Can I please catch a break?

I have a problem. With staying vertical. Now I know what many of you will say... "Heh-heh, yeah. You like the horizontal tango!!" Well, yes I do. But this problem is associated with cycling. I've posted many times before about my problems with staying upright on my bike (I've wiped out no less than three times in the past year) and my problems with avoiding inanimate objects (I ran into a dumpster at one point). No, I'm not counting getting hit by a car as a problem I've had cuz, well... he ran the light and hit me.

Anyway, I've been doing very well with staying vertical lately. I learned a few tricks from my SBF on how to recover when it seems like you're about to lay down your bike and how to improve the traction of your tires when the roads are slippery. However, I guess I really am the clutz that I never wanted to admit that I am.

I was riding to a bike shop the other day (ironic, isn't it) and just as I'm cycling up to the front door my front tire slips into a crack between the parking lot and the sidewalk in front of the shop. And gets stuck. While I was trying to turn the handlebars to head to one of the bike racks. So, I'm trying to move the bike in one direction and the bike is basically telling me that this is not physically possible given the current situation of the tires. And then gravity enters the conversation and tells me that I'm needed in a meeting on the ground. I try in vain to catch my footing on the pavement before I completely keel over, but it was really a vain attempt.

I went down. Right in front of the automatic doors that slid open as I fell. Which revealed my stumble to several cycslists all done up in their riding gear and sparklingly pretty bikes as they were heading out for a ride.

Once... just once... I'd like for my falls to not be witnessed by half of Austin so I could try to salvage a little bit of my dignity.

The Letter

It was really only a matter of time. I didn't do anything to keep my previous postings about the end of my relationship with Brit Boy private, so it really was only a matter of time before he read them. As I have said many times to many different situations, the story of Brit Boy and I has three sides. His side. My side. And the truth. Each of our recollections of how things went down are influenced by each of our pasts, the way we process information, the way we were feeling at the time we heard the statements of the other, etc. As such, he responded to my posts with a rather lengthy explanation of his side of things. A lengthy explanation that provided me with a great deal more insight into things than the conversations we had in the desert of Spain.

I will simply say this. Umm... Well... You see...

*sigh*

I have no words. And herein lies my problem. Am I expected to respond? Do I just let it go and cast it off? And of course, a number of friends have offered their advice on the situation.

"Oh honey, just hit delete and be done with the whole thing."

"Let me guess, you've been drafting your response since you received it and you've been editing and reworking it for the past couple of days. Step away!!"

"Baby, all you need to do is reply with one word, "received." That's it. Done!!" (At this point, this friend literally wiped his hands).

Taking a page from Dorothy Zpornak I think I may start this out as an exercise in catharsis. Start writing something to purge the thoughts from my head. WIth no intention of sending it. I've said before that I can't really envision being able to talk to him anytime soon, so perhaps this will help with the healing I so terribly need.

Must be something about the fresh produce...

As is to be expected, things haven't been all that hunky-dory since I've returned from Europe to Austin. I've been rather reclusive, ignoring requests to venture out into the world, focusing on what little routine I feel comfortable engaging in, diverting any excess energy to my workout regimen, etc. Part of this I've been able to blame on the Texas heat. I mean, when you're cycling home when its 105 F outside, when you get home you don't really want to do anything but sit around and cool off.

However, I haven't been able to besmirch the necessity of going to the grocery store. Since one of the gyms I frequent is next to a grocery store, I tend to dash in for a few items after a workout or when I teach class. However, each time I do my eyes start to well up with tears and I have to quickly complete my purchases and jump on my bike before I actually lose all composure and start balling in the middle of the yogurt section.

Seriously! What is it about a grocery store that makes me think about Brit Boy, the breakup, and everything else?

Workout: FAIL!!

Twelve years. That's how long I've been focusing, on a consistent basis, on my physical health and working out in the gym. I had worked out while in high school and college, but was always a little intimidated by the weight room and always let it slide from my schedule if I didn't have someone to "hold my hand," so to speak. For most of these 12 years, I've had a workout partner. Someone to chat with, hold me to my workouts, push me for that last little bit of effort, etc.

As of late, however, I've been on my own. My workout partner, who also happens to be my SBF, has been out of town on a cycling tour of the Western United States. Albuquerque, N.M. to Portland, Ore. Personally I think he's a bit crazy, but I hear cycling over the Rocky Mountains is something magnificent to experience. I'll take his word for it.

Since I've been on my own I've been reticent to push myself too hard for fear of injuring myself without someone to help me out if I were to find myself in trouble. However, after a few weeks of working out on my own I've started to gain some newfound confidence in this arena. Pushing myself to lift more weight. Having the confidence that even though I am tired, I can actually finish that last set.

Last night I was at the gym and was really putting myself through the paces. It always help to have a goal - I leave for Burning Man in less than a month and I still have yet to recover, in my physical fitness, from this past session. Also, how am I supposed to attract a new beau if my body is in its current state? Remember... the neurosis of my vanity is very severe and well-documented.

So, there I was, finishing up a rather challenging upper-body workout and I was winding things up with a set on the flat bench. First set... no problem. Tired, but I got through it. Second set... a little challenging near the end. A little wobbly and I definitely struggled on the last two reps. At this point, it would have been wise to ask someone else in the weight area for a spot for the third set. I know rather well that if you struggle on the last few reps of a set, on the next set things are gonna be a bit more challenging.

Did I ask for a spot from the cute guy that was working out next to me? No. Of course not. "I can do this... no problem," I said to myself. And in fact, things went quite well for the first 4 reps of the set. On number 5, things got a bit wobbly and strained, but I did it. As I was lying on the bench, arms extended and holding the bar I took several deep breaths as I contemplated the next rep. "Do you have one more in you? At least one more?" I asked myself. "Yeah... just one though... I can make it through one more."

I slowly lowered the bar. I popped it off my chest and started to push. About half-way up, my chest burning, my triceps screaming, I knew it wasn't gonna happen. I took in a deep breath and tried to push it up a little bit further. I tried to get the bar up to the "emergency" or "secondary" brackets on the bench frame. Those brackets that are there for this express purpose. When you can't quite get the bar all the way up. (Isn't there a prescription for this problem?) Nope. Couldn't make it.

The bar dropped back down onto my chest. I just stayed there, pinned to the bench for a second and contemplated what to do. In vain, for I knew there was no way I could do it, I tried once more to push the bar up but I was done. Luckily, as soon as I resigned myself to the fact that I needed help and lifted my head, some guy walked by and litterally did a triple take at me pinned to the bench. Apparently this was not a typical sight to be seen.

"Can I get a little help?" I asked, trying to joke about it. "Seems my triceps decided I'm done."

"Oh my god, of course," he replied. "Couldn't quite get that last one finished, huh?"

And with that he freed me from my bench press prison. I thanked him and started to nurse my aching triceps. Worn out are not the words I would choose for what I was feeling.

It is now official

Part of the plans that Brit Boy and I had put into place for us to be together was for me to apply to grad school in the UK. It was a wonderful plan cuz I've been wanting to pursue my masters degree for some time but hadn't really found a program that interested me here in the states. In the UK, however, there were a number of programmes about which I was very intrigued.

As I've stated before, I applied to two universities and, again as I've stated before, while I was visiting the UK, I had interviews at both universities to see which programme was going to be the best fit. I was accepted to both programmes, even receiving a personal letter from the head of the programme at the University of Westminster stating that he was very looking forward to me joining their programme and working with me this upcoming academic year.

Well, now that Brit Boy and I are no longer together, I have decided that it's best to not attend grad school this fall. Part of it is financial - Brit Boy and I had agreed that I would support him with living expenses while he was here and not able to work and he would support me with living expenses in the UK while I was in school. Now that everything is over, I basically cannot afford London for the duration of the programme right now. Another part of the reason is that I'm still a space cadet from such a huge shock to my life that I don't think it'd be wise for me to head off to a new place with no safety net to speak of. Basically, I need to be home with my family of friends.

However, I am so absolutely ecstatic about the programmes that I am definitely going to make this happen. So, I have now officially requested deferred admissions for the 2010-2011 academic year. Here's hoping they like me enough to let me push this back by a year.

Houston, we have a problem

Y'all know that I have a serious substance abuse issue. I do love me some shoes. This problem has been identified and well-documented in the past. Since returning from Europe, things have taken a turn for the worse. Well, I guess it did start while in Europe, technically. In the month of July , I succumbed to tempation and acquired four additional pairs of shoes. I've even had to add more shelving to my closet in order to hold all of the shoes I own. (Actually, that's not even true. I have five pairs of shoes at the office for when I cycle to work and I left three pairs in London for my then-planned move to London to be with Brit Boy and they are supposedly on their way back to me.)

The shoes you see to the left are just my latest acquisition. They're these fabulous Adidas track shoes that come with cleats. They're super comfy and I got a lot of compliments when I took them out for their maiden voyage (sans cleats) the other night. However, I've decided that I might be interested in wearing them with the cleats. That way, if someone pisses me off, I can simply stomp on their foot with the cleats and give them their due.

Hey! Don't judge!! I'm a bundle of emotions these days. You never know what might just set me off!!!