I’m too old for this s**t
Props to CBS’s How I Met Your Mother for bringing back this classic as the “Murtaugh Rule.”
There’s something about cycling that turns a reasonable adult into an overgrown child. Perhaps it’s because we associate bikes with childhood and revere the age of 16 for our initiation into the adult world of automobiles. If so, it could explain the outrageous risks taken and rules broken by some people once we saddle up. (This could also contribute to the condescending view of motorists towards cyclists).
I recently got over a two-month case of cycling-induced TMJ. After class last winter, I decided to ride my beater down the stairs to wow a (married) classmate. Wasn’t a big deal – I’ve done much worse many times before. (Cycling stunts, not philandering) Unfortunately, I’d neglected to take into account that I was on my way to the hospital and was wearing not cleats, not sneakers, but a doctor costume that included slick dress shoes, a tweed coat, and a bow tie. Two steps from the bottom, my feet slip, I’m on the bar, and I pitch forward onto – strangely – my chin and belt buckle. The dean witnessed it all from a distance, and noticing no paralysis, walked off chuckling. I had to hide my bleeding palms from patients for the rest of the day. FML.
The second thing is acne. For two months every summer, I get some nice zits across the forehead right on the helmet line. Incidentally, they recur for two months in the winter when I share a goalie mask during hockey season. Somebody needs to invent a rapidly sanitizable helmet retention system. Acne? Seriously? I’m too old for this s**t.
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