Secondly: Could you MORONS leave a comment? How many times do I have to say it. I need to appear like I have a readership for my now once-a-month blogging. Any comment will do. Even an emoticon. A smiley one, with an electronic tongue sticking out. Give it a party hat. You know what I mean. <=)~~~~
So, as I type this, you should know that I am typing eight-fingered.
Why? Why would you type eight-fingered? Why? Tell me. TELL ME WHY.
Well, I'm not going to tell you with THAT attitude.
Fine...I'll just tell you.
I'm typing eight-fingered because for the past ten days I haven't been able to feel the ring and pinky fingers on my left hand. Now while you think this may just be some subtle ploy to get out of being married (Yeah, so um...I would like ask you to marry me and stuff...but like um, I can't like feel my ring finger, so...I think it's better if we just continue this whole "freedom" and "you pretending you like my farts" thing for a few more years), it's not. I honestly can't feel my freaking fingers...nor, can I move them. And this is from RIDING A BIKE.
It's odd when you can't move nor feel a couple of your fingers. Imagine trying to, oh, I don't know...(un)button your pants without two of your fingers. That shit is hard. And I bet you never thought about trying to...well...wipe...without full use of your hand. I may be raising money and personally growing from this century ride thing...but man...I just want to go to the bathroom normally again.
(Sidebar: I have mentioned poop almost every blog recently. Ideas?)
On my ride last Saturday, I only got to ride about 35 of the 55 miles I was supposed to embark upon. It seems that one of the new wheels I bought were, what we in the biking world call, SHITTY. My tire started wobbling all over the place...and you all know how I feel about wobbling. I don't like it. Never have. Never will.
Anyway, I was PISSED.
I had to be driven back (embarrassing sigh) to the starting point. But wouldn't you know, the guy driving me back was our honored teammate, Ted.
Ted has had a couple of bouts with Leukemia...one of which he is going through right now. He was obviously in a lot of pain while he was driving me home. He was also obviously very, very fatigued. But he was one of the happiest people I have met. He was so talkative and full of life. He told me that between his first and second bout with cancer that he did a number of century rides...and it wasn't until he was training for a 150 mile ride that he realized that he was actually very, very sick again. In fact, the last day he went riding....if he had happened to have gotten even a very small cut, he probably would have died.
I was recently pissed about my tire.
Ted is a big guy. I'd say he's about 6'4"...and he has hair flowing, growing, and needing some mowing all over his face, ears, and nose. Ted had long, uncut toenails and has some weird blotches and cuts all over his hands that were shaking while he drove.
My tire...my tire?
Ted didn't stop smiling for the 30 minutes it took to drive me home. I believe I truly saw, maybe for the first time in my life, somebody...through all the pain, the misery, and terrible heartache...who truly and glowingly is happy to be alive.
This guy is amazing.
I'm asked repeatedly why a marathon, why a century ride? And honestly, waking up early and spending my entire Saturday destroying my body makes me sometimes wonder that same exact thing. I couldn't even hold a pen after my session a few weeks ago.
Ted didn't ask me why as he struggled to manually role down his window to say goodbye to me...and simultaneously grab his surgical mask that he breathes through.
I painfully shook his hand goodbye...my hand, still numb from the day's ride, couldn't feel his hand in my grip. I'm pretty sure he couldn't feel mine either.
I picked up my bike out of the bed of his truck...my fingers still tingling.