beacons of light

Everyone's heard of the old person that got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk, fell down some stairs, and croaked.
I feel like I'm dangerously close to actually being that person. Except I'm not old [in the relative scheme of things] and this is all going to happen on a bike.

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Because while it's only the second week of school, last night I found myself half groping through my usual commute, squinting in the dark as if that's going to somehow fix my 0/0 vision. It didn't, obviously, but feet fueled by hunger bordering on starvation and getting crowded out of the lane by impatient cars, it did help that I knew my route well.

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Newton likes to keep things dark, but even along Comm Ave - which actually has functioning street lights - the shadows of trees like to hide all the sneaky potholes that are just deep enough to fall into. My trusty Knog light kept the more attentive drivers at bay but I'd still need one of those intense headlights [the kind you actually strap around your head] to actually illuminate the street.
Because I'm as blind as a bat. The only thing keeping me from eating shit on the way home was the fact that I knew what to avoid and where. But cutting across the Boston College undergrad campus, and hopping onto Beacon, I discovered something new.

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A bike lane...! Marked off on both sides of the street in bold white lines that I could see even without the aid of sunlight. And while I know the bumps and cracks on that stretch of road nearly by heart, it's reassuring to know that a couple feet of asphalt have officially been sectioned off for my personal use.
Of course, this has the potential to put me right back into that dangerous old-person-dying-in-her-house scenario. Because the whole assumption behind that is that you know your house well enough to get around with no lights on. But of course you're wrong and you end up paying the consequences. Which sucks when you have to die for it.
Maybe I'll stick to taking my chances on Comm Ave...

giving chase

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."

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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.

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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.

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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.