Diaper Rash
You know you have become a bike Nazi when you discover adult onset of diaper rash. Eight hours in that sweaty bike schammy and weird things being growing between your thighs as the layer of skin chafes against your seat from the motion of your legs. My couchie is on fire. I used to laugh at Raphael when he would grease up his nards with some Swiss cream before a ride, but now I know, the schnitzel is always right.
Just short of 200km, and I cannot move from the couch with the jar of nutella. Right now I feel sorry for those of you who have to diet, cause I can’t eat enough, fast enough to match my calories burned. We left this morning at 6am from the Longhouse in the setting full moon, over the causeway into 
Nine of us in total lead by a crazy Frenchman, Jean-Francois, who does not believe in stopping at red lights. Two guys from Ireland, two Aussies, an Dutchman pushing maximum density, Christina, the German, a Brit, and me, the lone American, who J-F thinks is Canadian since most Americans can not speak French. This is my first bike ride I have had to take my passport on.
The Palm Reader
Have you ever been freaked out by someone who knows nothing about you but can tell you everything about your personality by looking at your hands? It is kind of scary. Raphael told me a story about going to this palm reader with a coworker and in 20 minutes she was able to unfold their lives with good accuracy. For fun, we went to
I am a very hard worker, often working harder for others approval than for myself (hmm, kinda sounds like that #3). She says there is a fire inside me which burns, driving me to achieve and that I do not have to work so hard. I am harder on myself and go above and beyond what others expect me to do. In fact, she says I don’t have to work. (Just when I was thinking of taking my own sabbatical if the Roche deal goes through.)
She looked at my thumb and could tell I am stubborn. “Um,hmm.” Raphael uttered in unison.
She can’t tell if I am right-handed or left-handed, because it looks like I do things with both hands. (I am ambidextrous, but I do write with my left-hand.)
Not knowing my profession, she proclaimed to me, ‘Start being more like woman. Wear more make-up, dress sexy, be a woman among women, not a woman among men.’
When I asked her if she could tell what industry I worked in, she said ‘healthcare.’ Now, although I am not a truly a medical professional, I do work for a major biotechnology corporation and teach fitness classes, so, in the big picture, she was right, I do work in healthcare.
I remember watching endless footage of the Olympics in the
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