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Mortification
I rode my bike today for the first time since Sunday, and on my way out I stopped by my local bike shop for a small adjustment. I already think they hate me there because of a scheduling mix-up a couple of weeks ago. But now they must think I'm a giant nerd, too. About half an hour after I left the shop, I realized that my big white race number sticker was still on the front of my helmet. It's like realizing hours after lunch that you have a huge gob of spinach wedged between your front teeth.
Hi, my name is Ariel and I'm a DORKY TRIATHLETE.
July 18, 2007 11:41 PM
I can't believe that you're the only DORKY TRIATHLETE who has walked through their doors. Besides, doesn't working in a bike shop pretty much grant your automatic membership in some sort of dorky bike club?
The folks who work at my bike shop are mostly hipster steel-frame-and-fixed-gear-riding urban cyclists. Wayyyy cooler than me already. And to cycling purists, triathletes are already several notches down on the cool scale for a variety of reasons, number one being that we're not "real" cyclists.
The better question is: why do I care? I dunno, maybe because I have to face these people and ask them to do favors for me on a regular basis. Favors for which I pay.