Tuesday, September 20, 2016

The Practical Application of Yoga.

So, this morning I'm leaving for work, running late. I enter my garage, open the passenger door of my car, throw in my giant tote, purse, and lunch bag, and go around to the driver's side to get into the car.

To set the scene: picture a narrow, one car garage, containing a 2006 Subaru Forester and way too much other stuff. On the driver's side of the vehicle stands my long-neglected bike. I do not ride my bike in the summer, because I am not into heatstroke. I'll take it out again in a month or so. So it's been standing, unmoved, against the wall for several months. It's close to my car, but I have enough room to get in and out of the car without bumping it if I'm careful.

I was careful this morning, I swear. I didn't bump the bike! But when I shut my car door (with myself inside) the bike sort of...sighed...and slumped over. Against the driver's side door. Oh, shit. I was already running late.

I tried to open the car door, and couldn't open it more than six inches. The rubber handlebar grip was against the car door and working like a remarkably effective doorstop. I didn't want to damage the bike or the car, so obviously starting the car and backing out was not an immediate option. I was effectively trapped in my vehicle in my garage.

A 2006 Subaru Forester isn't very large. We are not talking roomy SUV here. It also has a center console with a cup holder. The cup holder contained my "drive to work" beverage. I also had the aforementioned giant tote bag, purse and lunch bag crammed into the passenger seat.

Pause, swear, take stock of the truly comical situation. How do I get out of this without damaging anything or spilling my tea? I would have to climb into the passenger seat.

I transferred my giant tote bag and purse off the passenger seat to the backseat. My lunch was on the front floor, not in the way for what I intended to do.

I then pulled my right knee to my chest, angling it to avoid the steering wheel, and extended it outward and partly over the passenger seat. Placing my hands one on each seat, I hoisted my rear smoothly over the center console, right leg still in the air, then lowered my ass onto the passenger seat and repeated the lift and leg fold with my left leg. The whole process took about 10 seconds, I moved slowly to avoid hitting the beverage in the center console. I got out on the passenger side, went around to the bike, un-wedged it from the car and balanced it on its sadly flat tires again, and gave it a little apologetic pat, got back in the car and went to work, thinking that THIS is why I need to keep up with my yoga practice. You never know when your bike will turn on you and trap you in your car. Or at least *I* never know. And not too bad for a 58 year old grandma of three, I think.


Unknown said...

Laughing laughing laughing. Great visual picture! And congrats on the jflexibility and problem solving. Could you have rolled down thewindow and reached the bike to unwedge it?

Catherine said...

Nope, I tried. It was out of reach, stuck like a doorstop, and even if I could have nudged it loose I'd then have run over it backing out.

wednesday said...

Yep, that is a good reason to keep it up. I know plenty of folks who aren't grandmas who'd have needed to call for help.

Anonymous said...

The rescue Jack Russell, Fred, has been sent to join The Great Rat Hunt. It was sudden, swift and totally unexpected. On Friday he was apparently perfectly normal - if a 15 yo ratbag with the energy and enthusiasm for play of a 2 yo is 'normal'. Then he had a couple of brief coughing bouts - sounded like a fog horn, never heard anything like it in my life. Saturday the fog horn cough worsened somewhat, and he acted 'down'. Sunday somewhat worse. In the early hours of Monday morning all Hell broke loose - poor Fred was trudging endlessly around the house, fog horn at full volume, interspersed with harsh difficult breathing, and then bouts of very ominous silence.
First thing in the morning to the Vet - Fred by this time barely conscious. Outcome - a cancer somewhere behind his larynx. Already at death's door - surgery? Decision - not in his best interests.
I would (and should) have taken him to the Vet hospital when it went bad after midnight, but that disruption would have caused too much anxiety and confusion for Ernst, which would lead to panic attacks.
At least the little ratbag had an extra 5 years of fun and games.

Gae, in Callala Bay

Catherine said...

Oh Gae, I'm so sorry. I hope Fred looks up a certain Yorkie for that rat hunt.

Anonymous said...

After we got home it occurred to me to wonder if Fred's previous owner had been a smoker - Fred certainly never accounted second hand smoke with us - both non-smokers, and as an asthmatic I would have to be a complete idiot to smoke.

I whispered Murphy's name to him - and I hope Murphy will be gracious and introduce Fred to bear hunting. Let's face it, they would both consider themselves completely qualified to hunt bears!

We give our hearts to a dog to tear, and then we do it again,

Gae, ibn Callala Bay

Catherine said...

God, we do. I still miss Murphy so much! And yes, Murphy will be there to give him the inside scoop on kicking ass and taking names on the bear hunt. And as far as the type of cancer goes, I know someone who never smoked who got lung cancer out of the blue. My own husband died of a cancer common to older, overweight smokers, when he was none of the above. We look for reasons. Often, it's just "shit happens." But Fred had a fabulous life with you, and that's a good run.