I’m not completely sure what “butt-hurt” means figuratively, but I’m speaking literally anyway. So my neighbor apparently didn’t like bicycling much, because he put a stationary bike out on the sidewalk with a big “free” sign taped to it. I’d kind of been wanting such a torture device (I have a little pedal cycle, but you have to sit on just the right chair to be able to use it, the tension constantly loosens, and the metal gets so hot I’m surprised the plastic parts haven’t melted yet), so I got my husband to snarf it.
I used it yesterday after attempting to douse the squeaky parts with sewing machine oil because I couldn’t find the WD40 in the garage and kept running into spider webs, which was really creeping me out (spider webs = there’s got to be a spider or two somewhere). In hindsight, it might have been the piecing screech the bike makes that prompted the neighbor to dispose of it. Maybe said neighbor wanted me to take the bike. Touché, neighbor.
So I cycled on the bike through two episodes of American Dad!, sweating like a pig and feeling pretty self-congratulatory for doing so. I also did some arm exercises with free-weights until it became too difficult to balance on the bike whenever the pedals got stuck, the wheel screeched to a halt, and my arms were out to my sides like I was trying to imitate a freaking bird. A very uncoordinated bird with heavy wings. Maybe an ostrich, or something like that.
I figured I had done pretty well for a first try. And though I knew my arms would probably hurt the next day, I was quite satisfied with my effort and told my passive aggressive body to go ahead, bring on the pain. But then I got to work this morning, sat down at my desk, and discovered that, although my arms were still just fine, sitting there in my not-too-bad-but-definitely-not-that-great office chair, my butt hurt.
No joke, it really hurt. And the worst part was that I didn’t know why. A mysterious ass-pain is no laughing matter. I searched my brain for a reason for such pain in such a strange place, and the only explanation that really came to mind suggested alien abductions and anal probes. I didn’t like that theory much. I really don’t care for aliens at all except for old Marvin. You know, the funny little Martian with the Romanesque helmet?
Anyway, I eventually (to my relief) figured out that it was the ear-splitting stationary bike that had caused my buttocks to protest every time I sat down. And though it’s not nearly as satisfying as the lovely pain in my arms that has since settled in, I figure my ass could probably use a workout too. So thanks, neighbor and little, blue bike, I now know what butt-hurt truly feels like.