Sheridan’s Blog

Yesterday I rode my bike to work. I didn’t write about it last night because:
a) I was exhausted; and
b) I couldn’t sit for long periods.

I thought I was well-planned: I had the map, the water, the clothes (to wear at work), the phone, etc. I set off at first light and it was all breezy in Essendon. Got onto the bike track with no trouble whatsoever. There are no cars in Essendon at 7am, surprisingly. Sped along until the track inexplicably stopped. Other cyclists seemed unperterbed by this and just continued to ride down the large drain/creek which ran alongside the path. Without much hesitation, I followed. Not being a cyclist, I was unable to keep up with these ‘hell riders’ and as I rounded the next corner, I noticed the path had re-commenced…on the other side of the creek. The other riders were long gone, which was a good thing too because what happened next was hardly inspiring. I stood awhile beside the rippling creek (or sewage disposal drain, depending on how you look at it), pondering whether to cross on foot or on bike. It seemed fairly slippery and fast-flowing. I got a stick and measured the depth, which was not encouraging. But it wasn’t a wide creek and I had to get to work before sundown so I set across on foot. Then I continued on the path with both feet (and lower half of both legs) completely saturated. Creek – 1, Sheridan – 0.
Onwards I went, all the way up to Flemington, where again the track magically evaporated. From here, I never found it again. But I did find several very steep hills and also a nice place to stop and advise my colleagues by telephone that I had only a vague idea where I was and couldn’t accurately state my arrival time.
After being lost another 3 or 4 times, I finally made it to work (only 45 minutes late), and thus was unable to ride home since it was dark by the time I left. Thank God.

Of late I have been having some attention paid to my butt (let’s get straight to the point). This has all come about due to some kind of injury or lack of muscular support/stability resulting in a painful bum cheek. It’s really such a classy condition which is difficult to explain in a non-embarrassing way to a young, fit, male physio. In fact, the explaining part was probably more painful than the condition itself. Nothing says ‘I’m really cool and ace’ like ‘My bum cheek hurts’.
The result of all the explaining was what can only be described as the pulverisation of my buttock. Words cannot describe the feeling this kind of manipulation evokes (probably not just for me, but also my physio). Then again, my butt is not that bad – some people might take some kind of pleasure in that kind of activity. Come to think of it, I probably should be charging him for touching my arse, not the other way around. There’s so many things that can go wrong – inappropriate underwear, accidentally farting on his hand, slippage, etc. On the whole it was a particularly unflattering situation. Especially the first appointment, which was made at the last minute and left me with no time to assess the leg-hair situation and the sweaty-work-clothing scenario. It’s not how I generally prefer the first meeting with someone who is going to go the grope (fully in a medical way). To top off the appointment and complete my transformation from normal to idiot, the physio made reference to doing his pelvic floor exercises, at which time I chose to look down at his crotch. I get the distinct feeling he thought this was amusing.

The whole scenario, as enjoyable/humiliating/bizarre as it was brought to my attention the amount of trust we place in medical professionals. We tell these people anything, no matter how disgusting or horrifyingly embarrassing it might be. We do it with a completely straight face and they reciprocate by accepting this information as graciously as they can (they probably save the laughter until we are out of the building). I guess it’s a way to deal with the trauma of having someone violate your private ‘areas’ and then ask you to pay for it.