Me bum.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Yesterday, while my husband and I were out shopping, I casually mentioned I’d love to find a cheap treadmill or exercise bike so I could walk inside on cold or rainy days (or those days I just feel ugly and want to hide my utter hideousness from the world). The conversation changed and I forgot all about the idea.

On our way home, Mr. Stasaeon decided we should take the scenic route, which I always love. We’re driving along, when suddenly my husband shouts, “FREE EXERCISER! FREE EXERCISER!”

I crane my head around, but see nothing. I look at him, puzzled. He looks at me and says, “You want me to turn around so we can see it?” Though confused, I nod. I have to see what a “FREE EXERCISER!” is.

Sure enough, in someone’s driveway is an ancient Sears brand exercise bike. It has a sign on it: “FREE EXERCISER”. Ah.

It is old, and looks like it’s been in storage for a long, long time. It looks exactly like the one my mother had when I was a small child, in the early 80s. This thing looks like it has been in storage since then. I hop on and give it a try - it works. It squeaks and creaks, but it works. We cram it into the back of our car and drive it home.

Last night, I got out my rags, oil, and cleaner and set to work. My husband wrapped duct tape around the legs in case it was rusted anywhere, so it wouldn’t damage the carpet. I oiled up the chain and all the squeaky bits, and cleaned it until it shined. It’s not pretty, but by Og, it was free and it works. What more could I want?

So, first thing this morning, I leapt out of bed, put on my exercise duds, and hopped on my brand-new-old bike. I popped in a DVD and got so caught up in it, I rode that thing for an hour and a half. I was sweating, but it didn’t feel like exercise - of course, not until I got off. And it was about then that I remembered why my mother traded hers in for a nicer model: that seat is *hard * on the bum.

My butt cheeks hurt more than my muscles do. I’m thinking of duct taping a sofa cushion to the bike seat in the morning.

2

Put some gel on that sumbitch!

(The seat, I mean.)

3

:smack:

Of the exerciser. Not you. The BIKE, OK?!

4

Hey, at least you USED yours. I have a cycling thingy acquired in a similar way - abandoned, in need of goo home, etc. I think I used it for all of five minutes a few years ago. :frowning:

Oh, well, tomorrow is another day - perhaps then. :slight_smile:

5

I have a gel seatcover on my actual bicycle, but it still makes my botty sore :frowning:

6

Back when I had an exercise bike I used to take a sofa pillow (the decorative kind, about 12x12 square) and put it between me and the bike seat. Much better than the gel seat if you ask me.

Have fun with your new toy.

7

Get a pair of cycling shorts. The come in a variety of prices from $20 to $150. I’d stick with the lower range to start.

Depending on the seat, it may be a matter of being too wide. Believe it or not, narrower seats are more comfortable. Look into getting a women’s saddle. You’ll be sore for a week or two but your body will adapt quickly and thank you in the long run.

Enjoy your new toy!

8

Around here, there’s no more common sight than an exercise machine or old Nordic Track knockoff at the side of the road with a “Free” sign on it. I’ve got a couple in my garage that I acquired that way (and they’ve stayed in the garage, of course).

9

Maybe the seat is too high? :wink:

10

The seat on my semi-new exercise bike, is hard but it doesn’t hurt my butt because I have to lean forward to reach the handlebars. Nope it doesn’t hurt my butt at all.

11

You actually used an exercise machine??

We all know those are only for taking up space in your closet or garage!

12

I find they make excellent towel racks.

13

Doesn’t have to towels. They are good for any sort of laundry-related item.

14

There’s a be in my bonnet; it apparently escaped from the sentence above.

15

"Me bum"???

Get a job, ya freeloader!

[sub]Sorry…I’m just really bored today…[/sub]

16

Well, I figure I’ll use it for a week, lose maybe a half inch, or even a whole inch, since my diet was [forcefully and brutally] changed [against my will by a gallstone which I won’t have surgery for until February] and I have to eat a lot of [crap] low-fat foods until then. I’ve been losing weight in my face and arms, legs, thighs… but not my tummy.

So, this machine will give me that little boost - I’ll use it for a week, strut and preen next weekend over the amazing half inch loss, stop using it because, you know, I worked so hard, I will deserve a break, the next weekend, the half inch will have returned, and the bike will end up in our storage closet because, as we all know, it “doesn’t work”. I’ll have kids that grow up and clamber all over it like monkey bars, it will become a foyer tabletop where we leave folded laundry to be brought upstairs, leave our purses and bookbags when we come in, hang little doodads won from quarter machines, spray painted gold and covered in glitter so our [yet to be born] [yet to be conceived] [yet to be a twinkle in his father’s eye] teenage son can suspend it from his ceiling, declaring it “art” of some dubious nature, then it will be banished to the garage.

And in twenty years time, I will stick it at the end of our driveway, with a large, handprinted sign that says “FREE EXERCISER”. My [also yet to be conceived] adult daughter will call me up on the phone the week after someone takes it, and tell me she found a free, battered old exercise bike that just needs to be oiled up and cleaned, and it will be good as new. And I will grumble, “You should have told me! You could have had mine.”

The next day she will visit me and say, “My bum hurts.” And I will nod sagely. “Duct tape a sofa cushion to it, dear.” And then I will look her in the eye and say, “It doesn’t matter what you do, you see this?” I will point to my tummy bulge. “It’s genetic.”

“The Circle of Life” plays in the background