The Mystery of my Koumpounophobia.

“The credit offered is the support available through this program and doesn’t include covered shipping. If you’d prefer not to use it, no problem at all. There’s no obligation to accept.

It began with my decision to participate in a Zwift group ride outside of the RIOT squad. It was a 75km ride, which would typically take me about 2 and a half hours to complete, thus boring myself to tears. I wanted to get an endurance ride in and pondered whether a group ride would make it more interesting. You can send short messages during these rides until your phone’s touchscreen gives up on registering your sweaty fingertips.

I joined the ride just as the ride leader announced that there would be prizes for the male and female with the most sprint points.

Things briefly became more interesting until I realized that out of the group of about 80 participants, there were only three other women. None of them attempted to get out of their saddles to challenge me during the sprints. The prize was undoubtedly mine early into the ride. I had no idea what it was; for all I knew, it could be a virtual badge. Zwift likes to give out those.

I submitted my email address to the ride leader to claim my prize, and three days later, a rep from The Feed got in touch, offering to add credit to my account, which did not exist. So, he explained how I need to create an account to claim my prize.

Hmm.

As hinted by this post’s opener, I straight-up asked the rep if it was a true prize or if I was still expected to pay for shipping. In case it was the latter, I asked if they had a promo code I could offer to someone else. That was when they responded, “There’s no obligation to accept.”

Oh, for the love of Amway…

Continue reading “The Mystery of my Koumpounophobia.”

Older but stronger.

Having experienced virtual racing, I can’t believe there are more people who film themselves suffering on a trainer to share on social media than there are people who blog.

I had my second-ever virtual race and the first with “the wolves” on Tuesday. Thankfully, the roomie wasn’t home to witness my thousand faces of agony. My pores opened like floodgates, and within minutes, a small lake had formed underneath my bike. This went on for 72 minutes.

In the videos I mention, riders often forgo the jersey due to comfort. What remains of their attire looks like a futuristic lederhosen, thanks to the cycling bib and chest strap heart rate monitor combo. The willingness to allow people to watch you, in sweat-soaked bibs, make the same faces women make when giving birth, is not the level of exhibitionism I can partake in.

With TikTok and Insta stories, are people just getting lazier about writing? Am I out of touch?

No. It’s the children who are wrong.

Continue reading “Older but stronger.”

Rather random missions.

When I got my current laptop, which does not have a CD drive, I transferred my archived blog posts (dating back to 2000) to Yann’s hard drive. At last, I have transferred those archives to my new hard drive, which arrived in the mail two days ago.

This credit card-sized thing holds 500 gb. I am blown away.

And my archived blog is only 43 mb. Eighteen years of my life amounts to 43 mb of data? What can I say? Back in the early 2000s that was a lot!

Continue reading “Rather random missions.”

Waxed out.

My candle count remains at three.

Mom used to have a collection of candles that rivalled a Catholic church. When I was little, I’d dip my fingertips in the melted wax that pooled around the wick of the candles. Mom did not like this. She forbade me from having candles in my room, but this was out of concern that I’d set the house on fire. Even into my teens, this candle ban was imposed upon me.

Jordi didn’t throw me much of a pity party when I shared my candle-deprived childhood with him. He made a face when I described my proclivity for dipping my fingers in hot wax and determined that it wasn’t a “kid thing,” as I insisted, but a “Laura thing.”

Please back me up in the comments.

Continue reading “Waxed out.”