Lion and Magic Boy

So I really right now instead of writing I should be getting ready for tomorrow, when I have to put on a black suit and pumps and pantyhose of all things (hate! hate!), all accoutrements that I’ve been thankfully free from for lo these 12 years now, and appear in court to defend myself against a man I was married to for ten years. I say “was” even though technically I still am, though, seeing as how the process of ending it has dragged on for two years now.

Courtrooms are a funny place, I’ve found. I mean, even though I think the energy between me and The Ex has improved considerably from its adversarial nadir, the mere act of having to adopt a specific stance within the context of a courtroom seems to bring out qualities that might not exist otherwise, exacerbating them. I’m actually looking forward to this as an exercise in observation, though, since I’ve removed a large part of my attachment to the potential outcome and whatever emotions would have gone along for the ride once upon a not-very long time ago.

So I’ll let you know how I do.

Last night was a first in my (so far short) bike-riding career: I actually saw other cyclists! Typically I avoid hitting Buff Twenty-Something Running Guy, and share rueful “this hill sucks” looks with The Two Older But Still Pretty Buff Running Guys, and also figuratively yank the chain of the little yappy Dachschund that belongs to Fat Dogwalking Lady, but other than that there’s usually no sign of life.

So imagine my surprise when I see a rather large man on a road bike coming toward me, dressed in tight orange spandex that’s clearly bursting at the seams. We do the head-nod thing and I go on. Five minutes later, I am totally surprised to be passed by Fat Spandex Cyclist! He says hello as he passes and adds an obligatory How are you (WHY do people ask that if they don’t really want an answer? WHY?) as he passes me. Suddenly I am going way too slow. After all, here’s this guy who weighs, what, 300 pounds? And he’s faster than me. This will not do. I increase my speed but he’s ahead of me and I can’t get any closer, but I can keep up with him. Damn.

Fat Spandex Cyclist is ruining my ride. I am too concerned with keeping up with this 400-pound guy whose legs pedal in slow motion but he’s still faster than me. Damn.

And then come the Good Cyclists, in the other (downhill) direction, whirring confidently past amid a suddenly-cooler atmosphere as if they had brought their own special air with them, exchanging quiet confident conversation. One glances at me dismissively, smirking just a little. I am sure my face is red with exertion. The brief distraction causes Fat Spandex Cyclist to pull ahead. I am chagrined as he signals a right, which puts him on a continuation of my own route. I am sure I can catch him. It dawns on me that Fat Spandex Cyclist may have maxed himself out by passing me and that in reality he’s not any faster than I am.

Having nothing more visible in my sights than the 600-pound orange target in front of me, I examine the riding style of this rider. He starts wobbling slightly, and takes his water bottle out and drinks a couple of times. This slows him somewhat and I move closer. Obviously, it’s the better to examine his technique. I notice that in addition to the wobble, he also lurches from side to side as he pedals. Hey, it must be hard to ride on those tiny thin tires when you’re so obviously top-heavy! How does this 900-pound guy ride so fast? Why can’t I catch up with him?

The wobble increases. The lurch becomes more pronounced. I begin to fear that he will simply fall over. How will I get his 1100-pound body up off the pavement if he falls? I start willing him to stay on his bike. I know there’s no way I can lift 1300 pounds, no way at all. Look at his legs, each the size of a medium-sized mammal. How do they make his bike actually move when he pedals so slowly? Does he simply move from the sheer momentum of his 1400 pounds?

Fortunately Fat Spandex Cyclist continues straight where I make a left to head home. I’ve almost caught up with him, but he’s clearly oblivious to what he’s put me through. At least he didn’t fall over.

And it’s become clear to me that it’s very likely that as bad as fat Spandex Cyclist looks while riding, as weird a pedal stroke he has, I probably look worse.