are taking, it’s probably a good idea to tell him. It’s especially a good idea to mention that if you happen to be, oh I don’t know, in the emergency room of a local hospital at say 3 in the morning.
“It would have helped if you’d told me you’ve been taking Advil. No wonder your gut is messed up.”
yeah yeah yeah.
I wouldn’t be popping Advil if my ankle didn’t hurt so badly and I didn’t think it was relevant.
Doctors hate me. Have I told you that recently?
I’m the knight in Monty Python, “It’s only a flesh wound. Come here and let me bite your knee caps.”
I hate going to the doctors and they hate seeing me half dead. I’m a classic tough it out kind of gal. Fortunately, I’m married to a man who wouldn’t be caught dead in the doctor’s office himself but truly does not mind taking me. Sadist.
I woke up with stomach pains a few weeks back and tried to walk it off when my husband woke up. I was trying to be quiet about it and not be a problem. I’m pretty sure my grabbing the foot of the bed and crouching like a lion every time the pain hit was less than subtle and a mild cause for concern. When the admitting nurse asked me to rate my pain I gave her a four.
Husband interjects at this point: “Four?! She’s doubled over, dropped over, can’t walk, can’t breathe and says her organs feel like they are going to fall out. I’m thinking it’s higher than a four.”
Hello morphine.
They took blood, injected dye that made me feel like I’d wet the bed (lovely) even though I hadn’t, and scanned everything. The best they can come up with is inflamed cilia. No kidney stones, blockages, appendicitis, pancreatitis or hepatitis, just inflammation. I was ready to say “see, I don’t need to be here.” when the chest pains hit.
That made me cry. Those hurt words than the stomach pain.
I’ve got to tell you, nothing makes an ER staff jump higher than chest pains, shortness of breath and vomiting. Suddenly, I am the most popular person on the ward, not counting knife wound guy. They wired me for sound faster than you can blink an eye and lo, my heart rate and oxygen levels were perfect.
This is why I hate going to the doctors — I feel stupid when they can’t find anything. Once they realized I wasn’t actually dying, they gave me this pretty purple drink that tastes horrid, numbs everything, and the chest pains stop just like that.
Anxiety attack?
No.
Esophageal spasm.
Those aren’t nice, just sayin.
Once everything is calming down, my husband sweetly whispers in my ear, “Honey, I know you are a girl and everything, but can you please just fart so we can go home?”
I’m not sure if it’s the joke, the lack of sleep or the morphine, but I laughed for the first time all night.
I’m ready to be sent home when I find out that chest pains get you a golden ticket to stay for observation. I’d already had the full gambit of heart tests in September, I really did not want more but I didn’t win that argument.
Once admitted into my comfy room I send hubs home to sleep. I wanted to sleep, but like I said, chest pains make you more popular than a double D bra cup does in high school. Every time I drifted off to dream land someone came in to ask questions, draw blood or wire me to another machine.
It wasn’t until I met the nurse practitioner that we found the culprit. Advil overdose.
My NP noticed my right ankle was swollen larger than a baseball and she thought I had some water retention thing. Once I explained that I’d shattered my ankle as a kid and it swells and hurts at night when I’m active and that I pop Advil PM to help me sleep, she knew exactly what was wrong.
How long have you been taking Advil PM?
On and off for about three years.
Doctors hate me.
Possible side effects of Advil:
All medicines can cause side effects, but many people have no, or minor, side effects. Check with your doctor if any of these most COMMON side effects persist or become bothersome:
Seek medical attention right away if any of these SEVERE side effects occur:
Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; trouble breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); bloody or black, tarry stools; change in the amount of urine produced; chest pain; confusion; dark urine; depression; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; fever, chills, or persistent sore throat; mental or mood changes; numbness of an arm or leg; one-sided weakness; red, swollen, blistered, or peeling skin; ringing in the ears; seizures; severe headache or dizziness; severe or persistent stomach pain or nausea; severe vomiting; shortness of breath; stiff neck; sudden or unexplained weight gain; swelling of hands, legs, or feet; unusual bruising or bleeding; unusual joint or muscle pain; unusual tiredness or weakness; vision or speech changes; vomit that looks like coffee grounds; yellowing of the skin or eyes.
This is not a complete list of all side effects that may occur. If you have questions about side effects, contact your health care provider. Call your doctor for medical advice about side effects. To report side effects to the appropriate agency, please read the Guide to Reporting Problems to FDA.
OOPS. No more Ibuprofen for me. I’m now eating Greek Yogurt and Kefir daily as well as taking Vitamin D to heal my gut. All this time I thought I’d developed a Gluten issue and it was my advil habit. It turns out they did find something wrong. They also gave me a flu shot, which I thought was nice until I saw the bill. $285.00 for a shot I could have gotten at Walgreens for $25.00. The shock alone was almost enough to bring on the chest pains again.
As far as the chest pains – yes, I’ve been checked out by a cardiologist. My cholesterol is 165ish, I have zero blockages in my arteries, I passed the stress test with flying colors, my lungs look wonderful and aside from a slight heart murmur and a small dose of Lisinopril for blood pressure, I am in better cardiovascular health than my physically fit husband. Yes this kills him.
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Side Note: I shattered my ankle when I was eight. I’ve had surgery to correct it when I was younger and now it’s beyond repair according to my present doctors. I’ve been to two specialists, both agree I can either get a metal brace or have it fused. I refuse to do either and I’m hoping that losing weight will relieve the daily pain. Everything I’ve tried so far (walking, running, Zumba, aerobics) just makes the pain worse so now I’m riding a bike.
Cycling does not put pressure on my ankle, I can ride for miles with no ill effects – other than falling off repeatedly, and no more Ibuprofen.
Okay ladies and gents, I have some great news. Are you ready?
I bought a bike.
I know, that news seems pretty anti-climactic really. Especially after telling you guys how I totally lost my mind (or found it, either way) and went Democrat this fall. Compared to that, buying a bike may not sound like all that much.
You see it’s like this. I own a five speed and I hate it. You have to pedal like crazy just to get it to change gears. It can’t handle hills, it hurts my back and I can’t keep up with my friends when we ride the river.
Why do I own a five speed that I hate? Because my husband insisted I get a different bike, and I was in a mood that day. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a man or he’s the primary bread-winner and I feel… well I don’t know how I feel. I just know that the more he insisted I’d hate it, the more deeply my stubborn heels dug into the concrete and linoleum floors of Wal-Mart.
Who buys their bikes at Wal-Mart?
We do. Or rather we did. We purchased four bikes that day and he didn’t want to go broke doing it.
Like a lot of married couples I know where one partner works outside of the home and the other inside the home, there are at times power struggles. We were eyeball deep in just such a struggle the day we purchased my nasty bike.
My husband chose the store and the price he wanted to spend. He’s the breadwinner and I was in a… well let me just say a bad place in regards to how we handle things financial in our home. So when he picked out my bike, I balked and walked over to this really pretty dark blue five speed. The more he insisted I get the bike he picked out, the deeper my heels dug into the concrete and linoleum floors.
Home she came.
One ride up and down the moderate hills of our bike trails in Tulsa and I knew he was right. I hated it. Did I tell him that? Nope.
That was four years ago and yes, I’ve ridden a bike that I hate for four whole years because I am not about to tell him he’s right.
Now, I have a dilemma. I’m trying to lose weight and I have a bad ankle from a childhood injury that makes running, walking, and anything aerobic really very painful. Cycling, is my best option.
A lot of my friends ride. Some of my friends even compete. They are a wealth of wisdom. This time, I didn’t take my husband shopping with me. Applause for stepping out of my normally timid, hugely co-dependant/male-dependant butt would be appropriate here. Really, I won’t mind.
This time, I did the research and picked out a bike I knew I would enjoy, be able to ride and could afford. For starters, I didn’t go to Wal-Mart. I went to Tom’s Bicycles in Tulsa. Tom’s is locally owned and operated. If you want to save jobs in America support locally owned stores. Toms has two stores in Tulsa, one on 68th and Peoria and one in the heart of MidTown on 15th (Cherry Street). I know nothing about bicycles and their staff helped me make the best choice for me. You can click the photo of the water bottle above to learn more about Toms.
This is the bike Jenny helped me pick out. It’s a Giant Brand and is just my size. I’m only 5’4′ and I did not know bikes came in small, medium and large. This is the first size small I’ve had in years. This dieting thing is working already. I love this bike. It has 18 speeds. The bottom nine are on the right handle and the upper nine are on the left. I can changed gears up or down with a simple click of a switch.
This is a street bike. It’s not a blend or mountain bike. The tires are thin and oddly bare. I didn’t expect that. Not sure how it’ll handle on wet roads, but I’ll find out.
Click on the photo above if you want to more about Giant Brand Bicycles.
Now, this bike does have one slightly annoying quirk. It likes to throw me off.
They say that once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget. “They” have never met the likes of me with a new bike and toe straps. See this photo? That little bugger held my left foot hostage five minutes into my maiden voyage and I crashed right in front of my house. I have gravel in my hand and elbow and my left thigh and right breast are deeply bruised by the handle bars. But you know what, I got back on and only crashed one other time.
Toms is closed on Mondays, but come Tuesday, the straps come off the pedals and I head back to Toms for gloves and a helmet. I’m thinking that’s probably wise. Don’t you?
So there you have it. I Deana, researched and purchased my very first street bike.
Let the adventure begin.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. November 14, 2011. All rights reserved.
Deana O'Hara - Speaker, Comedian, Writer 