Pedal Strike

As much as I absolutely love my sweatpants, when uncertain about the appropriate dress code for an occasion or event, I err on the side of caution. I will always overdress.

Not to the point of looking absurd; just in a conservative sort of way. What can I say? I’m Japanese and come from a family in which being underdressed is simply a precursor to vocational suicide. So add that to the [long] list of things I’m completely anal about. Fun basically goes to die when it comes to throwing an outfit together for a professional event.

Fun does, however, come back in full force when I’m on the bike. Granted, it’s more of a “blind person who put together an ensemble” kind of fun, but for me, anything that doesn’t involve a black or gray suit = fun. And when it’s above 30F for once, I can get a little excited, and a little carried away.

Which meant I was going for something cute with shorts over my leggings and only some flimsy legwarmers to protect my legs and knees from the elements yesterday. When it was snowing. We’re not talking about something like the lame sprinkling of “snow” we got last week; this was full blown “the sky looks white” Boston snow. But weather.com only predicted “1-2 inches” of snow. For Boston, that translates to “cloudy.” I plowed right on ahead, completely underdressed.

All that “fun” I had felt earlier that morning as I happily pulled on something less than 10 million layers melted into slight discomfort by mile 1. Then into irritating unpleasantness. My feet were soaked, as was…well, every single part of my goddamn body. Snow was stuck to everything and water was dripping into all the cracks that weren’t completely covered in waterproof material. And I was like wow, this is really fun…IN A COMPLETELY NOT FUN KIND OF WAY.

I also did realize that I looked ridiculous, if not downright foolish. At that point, though, I was just trying to get to school without wiping out and/or getting mowed over by a car. Given the fact that I had trouble slowing down [much less stopping], my choice of attire and its disasterous consequences were quickly becoming unnecessary distractions. Drenched and cold, I finally made it, and by the entrance of the campus, a friend cheerfully waved from the cozy confines of her car. And my only thought was: well, fuck my life.

Which is exactly the thought I’m trying to avoid when I overdress. Yeah, I know; total snow pas. I’ve learned my lesson. Next time, the cute clothes are going into the Ortlieb, not on my legs to plow through a snowstorm.

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