Saturday, 22 September 2012


Bright idea

The spreading of my late Grandfather, Robert Lyman Lein’s, ashes- Thursday August 16th.

The celebration of his life- Saturday August 18th.

Living and existing on a different continent as my family came together, across the pond- relating, hugging, learning about Grandpa, family dynamics and history.

Sorting through memories and pictures. Reminiscing.

I was missing.

With this going on and out of grasp, I decided I had to do something. For me. For him. 

I set out at 9:30am on Thursday August 23rd- a solo bike ride of 100km before me.

To Brighton.

Why cycle? Reasons for my “bright idea”:

It is not that my Grandfather was into cycling in the slightest. In fact, he spent much of his life abusing his body- smoking and enjoying his beer- and not cycling. But the idea- “biking in honour of Grandpa”- just seemed right. Perhaps for the following reasons…
  • I was being healthy for him?
  • Hesitant that I did not spell my Grandfather’s middle name (Lyman) correctly in this blog entry I took a moment to use the inter-webs for some reassurance.  During this exploration, I discovered the old English meaning of “Lyman"
          “clearing, meadow”. I read.

          That’s it. I passed a ton of meadows when cycling.  A little retrospective reasoning…
  • The solo-ness of the adventure made it feel relevant as well. That I would be sorting out my own path, on my own terms, as Miss Lame does.  It would be just me and Grandpa’s crusty but deeply loving spirit, ploughing along the South of England country-side.


A primal cry. A sort of innate, unrestrained growl escapes from my core filling- contrasting- sharply cutting the calm country-side air. Just me. This great sound takes me by surprise and drives me. Forward. Out of the saddle of my bike, with a final blip of energy, all that I have left, my legs pump and force the pedals round the axel- crude and irregular in pace.  

Recognising the effectiveness of this vulgar, audible release I persist to discharge grunts, growls, profanity, you name it, as I power myself up miniscule inclines that for the first 2/3 of the cycle went unnoticed by Miss fitness queen Lame. Unaffected. No problem.    

Usually the first to poke fun at the neaderthals at the gym for their caveman grunts, alone in the country-side, I became Beth “neadrathal” Lame.

Feeling my physiology

ATP stock down. I can feel it so clearly. I am bankrupt of this incredible, life-sustaining molecule, which I need so direly to burst apart, to drive my muscle cells to contract in a concise, powerful way. Incapable of harnessing the beautiful and very helpful physics of forward momentum, I stagger forward, one, slow-motion, degrading pump at a time. Standing over my pedals, using my body weight.    

So this is what it feels like to be obese… IT SUCKSSSS!!!!!!!!!” Feelings of lethargy overpower me and I am incapable of more.

I know, with certainty, that my face is grey and drawn. My eyes dull- they gaze, unfocused.



1 minute of dead-eyed-gazing at the endless landscape before me- A hint of weary resentment.

Ok. No choice. Must continue.

I reluctantly place my foot on the pedal.

Brain instructions travel down my motor neurons to the muscle fibres in my legs- “contract and coordinate, aight?

Newfound energy- I am surprised- MY LEGS RESPOND!

Legs: “LEZGO YO!”
(yes, my tissues and organs talk in “gangsta”)

I cycle along at a new, smooth pace.

…For approximately 5 minutes...

A distinct drop. Everything sinks. Miss Lame experiences obesity again.

Whhhattt happennneddd??? Science-dork Miss Lame will tell you.
  • The minute of break in combination with a gulp of water (a crucial molecule involved in the making of ATP) gave my muscle cells the opportunity to construct a small reserve of ATP. Supplying my short burst of energy. 
The remainder of my trip was a series of brief, teasing moments of motor heroism, followed by abrupt, bodily defeat. 
Miss Lame found this incredibly intriguing and downright stupid all at once.

Food tasted quite good after.

Soooo happy to be eating!

 The next morning I enjoyed sitting on the beach, looking out at the ocean and visited Brighton Pier.

Back to school

Incredibly nervous. 

Will Miss Lame be able to “set the right tone” in her very own classes, day one of the NEW school year?

To be continuedddd…

NOTE: Any words that are bolded, italicized, underlined and in red are suggested/preferred words by Mom. She doesn’t like me saying words like fuck, shit, ass (etc) on the internet… I feel these words better illustrate my feelings as times, so just imagine them in there if you will.

No comments:

Post a Comment