There's a finger in my bum

Second door on your left. Go on in and take your clothes off. There's an examination sheet to put over yourself. Have a seat on the table.

I'm in a doctor's office, alone, naked, sitting on the edge of an examination table, draped with only a paper towel like sheet waiting for the her to come in. Every year I get a little queezy feeling in my stomach cause I know what's coming. I'm sitting on that throw-away white paper that they cover the table with and I am sweating. It's sticking to my arse. Fugg. This is going to be fugly.

She comes in. Asks me a bunch of questions. Checks a few things: inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale, ears, eyes, throat, reflexes, etc. I know what's coming next. She knows what's coming. There's a subtle nervous tension between the two of us.

I'm wondering what the doctor is thinking. She's in her mid-forties, couple kids, not bad looking lady - I've known her for about eight years. What's on her mind? Is she looking forward to this as much as I am? I mean I'm no underwear model, and it could be much worse. How do you prepare yourself for this?

First it's the genital exam. One nut rolled through her fingers checking for bumps. A little too much pressure than I am comfortable with. I tense up. She senses it. Goes a little easier on the other nut. Fugg.

No problems urinating?

If you mean you want me to go now, then yes, I have a problem. But otherwise, nope, no issues.

Here comes the worse part. Fugg.

Okay, lay on your side and bring your knees up to your chest. This *may* feel a *little* uncomfortable. You may *feel* like you are going to urinate.

Lovely.
A gel ladden, laytex covered finger wiggles it's way into my backside. I know that her fingers are not that big, but the one in my backdoor feels like a tree trunk. I'm wincing. She's right, but only *partially* cause it feels like my bladder is going to explode all over the wall that I am facing. Lubricating gel is dripping out my butt.
Lovely.

Okay, everything feels good. You can get dressed.

Phew.
I'm relieved that she didn't find something, but happier that her digit is out of my anus.
I sit up making sure the paper thin disposable sheet that I've been given covers over my poked and prodded body. Lubrication gel is now sticking to the white paper on the exam table, which is in turn sticking to my arse.
Humility at it's finest.

Wait a minute . . . what do you mean 'feels good?!'
Well I'm glad it felt good for one of us.
Don't I even get a kiss?

Thank gwad my doctor has small fingers.

I'm walking a little funny today . . . well, funnier than usual. Yesterday was my annual physical exam. Turn your head and cough. Achem.

I've been going every year for the past four or five years. I've got history of cancer (specifically prostate cancer) in my immediate family and have been told that I need to keep an eye on things. So I do. Cycling probably doesn't help my prostate much. Doc' says that I stand a higher risk of getting prostatitis. Haven't yet, so keep on pedaling.

I've been struggling this year on the bike. I feel underpowered and slower than past years. Considering I was on the bike much earlier this Spring than previous ones, been getting in good mileage, doing all the right things: recovery, eating well, taking enough time off the bike, varying my workouts (high end, base, endurance rides) . . . and still I feel weaker and slower. It's no secret that I am heavier this season, but I don't feel it's that much heavier (I'm actually down to 198lbs . . . take that beeatches!) to make this much difference.

So I spoke to my doctor the other day about it and she is putting me through some blood work to see what's going on. I'm hoping that it's nothing serious, can be easily remedied and will be a magic fix for my struggles on the bike - cause let's face it, I don't want to take any responsibility for being this slow.

I've also re-contemplated my initial "Fugg you dieting. I'm going to love being a fat-ass Clydesdale this season."
Post to follow.

Chasing Legends

another cycling video to inspire me to get off my ass


trailer

Dracula saved me from riding my bike on the trainer

After yesterday's training ride I was all tuckered out and looking for excuses not to ride. Found a good one - go donate blood. I know that after you give blood they tell you not to do anything strenuous for at least five hours after donating . . . perfect, my arse was still sore anyway.

Actually, I was planning on donating tonight anyway - so happens that it got me out of a workout. Goodie for me!

I've got an ink session with Julie this Saturday which means that I won't be able to donate for six months (them the rules if you get a tattoo), so I wanted to get another donation in before then. Did you know that you can donate every 56 days? You can, and you should.

It's easy for me as the Canadian Blood Services central Ottawa office and clinic is just around the corner in my neighbourhood. I've been donating regularly since I was in university with a few breaks in-between the years when I've gotten tattoo work done.

Takes me less than an hour to go through the whole process - getting signed in, reading through the questions, preparation stuff, donating (which is the quickest part), rest and goodies.

I'm actually using donating as part of my training - that bag of blood must weigh close to a half a pound?! Wicked. How many ways can you drop that much weight in under an hour?!?
However, I probably eat a half pound of goodies afterwards.

Did you know:

• One donation can save three lives.
• That your blood type says a lot about you (got to know your blood type).
• Best question they ask: "Have you handled monkeys or monkey feces in the past ten years?" Oh, the fun you could have answering that one.
  
• The needle doesn't hurt . . . . really, it doesn't.
• Nurses are friendly and funny.
• And the best part . . . you can eat as many cookies, donuts, granola bars, sweets and juice as you like when you're done! Guilt free! Whoot!