I've had a lingering case of the PFSes for a while now.
PFS, of course, stands for "poor (freaking) Sadye."
I'll admit it, and I won't run through its various recent manifestations.
I will say that it was flaring up rather significantly yesterday, when I rode to work after having failed to make time for a short run. (Gotta pack my bag and prep my apartment for RAGBRAI ... )
I was locking up my bike and soaking in the absolutely perfect weather, regretting that I was merely standing in it instead of running in it, when I heard someone call: "Isn't it harder to bike in a skirt?"
My questioner didn't send out any creepy vibes, so I just smiled and said: "Well, yeah, but I wear shorts underneath the dress."
"Ah, gotcha," he said, riding away cheerfully.
It was then that I noticed his lower leg was a prosthetic.
Man, did I feel ashamed of all the self-pity I've indulged in for the past few months.
Why should I feel sorry for myself? There's nothing wrong with me but my attitude.
I've done all the prep work I need to do, from packing to travel planning to riding. All that's left now is to wait for the fun to start — I'm going on vacation, not boot camp.
"See" you all after RAGBRAI.