So, in an effort to engage in a joint activity with my betrothed, I agreed to participate in a ridiculously long bike ride for charity. My motivation, as always, was to be less fat and to prove that I can still hang as the 'older' person of the group. It's amazing the lengths that I will go to in order to compete with younger, skinnier girls.
I actually got excited after I got my bike tuned up and got some gloves and a new water bottle. It was pretty cool. I even did pretty well on our first training ride. We rode for 15 miles and I didn't die! I even held my own for most of the way, sometimes taking the lead. At this point, I was feeling pretty cocky. The fat girl with no athletic skills whatsoever had become a cycling goddess. According to me, anyway.
After my first successful training ride, I quickly discovered the benefit of bike shorts, the things I had been resisting. I am adamantly opposed to spandex on fat people such as myself, but I am more opposed to unnecessary pain and suffering, particularly when it affects my girly bits. Three days of discomfort and I was heading off to buy bike shorts. It was either that or stuff a pillow in my crotch.
So, I decided to hit the local sports discount chain store, which I will call Jodells, because I am cheap and thought they may have bargains. I have been in this store before, but it has never been to purchase spandex. Just the thought of squeezing my fat ass into spandex was giving me mild panic attacks. I persisted though, and fought off the tears as I walked into Jodells. I started to look around for what I wanted because I was not quite panic-free enough to ask for help yet. Especially since the staffing was mostly guys, semi-athletic and too young to be sympathetic to the spandex needs of an old fat lady.
As I start looking through the women's section, I encounter another female also shopping for spandex attire. I hoped that that would have eased my anxiety, but it only made me sweat more than I already was.
She was no fat chick like myself who was buying bike shorts because she was too weak to say no to participating in a 75 mile bike race just to prove that she could hang with her fiance's younger friends. On no. She was no ally. She was a skinny little thing who was very in shape and shopping for coordinating spandex outfits to wear at the gym so she could attract some hot guy with money who would treat her like a princess for the rest of her skinny little life. And she'd probably get all of that too. Because she was a skinny little princess who didn't sweat at the thought of purchasing spandex.
So, I left Jodells with my bottom lip quivering and tried to hold it together until I got in the car. Dammit, why do I not keep a stockpile of m&m's in my car? Or those little bottles of booze? (Note to self...make up an emergency kit for future fat crises.)
I decided not to give up. Partly because I am more than my fat and I deserve to be able to buy friggin spandex shorts if I want to. Mostly because my betrothed had already threatened me that I needed to buy bike shorts before I got home because he was making me ride my bike either way and he wasn't tolerating any excuses.
I decided to head over to the less chain-y but still really cool sports store which I will call Beastern Hill Sports, because I knew they would have what I wanted. I didn't know if they had a fat girl section, but I was determined to find out. So, I walk in to the store which is designed to meet the needs of the very active. They stock all kinds of gear for cycling, hiking, camping, kayaking, etc. The staff are usually all male, but not the threatening type of males. These guys are more the granola eating, extreme kayaking, recycling type of male. I can handle them because I feel just a little bit more masculine than they are.
So, I feel at ease enough to ask the first granola boy that I see where I can find the bike shorts. Surprisingly, he does not break out into uncontrollable vomiting at the thought of my fat ass squeezing into spandex. Instead, he kindly points me in the right direction after making a semi-clever little joke implying that he didn't know which direction was which himself. Granola can have disorienting effects, so I hear. I haven't eaten any lately because I don't believe Haagen Daas has a granola flavor.
Anyway, I find the shorts, grab a couple sizes in each style along with a shirt just to redirect granola boy's thinking to my chest rather than my ass. (The boobs are usually less vomit-inducing.) I try on my little spandex shorts and am pleasantly surprised that I can fit into a large rather than an extra large. That's encouraging. I even found a pair that are regular shorts with the spandex part as an insert that can be removed from the shorts if needed. I fell in love with them right after I tried the spandex shorts on and discovered the second most disgusting part of these spandex atrocities. The bulge. I knew there would be cushioning, but for crying out loud, this was ridiculous. It looked like I had a diaper on. I mean, I am aging and all, but I'm not at the diaper stage yet. So, they were out.
I continued trying stuff on and decided on the shorts with the insert. They even have little pockets for my lip balm. So cute!
I was content with my Beastern Hill Sports experience. Until I realize as I am half naked, squatting in such a way that I can truly get a feel for the benefits of the padding, that the dressing room door doesn't go all the way to the top. So, I continued trying things on, but in a more ladylike manner. Then I exit the dressing room and see that my directionally challenged granola boy is atop a ladder 'restocking' while conveniently positioned in direct eyeline of my dressing room. Dammit again! Why can I not suffer an embarrassing moment without having to fear that it will be on youtube? I had just gotten over the embarrassment of having to break into my jeep with my khaki clad fat ass sticking out for all the security cameras to enjoy. Now this. Oh well, maybe someone out there likes watching fat girls in embarrassing situations. I can only hope that some hot guy with money somewhere out there enjoys my fat girl antics so much that they want to treat me like a princess for the rest of my life. My betrothed is definitely hot and has some money, but he is only tolerant of my antics and really doesn't support me being treated like a princess. It's clearly not the princess lifestyle to which I feel I am entitled. If it was, I would be at home eating m&m's and drinking little bottles of booze while watching Lifetime instead of sweating my ass off in panic so I can train for a 75 mile bike ride. Bastard.