The Demise of My Left Bicep

OK ok ok…I know what you are thinking. Shut up about your freaking bike! I couldn’t possibly do such a thing you see, because it is so amazing, so thrilling and so, well, ultra cool, I can’t get enough of it. (Now you are all very confused because I have yet to say anything about my bike, aside from me assuming that you are thinking I will write about it…now. Correct.)

Sunday marked an extraordinary accomplishment in my life. That’s right, I finished the New York Times weekend crossword. It tested my wit and rattled my brain cells, but could not withstand my awe inspiring thirst for victory. Yeah, I’m only joking. We would be living in a dream world if anyone besides Will Shortz could figure that out. Ok and maybe a superstar team of literature fanatics, art snobs, science techies, and your run of the mill hipster-know-it-alls (to answer questions about contemporary culture of course).

No, what I did had to be done solo. Alone. By myself. Two people minus one. A-la-carte. (More about carts later.) It is at this point in my blog that I wish I could slowly increase the volume of some dramatic, magnificent music so that you all could feel the weight of what I am about to tell you. Instead, I will just say: this is a big deal, so listen up [insert your choice of what word you would like to be called here.] Without anymore ado, I give you, my Sunday accomplishment: riding into Manhattan not in a cab, not on the subway, but on my bicycle! There is not much to tell except that I made it, sans injury or insult all the way to 28th and Broadway. (It is possible that a homeless man with multiple carts filled with multiple varieties of items may have been walking down the bike lane the wrong way almost causing my collision with a taxi…but this is also not possible.)

So, now we’re to Monday. Which, in addition to making an extra special appearance in the weekend line-up , also happened to be the Peej and the Geege’s one month stokedness of marriage. (Because as you all know the word anniversary comes from the Latin word anniversarius meaning ‘returning yearly’, and that from annus meaning ‘yearly’ + versus meaning ‘turning’.) Bam, that just happened. In order to celebrate above mentioned excitement, we decided to go to one of my/our favorite places in the NY of C–Ft. Tyron Park (yes that’s the one right by the Cloisters, also a fave.) However instead of making the traditional crawl on the A line, we decided to ride our bicycles up the island of Manhattan, a 16-mile journey one way (that’s 32 miles round trip, I know, we’re really intense).

I think it marked probably one of my favorite days in New York to date. Not only was it a beautiful day, but getting to ride the expanse of Manhattan was so thrilling and mind boggling all at once. PJ would occasionally underestimate the size and strength of my leg muscles, as he passed super decked out cyclists with thighs the width of my entire body, but other than then that, the ride was unbelievable. Once we arrived at the park, we did what any 20-something married couple would do–played scrabble on a park bench. I must also mention this bench conveniently hosted an 80-something couple reading the NY Times, a glimpse into the future for sure. After failing to respond to words like “axis”, “quoted”, and “cajun”, PJ sadly lost, but this is probably because he made up words like “rine”, a combo of wine and rind. If you look it up in the dictionary, it’s not there.

And there you have it, my weekend in a nutshell. Random thoughts to end on, all of which are true: this morning I woke up not with sore legs from our 32 mile ride, but rather a sore left bicep…what?; on Saturday morning PJ towel slapped a fly in mid-air, “knocking it unconscious,” according to him, so he could then squish it; watching cars parallel park from my fire escape makes an extremely amusing past time; the sanitation police who get to slap those neon green “You have prevented NYC streets from properly being cleaned” papers on people’s cars who don’t move for street cleaning have such an unbelievably satisfying job; the sanitation police who arrive second on the scene after said paper has already been slapped on the car have the most freaking irritating job, they possibly put on another neon sheet; and finally, I made the perfect piece of completely burnt toast this morning, not one side, sliver or crumb was left un-charred. Brilliant.


About gandpco

I'm a 23-year old wife reigning from the oh-so-chic Brooklyn neighborhood of Park Slope.
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