We invested in a stationary bike last week, and though I’ve enjoyed using it I’m also stressed out by it. Looking at it in the corner of my living room I feel the same way I felt looking at my first new car in the driveway–like I’d just financially and emotionally committed myself to something that was bound to break.
I’ve winced to see Daughter climbing on it these first few days, spinning the pedals as fast as they’ll go, climbing down with both feet on one pedal. I’ve used my stern voice to tell her to stop. This morning I began to pedal and I heard a scraping noise coming from the flywheel I’d never heard before. It lasted the entire ride. See? Broken already. I knew this would happen. This is why we can’t have nice things.
When Daughter gets up and is enjoying her Eggos on the couch I tell her, “This morning I heard a noise coming from the wheel of the bike.” My tone is somewhere between “I told you so” and “I’m really disappointed in you.”
“Oh yeah,” she says as she hops off the couch and leads me to the bike. Then she looks me in the face and without breaking eye contact reaches down and grabs the cable that connects the flywheel to the monitor, lifts it off the flywheel and rests it against the frame. “It’s the cord hitting the wheel. I heard it last night.”
I’m still disappointed, just not in her.