It was 90 ° at 7:45am with humidity above 50%.  I had the dog in a backpack, and a pack of my suit and clothes sitting above the rear wheel.  I bike along Lake Michigan, and, while beautiful, is also tough because the wind coming off the lake is usually shooting right at me.

I never really think about things like hot weather being a health issue.  But a 45 minute ride into the wind after my morning yogurt cup is pretty tough.  I was the sweatiest I’ve ever been when I got to work.

My day was fine, and I ate a few sandwiches which I bring with me.  I literally eat the same exact thing just about every day at lunch sitting at my computer.  I never thought about it before, but I guess I am that guy.

Right now, as I’m typing this, it’s technically 93 ° but feels like 98 ° according to weather.com.  It’s 9:40pm.  Hot as nuts.

So, I packed up to go home from work at about 5:30pm.  It’s 100 ° and I got the feeling that this probably isn’t my best plan.  But, I don’t really have a choice.  Plus, I’m not a doctor.  That guy  Stu Mittleman  ran 1000 miles in 11 days and didn’t even get a blister.  Certainly I’m 1% the man he is.

The ride home was not that difficult.  It was crazy hot, but the wind helped.  I got home, and then I lugged the bike with all the crap up four flights of stairs to my back deck.  This is the worst part of the ride each day.

I’m a sweaty mess and I just wanted to go inside where the air has been chilling all day at 72 ° and drink directly from the Britta.  I fished for my keys.  They were not there.

I checked my extra key I had hidden among the petunias.  Oh yeah, I brought that inside last week.  Great timing.

I started saying the m.f. word at acceptable decibel  levels.  I mean I have neighbors.  They don’t want to hear me screaming obscenities and shaking my fist at the heavens.  By the way, how fun is it to write “saying the m.f. word”?  It’s fun.  I swear on this blog all the time.  But I like “m.f.”

I really didn’t know what to do.  I’m not good in these situations.  I couldn’t go back to the office.  I had no keys to get in to get my keys which were on my desk.  I was insanely tired and thirsty.  My dog is outside in 100 ° heat.

Calling my boss, he suggested I get a locksmith.  I swear that would have never occurred to me.  I would have just sat there waiting to be rescued.  I learned that I own the really nice locks according to the lock guy.  Took him 45 minutes to do the deadbolt and handle lock.  $115.

I just sat the whole time in a chair in the sun mildly hallucinating.  I’d like to think this dehydrated meditation yielded some wisdom for me to pass on.  It did not.  I just thought of all the stuff I do wrong on a regular basis and then felt awful about it.  This is not the effect meditation is supposed to provide.  Or at least I’m pretty sure I didn’t achieve nirvana.

Oh well, no big deal.  It’s over.  I’m eating pizza and watching television.  I have nothing funny to say, and nothing great to write.  I will collapse in two hours and wake up late tomorrow.  Pizza for breakfast.  Then I will write “m.f.” a few more times.

photo credit:  Kevin McShane  via  photo pin  cc

(I address my bicycle as “you”.)

I know.  That was dumb.  And made you feel uncomfortable for a moment.  Especially if you’re a dude.  Well, I guess maybe not all dudes would have felt uncomfortable.  Certain ones.

But, this is a post about riding a bike.  And, goddammit, there’s just no way you’re going to read a post titled, “I’m Going on a Bike Ride!”

I am going on a bike ride!  To work.

I will be doing this every day (except when it rains) until it gets too cold in late fall.  I have the dog in a backpack, and this commuter garment thing I just installed so I can bring my suit.

The total distance is around twenty miles round-trip.  Since I’m in Chicago and near the lake, it’s a beautiful ride.  Also windy.  I go right along Lake Michigan with all the other weirdos that ride to work.  I’ve been doing this for the past three years.  Before then I hadn’t ridden a bike since I was fourteen.

Now, please realize I have hardly moved since I put the bike away last year.  I live in a fourth floor walkup.  I get winded (no jive) making it up the stairs with groceries.

To go from nothing to twenty miles a day is intense.  I’m a sweaty mess when I get to work.  Well, surely there must be a shower there, yes?  Nope.

I have to towel off, wash up in the sink and then put on a suit.  Not the most fun thing to do all drenched in sweat.  But hey, I’m a professional.

I’m excited, because I’ll burn a few calories and get a few endorphins flowing.  Better than the tiny Mr. Goodbars floating around in my system right now.  Seriously, who ever eats tiny Mr. Goodbars?  Other than me when they’re on sale?

Was going to end with a strong joke about doody, but then a wave of fear hit me.  I realized that even though I’m all protected with a helmet on the bike, my dog is not.  I’ve ridden with her before and never had an issue.  In fact I’ve never fallen myself.  But if you ride a bike like me, logging thousands of miles, you will fall one day.  And the idea of crushing my dog is a devastating thought.  So, now I’m nearly  paralyzed  with fear, to tell the truth.  I think it’s a healthy fear, though.  Still, ugh.

Would have been easier to do the doody joke.  But, now I’m just scared.  Oh well.  I’m off to eat some more tiny Mr. Goodbars to kill that feeling.  Feelings suck!

I am not waking up on time.

Here’s my routine.     I arise at 6am,    shower, and slip into a t–shirt and shorts.     I jump on my bicycle, strap the dog to my back and ride downtown.

Since I live in Chicago I am fortunate to ride along Lake Michigan which is beautiful and exciting.

This all changed the night of Obama’s 50th birthday.

I was riding home in hot weather at 6pm on a Tuesday.     It’s 10 miles each way,   and by the last few miles I’m a total mess.

I’m a body–sweater.   You know how some guys have to wear deodorant because they sweat and stink from their armpits?     I don’t.   In fact,   just for a goof I didn’t wear deodorant for a full year,   just to see if I could.   Nobody noticed.

My body, however, starts to sweat at the drop of a hat.   It’s really sexy during outdoor parties.   Girls love it.   (just kidding – they don’t).

So, I’m riding home and suddenly my pedal snaps clean off.   Thankfully I was only a few miles from home.   I walked the bike, all sweaty, toward my condo and past thousands of on-lookers.   Obama’s party was exactly two doors down from me.

I took my bicycle in the next day and decided to get a bunch of upgrades.   The repairs were estimated at three weeks, as they had to order the parts.   Then after the three weeks, they forgot to order something, so another three weeks have been added.   Oh well.

And I think this is the big problem.   It’s not like I’m waking up early and doing P90x or anything.   I’m just not exercising.   And going from 20 miles a day to nothing is kind of a shift.

So, after fighting with my body for a few weeks, I came to a realization.   At 35, I really need an accountability partner.   To wake up.

To do the most basic life task.

It’s not like I’m a total bozo.   I shave, shower, do laundry, and clean the cat litter without issue.   I pay my bills and keep a to-do list.   I even update this blog pretty regularly.

But I had to call a friend the other day and say (hat very much in hand), “Do you think you could phone me tomorrow at 6am for a wake-up call?”

He said, “Of course!” and didn’t even seem to have a second thought or judgement.

It’s good to have friends who just do stuff when you ask and need it.   So, with all that being said..

I could really use a shiatsu hot stone massage tomorrow night.   Please bring a massage table.   Ladies only.