Monday night I punched myself in the face while trying to fix my exercise bike. Anyone who knows me, knows that this is not atypical for me. After all, I am the man who bowled a hole in his basement wall. The face punching was not intentional, nor was the wall bowling for that matter, but it did happen. There was a very stubborn bolt, my very earnest effort, and a socket wrench that, when forced upon by my earnest effort, slipped off of the stubborn bolt and, clad in my hand, struck my right cheekbone.
It was both humbling and enraging at the same time. Mostly it was just unpleasant.
Why was I fixing my own exercise bike, despite it still being under warranty? Well, because when I called Kelley at Schwinn, to tell her of my squealing, banshee infested bike, she said that she'd send me some new bearings and then talk me through the installation over the phone. Troubleshooting, she called it. Fixing my own damn bike, I called it.
When the parts came, complete with a 12 pound box of 419 ball bearings that was supposed to go to an auto parts place in Marietta, I was surprised to see not just bearings, but a giant wheel, another wheel thingy, some more bolts, a lemur, seventeen midgets and a Grecian urn. It was a very large box.
In the 40 minutes that I was on hold before talking to Connie, I managed to get the entire exercise bike apart, cranks and all. I then spent something like five minutes trying to not say "crank" while on the phone with Connie, and instead managed to say "crank" something like thirteen hojillion times. I hope that Connie knew that I meant the bike cranks and that I wasn't spending the previous 40 minutes engaging in onanism. I was pretty pissed, which isn't usually the state of mind of someone who just spent almost an hour pleasuring himself, so I'm sure Connie knew what I meant.
After explaining to Connie that I couldn't get the crank shaft assembly bolts undone, the very bolts that caused my face punching, she then put me back on hold. I managed to get one bolt undone, then, when using the wrench to stabilize the big wheel that the crank shaft assembly was attached to, I managed to move the wheel which in turn made the wrench slip which then hit a wire, breaking it in the process.
At this point, I was pretty pissed, and I let Connie know this. I explained to her that I didn't understand why I was fixing the bike. She told me that if I had the parts, it's probably because I wanted to do the work myself, rather than wait for a technician. I told her that Kelley with an "e" never mentioned any fucking technician. Ok, I didn't swear. Well, not in that sentence anyway. Connie was very sorry after hearing this, and promptly put in an order for a technician and a new motor. Luckily, I don't have to pay for the motor, partially because it was broken during a repair process that was undertaken by myself when I hadn't been told that someone else could do it and partially because I didn't tell Connie that I was the one who broke said motor.
Again I say, whoopsie.
I'm not sure when the technician will be here, or when the motor will be here, but the bike is in pieces and wouldn't work even if I were to put it back together. Bottom line is that I have to figure out an exercise alternative for the near future. Tuesday morning I got up and walked the neighborhood. It was unpleasant what with all of the humidity and my near complete dislike of the outdoors. I could work out at work, but that's kind of a pain. I could also work out with Wii Fit but I'd spend most of my time in the menus. I don't know. I'm sure I'll think of something. Or I won't and instead will just gain weight. Either way, something will happen. Of that I'm certain.
Well, mostly certain.