I hate the whole concept of playing hard to get, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good chase.
Because you want the potential significant other to match you in terms of wits, humor, and even style. And if you're as neurotic as I am and you go so far as to check out another person's gruppo, you want them to at least match - if not exceed - your power to weight ratio too.
So I've been doing a little chasing these past few days. You know, just for fun. Because, as they say, "the day you stop looking is the day you die."
Too bad there's another mantra that also says, "when you decide to start looking, there will be nothing to look at." I dusted everything in my path on the way to school and back. On one gear. They had quite a few.
Of course, I paid the price later, embarrassing rivers of sweat erupting all over my body as I bought my case books. The worst part being that it didn't even seem worth it; I wasn't hurting enough. My lungs didn't feel like they were going to collapse. My throat wasn't trying to vomit out my heart. I wasn't sucking in air so hard my eyeballs hurt. That spark just wasn't there.
Resigned at the outcome of my boring commute, I dragged my pedals to Kinko's after class. But as I unlocked my bike, I saw him. Mystery IBC kit guy. Very cute, very fit, and very very married. I knew I wasn't going to catch him, and that totally turned me on.
My womanly resolve of "I WILL NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!!!!111!1" kicked in and I chased. And chased and chased and chased. He easily slid away, and caught at a red light I couldn't possibly run, I watched him disappear. Sigh.
If only I had gears. But then again, maybe I shouldn't be considering trying to wreck a happy home.