BiKronicles: Noob diaries

She stood still in my garage. I didn’t quite know what to do with her. As habit would be, I usually turn to Abeer and ask him if it’s ok to sit on the bike. I wasn’t being timid – just silly, misplaced respect for my OWN Bonneville. That’s right. It hadn’t sunk in yet. I had bought my own Triumph. Bonneville. Steve McQueen edition. A British classic. Lusting and jaw-drop curiosity for 2 yrs had resulted in THIS. I still didn’t know what to make of her – 20 June 2016.

Wheeeeeeee... One of many times Abeer lost me to the bike!
Photo courtesy: Abeer

Prelude:

I 1^st received a mammoth consignment of reasons why it wasn’t ok to think about buying a bike followed by the idea that a scooter was acceptable. Defined reasons being age, priority, the sanskari Indian girl syndrome etc. No disrespect, but I wanted a geared motorcycle. Had purchased a Honda Maestro in May 2015 for the sole purpose of learning. It served its purpose and more. It was time to satiate an undying lust and greed. One of the Bonneville; that had infused itself deeply. Once again if anyone asks me WHY the Bonnie – I have no statement to justifiably translate the thought and need in my grey/white matter. It’s ridiculously subjective and no 1 reason can satisfy every curious crony. Same reason Sabastian Kent sold lemonade for 2yrs to buy a pony. Everyone thinks it’s cute and appreciates his dedicatedness at such a tender age without asking ‘Why’. That’s why when feverish planning turned to an unplanned evening, Ginger (Bonnie T100) came home and rested her flame orange chromtastic self below my abode. It never sunk in until much later when I rode her about and became the cynosure of lingering stares and pointed glances. There was a presence about her like there was 1 about the roguish charm and popularity of Steve McQueen himself. I suddenly realized that it was gonna be mammoth task for me to separate my desire to ride a Bonneville versus a superficial need to ride her for the visual appetite of those around.

Photo courtesy: Sean Noronha (@blackbuddha)

Baby Steps:

As highlighted in previous posts, I had tried my hand at riding the ER6n. Prior to that and simultaneously, I reached out to driving schools, potential bike trainers and even current crowd of motorcyclists. Everyone had cost involved (fair enough) and no one had an appropriate set of wheels to teach with. I think I understood THEN about folks’ stories where they claimed they just got on and started riding. I got tons of encouragement up to a point that encouragement became a boring template for my specific questions. I was convinced that they didn’t wanna teach me, withheld information or were simply not equipped or interested in sharing their experience. Disappointment followed cz most were ladies who are splashed all over social media with a flurry of comments commending them on their “achievements”. I decided I would take this up myself and leave everything else in a trail of dust.

Watched videos, theoretical gear changes, how the engine works; why the clutch, the brakes, breakdowns, mechanics and a marathon of YouTubing followed (there is a world of motorcycling gyaan out there on video and books that I had sudden exposure and enlightenment to). I also filtered out videos from women motorcyclists who made some simple instructional videos with challenges or experiences they had. I now confirm that theory is scarier than practicals when it comes to motorcycling. I nodded at my laptop screen but in real sense, little clicked until I actually saddled up. I had tried ‘N’ to 1^st on the Enfield classic when rested on her center stand. Abeer had done so one afternoon and asked me to use the clutch, the accelerator and the brake just to see which wheels moved, how the bike felt, and how it ‘communicated’ with me. The Enfield intimidated me. The ER6n did the opposite. I made the mistake of riding out with just a helmet; no boots either. Was lucky there was no mishap. But I did a cool 2^nd gear and 40 kmph and it was my winning moment; I could ride and I did that on a Kawasaki Ninja 650 naked sportster – 01 May 2016.

Practice mode:

Post the maiden spin, I grew some jackfruit-sized confidence and literally demanded practice lessons on the Ninja out of ego since my pleas to practice on a smaller, shorter and lower powered bike, fell on deaf ears. I decided that I would listen to folks when they said the ER6n was perfect to learn on. Needless to say, an inexperienced me dropped the beast when negotiating a turn, that too just after it was fitted with frame sliders. We all escaped 100% unscathed but following a barrage of dramatic dialogue from Abeer (the on-paper-but-has-to-share-with-me owner), I knew I had to get my own 2 wheels as soon as possible.

There were the friends who offered their bikes that I never saw. The rentals who had unseemly demands for the sake of renting. There was the waiting and frustration. A good pal (who also owns and works for a premium segment line) offered me a free Yamaha FZ that had been lying untouched for a while. Keen to grab this chance, I made every attempt to get hold of the bike that was in Thane; even looked for a mechanic to fix her into running mode. Somehow, fate didn’t allow for such a bloody good offer to culminate in my garage. I spent 3 mnths frustrated and eager to ride. No one proactively helped and that irked me more. A friend reached out to me and we got talking until we had to attend a motorcycle event at Lavasa – MotoDay (18 Jun 2016). Abeer went through his firm since he had to cover Triumph and I tagged along since I wanted to go anyways. I realized here that dependency had become the bane of my existence.

There I was introduced to someone who eventually became a teacher, motorcycle shrink and closet ‘social media’ reviewer in his spare time – Kunal Bhaskaran. He was scheduled to take a class on braking and the practical and appropriate techniques of doing so with his ER6n on standby. Kunal, owns and runs SlipStream Performance in Viman Nagar, Pune and was present in the capacity of a motorcyclist and trainer (or in his humble way “just showed up to share”). We spoke for a while as he understood my learner’s perspective and it was probably the 1^st time since Abeer and a rare few that I was able to talk to someone, ask questions and get simple explanations for what I was doing and/or should be doing when training. We met briefly but I didn’t anticipate an encore.

Back home I continued research. I knew I was jumping the gun to a premium segment with higher bhp and capacities rather than gradually moving up. Hence, every second spent experiencing or communicating about motorcycles was good for me. There was a bias involved though – whenever folks met me and learned of my insatiable lust for motorcycling there was an ‘Aha’ moment. Then they’d come to know I was a noob and suddenly I was background wallpaper with faded tints. Here is where I understood female riders who despite being seasoned and having clocked many miles, were sidelined in some way or the other. It was just Abeer and me and we made the most of what I can describe as a privileged 2.5 km stretch of private road perfect for learners. I spun about on the Maestro when the road was under construction, dared a few laps on the ER6n and then one fine day it was the Bonneville’s turn. I realized all 3 happened with 1 progressive act and 1 aggressive dialogue: “Chalo let’s go. You have to do it NOW.” All procrastination and apprehensions were parked away and all guts and glory were keyed into gear. THAT worked for me.

Repetitions:

It was practice, practice, and more practice. I had supervised rides along some crazy roads and back with the brother and Abeer in tow. The Bonneville was heavy; and because of the broad seat ergonomics, a shorty like me couldn’t put her feet down in flats. Elevated shoes and properly cushioned riding boots (TBS or CAT) allowed for that inch or 2 of confidence to balance the bike when stationary or at a bender. Of course, now it’s all in the head since I can even maneuver her in Newfeel flat shoes. Rewind back 3 months, there was a mix of adrenaline rush alongside some serious nervousness each time I warmed up the engine. The maiden rounds were within the confines of my society building. Funny how my residential complex was equipped for a learner as there are flats, tiles, parking, podium (slopes), pillars acting as slaloms, speed breakers and the works. My dedicated security force took it in their stride to accommodate my whims as I zoomed past, screamed for them to get out of the way, open and close both massive gates and the works. They were kind and encouraging, telling me I look good on the motorcycle and that I am doing well etc. Even their simple words echoed and bounced in my psyche against times where I wanted to rip Abeer’s head off for yelling at me when I got something wrong.

I have to add an important piece of equipment or guidance tool here – the Sena SMH10D comms. They served a critical purpose in my riding sessions. We would get on our respective bikes and scooters and communicate nonstop. Abeer was better able to instruct me and I screamed at will when panic or frustration came awash. I also had good riding days and bad ones. Some days I picked up the bike and sailed and some days I cursed my lack of energy or skill. At the end of each session, I learned a new trick, a new skill, strength or maybe a weakness. My turns were the worst but my balance and control were inbuilt. I learned also that no matter what the enthusiasm, never ride when tired. I made this mistake a few times and exhaustion takes focus and energy out of the equation. I even rode when I had 100 things on my mind and had near misses. I frankly did not enjoy riding those times and was more than eager to tuck her in the garage and get on with routine. Even though my vision is a perfect 20/20, I dreaded nighttime riding since poor lighting and peripheral scope make for an underconfident me. Add to that the fear of collision and fatality with the scores of reckless riders who raced on my private road between 6:30 pm till dawn. I have christened the area as ChincholiGP Circuit.

Abeer made me do repeats with turns, making the figure 8 in long and tight areas, abrupt braking and getting into gravel and mucky roads. There were no fixed plans except to do all riding activities between 6-8 am. We started small markers like clearing the Link road and SV road signals, filling a tank of gas at the nearest gas station, getting into some twisty by lanes and the works. On the Mumbai-Pune highway, I was given the bike for brief stretches as long as I was comfortable and that’s where I started hitting 80-100. I could explore 3000 rpm and that sweet spot on the throttle the engine winds down to a buttery hum. In city, U-turns made me break into sweats at subzero temperatures because that is how nervous I would get. I realized that I equated the brutality and unpredictability of Mumbai traffic with my riding skills. To a large extent, riding in Mumbai meant to own the road. Abeer would scream at me that if I didn’t take my lane and own the damn space, someone was bound to run me over or unapologetically ram into me. Easier said than done. It was pointless putting an ‘L’ marker because I figured that the learner sign irks people more into intimidating or messing with you.

Mechanics 101:

With GopalKrishna and Aditya Raj Kapoor at Shaman Triumph
Photo courtesy: Abeer

I insisted on getting greased up as much as the opportunity presented itself. Our ex-Classic 500 gave us plenty such chances and I never played the damsel who sat in the shade while her man toiled in the field. I instead used my comparatively smaller hands and fingers to get into sockets and wiring and what not to help when our bike broke down. We bought tool kits and fidgeted with our machines. Of course I’d dared not do it by myself however much tempting. Around the time that Mr. Aditya Kapoor went down the familiar path and bought himself a Bonnie like myself, I headed to Shaman for a chance to have a go in the workshop. GopalKrishna the head tech at the workshop patiently let me crawl and hog up his workspace, get my hands into his toolbox and ask a million questions – however, stupid or smart. It was here or never when I would not only pick up at least 10% of something I can handle myself OR more or less get a chance to take apart a bike similar to mine. I can’t say I’m certified to fix everything on Ginger, but when push comes to shove, I sure can take a chance.

Different strokes with Kunal Bhaskaran:

Around this time, I exchanged ideas and notes with Kunal. Abeer shared my riding progress with him and we bounced ideas of how I could get over my apprehensions and work on bettering my weak points. Kunal came with a history of training folks on the track and himself had clocked innumerable miles and runs there. He came with an unbiased skill set and offered to teach me. He had done so before with someone who came from zero riding background and had managed to get her riding on a Duke. I was sold and waited for him to take a break from his workshop and come to Mumbai. We took advantage of low traffic times and early morning routines. Sean and Abeer would drop in to capture videos and pictures probably to get me learning from my stance, braking, turns, speeds etc. Kunal comes with a calm and extremely patient demeanor. My sudden nervousness to ride in front of him was replaced with ease in a matter of seconds. 1^st he got me riding or rather showcasing what I already knew or was used to. Thereafter, he stuck to his guns that my training was to be keeping in mind the Bonneville. I wasn’t to touch any other motorcycle or experiment etc. The session/s or practice was to get me seasoned handling the Bonneville. Get its weight, its behavior, turn negotiations, braking etc. consistent since the Bonneville was what I would be mostly riding. Before and after each session I had to have drills. Repetitions and practice to a point that I could do the moves without separating the motorcycle, myself or the road. Everything had to be synced.

Getting a sound hearing :D
Photo courtesy: Abeer

We practiced turns, narrow and wide ones; looking around the bend and where I’m headed to rather than my insecure habit of staring at the front wheels and the ground; understand lean angle capabilities and not wondering if I am about to tip over etc. I know I had done turns on that road a zillion times, but correcting the minor points made a WORLD of difference. I was doing turns without putting my foot down and absolutely enjoying the confidence refill with each successful move. If I were Elsa, I’d be getting treats (that was a joke; Elsa is overfed and pampered for doing NOTHING). Then came slaloms – this was the 1^st I had done with cones at intervals over a stretch. Slaloms helped me move my bike in narrow spaces, which in turn would eventually help me in a traffic environment. You see when practicing you have open grounds and spaces and you ride like it’s your “baap ka raasta”. Reality is far from it when the aggressors don’t even allow you the sliver of road that you are entitled to navigate on. Slaloms and narrowing down my spaces helped me balance the bike better.

The subsequent sessions helped me with braking. I had been using the front brakes the whole time. This didn’t pose a problem given how centered and balanced the Bonneville is and that its weight won’t allow for mishaps like frequent/ill-timed wheelies should it have been a light street bike like the KTM Duke200. However, in order to understand the need for using the rear brakes, which was needed for this lassy, I had to speed up to 40+ kmph and grind to a halt in a defined space using the rear brakes. At 1^st this posed a challenge. I tried and failed a few rounds halting past the defined line. Kunal got on the Bonnie and alternately showed me how it was done leaving some kickass skid marks in the process (who said we didn’t have fun). Watching and emulating was easier. Imagining an emergency breaking situation in traffic was nerving.

SlalomsPhoto courtesy: Sean Noronha (@blackbuddha)

Other noteworthy learnings were how the engine works, keeping it simple, how to push the bike should it stall or breakdown, how to angle it appropriately on unforgiving surface etc. We spent a collective 3-4 hours between 2 days and would have done more had his travel plans and the weather cooperated. I had the ironic opportunity soon after to lug my bike back to the garage when reserve fuel was reserve no more.

Note: Every time Kunal got on the motorcycle to show me something however many times, he set an example by wearing his helmet and fastening it in place. To many this may seem like a mundane mention. But I noted this discipline because it sets an example for folks who are extremely stubborn and treat the helmet like the bane of their existence. He didn’t thwart it even for the slowest easiest moves in a controlled isolated environment. For me that set the precedent for a good teacher.

Working on turns with a T100Photo courtesy: Sean Noronha (@blackbuddha)

When the tomcats are away; this kitten comes out to play:

Owing to geographical challenges, Kunal left for Pune and Abeer and I continued our sessions combining what I did before with the recent refining of my riding skills. One major dampener were the torrential, unceasing Mumbai rains. Kunal kept following up if I had had the chance to practice; whilst I was stuck waiting for the rain gods to a break. Even if for 30 odd minutes, I’d drag the bike out, quick spin and back to ensure the battery and engine kept running and that I learned how to ride on wet/slick roads (thank you Metzelers).  These were rare and far between. In the interim, I explored smaller lanes, the main roads at dawn and the likes. I was extremely stressed in traffic and given that my area was a 24x7 running call center/BPO area, it was near impossible to get some clear roads and quiet to focus on the bike rather than running into some miscreants. Not to mention the unsolicited attention a girl on a significantly noticeable orange and chrome Bonneville invites from a bunch of underground racers and hooligans who are regulars at the #ChincholiGP. At one point I wondered if I should slap on the ‘L’ on my beauty’s booty but decided against it for 2 reasons: vanity (can’t ruin my bike’s look) and knowing that somehow that sign evokes more irate drivers around you than sympathetic/accommodating ones.

Traffucked:

Kunal showed up in Mumbai on Dussehra weekend. Idle chatter turned to “let’s take you out in traffic.” I agreed my excitement growing at the possibility but not quite committing to it. Early evening, Kunal and Sean showed up and I knew there was NO ESCAPING this one. Geet and Abeer too had made time. I had an entourage of 4 bikes and there was never/if rarely ever going to be a chance soon enough for me to do this. I had been taking spins on the back road and owing to the course high salinity air, my clutch sensors started giving me trouble – bike going off etc. I used that to my advantage but reminded myself, all the practice and the confidence these folks had in me would be for nothing. What’s the worst that would happen? Strange as this sounds, the idea of disappointing EVERYONE was paramount than the idea I might make a foolish mistake that would lead to an accident or fatality.

Entouraging
Photo courtesy: Selfitis!

We rolled out in true Bumbai style: 2 Kawasaki ER6ns, 1 Triumph Bonneville, 1 Triumph Street Triple and 1 Suzuki Access. Had my 1^st glitch when I hit some gravel and bike went off but these guys had my back blocking traffic enough to have me get through. Thereafter, I can only describe it as PURE BLISS with a generous topping of nervousness. They formed as much a shell around me or evenly distributed themselves. It was hand holding but not the spoilt kind. I think a healthy dose of nervousness helped because I was extremely cautious, kept speed 40-50 (not that Mumbai would allow anything above this), and tried to ignore the entourage since I had to learn to do this on my own. I was extremely proud of myself as I made some U-turns at junctions, which have been unkind to me on the scooter before and evoked some serious scolding from Abeer. I have to appreciate how patient everyone was as they ensured I wasn’t out of sight. Sean remained on my tail so that I wasn’t lost or lagging behind. To think he managed those low speeds and heating in that horrid traffic on the Street Triple – one big hug J

 Everyone checked on me, worked with me and ensured I wasn’t lost in the crowd. Needless to say our coup drew attention. We made an uneventful stop at Homemade Café where I had my Miss Universe cry inside the helmet (yes I was overwhelmed I made it without a mistake or mishap) and proceeded to treat everyone to caffeine and goodies. The evening progressed, traffic grew by strength and darkness fell. I was nervous about riding back in the dark and of the procession stricken traffic on this day. In the interim distraction with a few spins on the Lokhandwala back road, the main street etc helped. The evening almost poetically allowed a calm to descend on me reemphasizing ‘its all in the head’. Our return back was Abeer and me. He was patient and ensured I was right behind him. This may sound strange but traffic eased me into riding slower and easier than an open road where anyone would jump out of anywhere. I was in tight spots and the clutch-gear-break translated to my arm, back and overheated legs. Lugging a huge bike compared to my proportions has its cons. I also made the mistake of doing all of this and a few practice runs prior to this on reserve. Should the bike have stalled, it would be completely my (un)doing.

Abeer and Kunal (Le Kwackers)

We made it back successfully and that night I slept with a fat grin plastered on my soul. This was as I’d phrase, “The lion(ess) cub who had her 1^st taste of warm blood.” – 11 Oct 2016

Apprenticeship:

Once you start riding, its an addiction. Some superficial euphoria followed by that victory gait and walk like Jim Carrey in Bruce almighty with “I’ve got the power” playing in the background. Every moment I was near my lift or garage, I just had to go stare or glance at the bike. Start her up or do some meaningless walk around her that even I don’t understand why I do. Glare at everyone who parks close to her or looks at her. Make fed‑up expressions at every moron who makes that disgusting hand sign letting me know my headlights are on. I just wanted to ignore everyone around save for the cops.

Hereon, I wanted to ride everything (no pun intended). The ER6n seemed like child’s play and I started to appreciate a lighter more agile motorcycle. Here’s where I start to differentiate power, throttle, braking, balance, centre of gravity etc. I rode all over with Abeer as lead. Had a mini adventure one Sunday morning on the Madh-Marve stretch. A gravel and pothole-riddled slope caused me to slip and suffer a near-stationary fall while negotiating a miscalculated U-turn on that slope. I frantically searched for anything wrong with my Ginger little realizing that I had a nasty scrape on my palm thanks to not wearing gloves (lesson learned: WEAR FULL GEAR and don’t pack them in your bag fool). 

WFG: Wear FULL gear

Sunday mornings are bad for misadventures on your bike. Getting an open workshop or towing service proved futile for an hour given that my clutch lever snapped in 2 at the neck thanks to that fall. All else was intact and seamless; praise be the crash guard. I wasn’t shaken up and was in fact raring to continue riding. Abeer slowed me down and gave me the lever piece in my hand popping the fantasy balloon. We finally hauled a mini tempo that offered to take Ginger home for free; but we paid him. A bunch of men lifted her booty in and we harnessed her with whatever rope we could find. The rest was up to me to keep her from tipping over.

Applying my basics
Supervision: Abeer's snarl

3 days of agonizing wait and finally sourced a spare clutch lever from Shaman Triumph. Spent the evening putting my mechanics 101 into play and with guidance from Abeer (a tutorial video from Kunal);fastened the lil sucker into place. Bike was up and running and all the criticism and jokes of my fall suddenly faded into nothing. Its all me, for me, about me, with me and by me. Nothing or no one else is to encroach into this story without my permission.

The RTO gig:

Testing waters with the KTM Duke 200
Bike courtesy: Harshal Kalyanpur
Photo courtesy: Abeer

I had been riding on a learner’s license for 2 years and even haplessly renewed the same learners twice owing to bureaucracy and the laziness of dragging myself to Dahisar for the formalities. RTO processes had become stricter, linear and an agent serves a fraction of the purpose they do now compared to up till a few years ago. I had to prioritize my permanent license and set about it. Booked my slot and asked Abeer to take some time off since I needed company. Another predicament reared its head – what bike should I take for my test. My friend Harshal was kind enough to loan me his KTM Duke 200, which I thoroughly enjoyed zipping about on. It was lying unused and near disheveled state until the day before my test. Harshal, Geet and Abeer spent a few hours doing some maintenance work and bringing her to life. She worked beautifully despite no power and barely functioning front brakes. I passed my test impressively (yes sir I did) donning a salwar kurta, a Spartan Kranos helmet and riding shoes. I was a hilarious sight for all waiting their turn. Yes, I also screamed out my prowess to everyone on whatsapp as if I had earned a Green Card or passed my IIT-finals and landed a crore worth paying job. With a permanent license comes a permanent warning. Now I’ll be held accountable and will no longer be considered a noob - 24-25 Oct 2016.

Aftermath and Lessons:

As of today, been zipping all over the place like a 3 year old high on sugar and way past her bedtime. Anything on 2 wheels continues to have my attention – even more so now if that’s even possible. Understanding the fine print of riding, the tech and specs and getting greased up is what I continue to work on and aspire. Next up is highway rides and clocking some major miles. But not before I get my hands on some really sensible, durable and fitting gear. The latter point has been a painfully annoying challenge (marked in a separate post) which I am trying to overcome with some help from friends and unexplored links now that I am not just a pillion rider. I also learned that in my eagerness to get to places faster and fuel my confidence, I’ve been abusing my clutch a tad much, aka too much MotoGP and snapping the clutch back instead of a gradual release. Today I consciously worked on overcoming this bad habit because once in a while the bike stops short and someday I might get hit badly by a speeding something from behind. I’ve also learned to turn a deaf ear to over eager honkers, lane cutters, those who urge me to break the signal and generally distasteful folks on the road who are aplenty. Also helpful is the fact that I’ve made many riding buddies who have offered to be part of rides with me and basically be patient with a noob. In the past, I dropped out citing speed and lack of experience. Now I am happy if anyone says, “you wanna ride right. Come we’ll take you and you can learn slowly.” Abeer and Kunal (including the closet teacher – Geet) will continue to teach me or rather turn me into an experienced motorcyclist. I’ve been warned against the lure for superficial reasons to ride which is not a worry for me.

I get whacked when I'm pillion too.
Photo courtesy: SJCamM20
Abeer showing me clutch and gear changes while on the move.

Some apprehensions continue to plague me ie, making mistakes. The mistake part isn’t a bother as much as I allow the negativity or fun-at-my-expense get to me. As someone rightfully said, everyone makes mistakes but they are too chicken shit to admit it and will take it to their graves. Another one surprised me re: a few men being insecure of women riders and cannot separate plain riding from gender bias. I suppose there is gonna be all kindsa peeps in the world and I need to practice my own preaching – shut them all out. Till then the road, the throttle and the freedom are narcotic enough – I wouldn’t need anything other reason except probably to keep breaking free ;)

Sh/\kes™

She squirmed and wobbled in my arms. The back of the rikshaw seemed like an appropriate place to her for some acrobatics. Then she quickly changed her mind, curled up in my arms and rested her tiny blob of head on the crease of my elbow; staring with button eyes at the noisy traffic out. Unmoving. Unflinching. Unperturbed.

Day 1 at su casa

I logged into my Facebook account scrolling for mundane updates of “significant” posts on “insignificant” activities. The 3^rd post was by #WorldForAll. I never miss their updates. Can’t help but check the cutesy bundles they rescue each week. Them and some alerts from #YODA or #PetsForAdoption etc. WFA had done something different this time. Saw a video post. Assumed it was a documentary or awareness movie. Clicked and watched. 30secs into watching a helpless kitten wobble on her tripod like gait to becoming a hilarious bundle of unbelievable strength and budding life was all it took for me to ball my eyes out, like and comment. I wanted her. Ok… I’ve wanted a lot of the animals they have rescued so far. However, her story cried out to me as if it was a message tailored for me. Later on as the comments poured in, I figured the same sentiment resonated from others.

Shakes (or as I have trademarked her Sh/\kes™) was a 2-month old baby girl found and rescued by Nasreen’s help in Andheri E. She was unforgivably tormented by Mumbai monsoons and was shaking beyond a cold damp shiver. She would have most certainly met her demise had she not been rescued that fateful day. She was fostered by Nasreen and looked over by a vet who diagnosed a unique case of Cerebellar Hypoplasia (in this case Feline CH*). 

When Shakes needs me

*Cerebellar hypoplasia is a condition in which the brain, specifically the cerebellum, is underdeveloped or small for size leading to effect on motor nerves and sensory disturbances. This affects gait, balance, and movement primarily due to tremors and incessant shaking which aggravate on excess stimulation, excitement, fear, hunger etc. and completely die down to nil when the animal is calm, sleeping, resting or not triggered by any emotion. Shakes is a rare case of CH. This can be due to genetics, malnourishment of the mother during pregnancy or possibly due to injury or physical disturbance when the mother was carrying the litter.

I educated myself on the condition and didn’t care for what it brought forth. I wanted Shakes and the only way to do this was to convince the boyfriend, Abeer, to adopt her since I had spent 2 years trying to get my father to warm up to and cuddle up with 2 rescued brats already ruling my kingdom. Abeer was always an animal lover who claimed to be a dog person but had a hidden catman somewhere in that massive heart of his. From being occupied with Elsa’s antics or lack thereof (my eldest boy) to being smitten with Ella’s grace and agility (my baby girl and Elsa’s begum from arranged marriage); I was sure he loved the little felines as much. Abeer’s mum was home alone and seeing the benefits, the presence of a pet can bring to folks home alone like my dad, was a card I played to my already expanding list of excuses for him to adopt her. For the 1^st time ever Abeer did not resist. He hesitated and was anxious like a 1^st time adopter but did not say NO. We took time off and went to visit Shakes at her foster. She was brought out fast asleep and just eased into my arms. It was as if I was standing outside an orphanage or a NICU and was entrusted with the most precious thing they had. She was a doll incarnate. The next 20mins we stared as she wobbled and walked, drew EVERYONE’s attention (Taro, Nasreen, her son and 1 more member from WFA included) and proceeded to curl up into 1/4^th her size, decide she’s fascinated us enough and plonked off to sleep. I knew then that my gut was right all along.

My beautiful (hot and happening) family

Abeer’s eyes lit up and he was in love with her. He said ‘yes’ as soon as we had a private moment and I couldn’t have been elated. We explored what all did Shakes require in terms of care and handling especially more than the average cat and headed home to prep the place for her arrival.

On 15 Sep 2015, Taro (cofounder of WFA) personally brought her over to my place. He also had the chance to meet my famous duo Elsa-Ella and proceeded to ease Shakes into our lives. Abeer and I went through the formalities and forms and some cutting questions regarding her care and parvarish god forbid something were to go wrong in any situation. I was taken aback but thought these were good questions to ask folks here especially when they just as easily abandon their pets because their “pets” never really were considered “family” in the 1^st place. After the formalities and a very bad cup of coffee I made for Taro, Shakes was left to be acquainted to US.

Abeer was a natural. It surprised me and then it didn’t. He cared and that’s all that mattered. If you care, the rest falls into place. This coming from someone who was a nervous wreck when she handled baby Elsa. Shakes unlike other cats seems to ease into her places. She is curious, but never looks like she is scared or bothered or whining. She sleeps and wakes up and gets exploring as if that’s her expertise through the vast expanse of her 2-month old existence. She was wary of Elsa-Ella’s presence but not scared or bolting away. Instead there came the familiar crouch and observe like an FBI tactical force veteran and then her trademark signature tripod stand. *Yes Shakes, you standing so tall alone scares the bejesus outta everyone*.

She stayed the night with Geet and me and I had a gala time entertaining her. She was feisty and sporty and adorable all in one. Her absolutely tiny frame was no hurdle against her urge to scale massive peaks like my laptop bag or the giant pillow on my bed. As long as she is watched while on a height and resting always on a soft surface, I was ok. Soft landings for her lithe body was ok with me until she got a little fatter and stronger. She bolted from one corner to the other only to bang into furniture and take a few seconds to gather herself. She loved 2 other dangerous things: climbing and playing with strings. The latter she is a huge fan off. Simplicity and bundles of love came in from watching this baby grow supremely happy with a few strings. That’s all it took to see her eyes light up, her inhibitions disappear and her nose turn pink-er with excitement. She loved human touch and connection. Leave her space for a moment and you’ll know never to underestimate the power of a kitten’s meowing. It’s the cutest loudest sound and you’ll drop/rush through whatever you are doing. Willingly.

The next day I dropped her off to Abeer’s and that’s where the real adventures began. Father and daughter ganged up and enjoyed their time together. Abeer’s momma and sister watched as he transformed from a regular Joe at home to a dedicated daddy/adopter. Abeer’s sister was 100% occupied with Shakes since she would head back to the UAE soon. Shakes was the center of attention, love, food, games, pampering and all that a new little one can possible accumulate. She loves cuddles and sleeping – no sleeping alone. She ate and played while you watched her. She was surprisingly litter trained but there came the challenge of ensuring her balance while doing her business. She constantly shook and lost her balance and fell into her poop. This was patiently resolved with wet wipes and conditioning her to balance and stay strong.

Biker girl in the making!

She was a delight. She didn’t demand anything which made it important for us to fix a feeding schedule, sleeping and pooping routines. She hijacked anything her paws touched and her big button eyes blackmailed out of us. I for once found myself traveling to Abeer’s more just to spend time with her. She made me feel like a momma too. I realized how much I missed kittens or more appropriately how fast my own 2 grew up that I missed when they were babies. Here was Shakes, filling that void.

Over the course of a few months, her personality traits came out in the open. She openly threatened and growled at other cats and dogs – absolutely unnerved by their size despite her having to strain to look up at them. She ran amok and ran into things often bumping her head and waiting to gather her wits. She learnt to scale higher objects and furniture by using her fore paws and landing from heights on her belly and hind knees. This makes an ugly sound and each time I find myself reaching out to grab her and comfort her. She doesn’t seem to need any. Abeer and Shakes have grown inseparable. He rushes home to her, wakes up at 5am to prepare high protein meals and even cleans up incessantly after her. Her comfort and needs come above all and I became the happiest most content spectator to it all. Somewhere watching your man turn to a puddle rearing for a little one is endearing and draws me closer to him.

WIP Relationship

He speaks to her and she seems to understand what he says – aka translate it to whatever she assumes is said. There is undeniable connect when they look at each other and she responds with paws on his face. A miniscule sense of envy washes over me when I see her literally hug him and sleep. Yep, Shakes is a cuddle bunny who hates sleeping alone. She knows the curvature of my boyo’s arm just right enough to fit herself in. Shes spoons herself into his sleeping position and usually buries herself in my hair if I’m around. Her preoccupation with attacking and playing with my hair for hours stumps me. But I’m happy to play the part too. We went through the ritual of vaccinations, neutering and even her 1^st bath. I was stumped as she stood perfectly still almost submissive and awaiting the end of her 1^st aqua experience. It is a blessing if no other term describes best her presence in our lives. Some people have children, we have Shakes. Her care and upbringing is in our collective priorities and we enjoy every second of it. When she was in foster care, Abeer would swing by on the bike, ask me to hop on and we would take off just to spend a few hours with her. I knew then that Abeer was a doting father/figure and when he cared, he did so from every crevice of his heart. Her tremors overtime reduced, although prominent on profound excitement. She has a tripod like gait and still walks with her hind legs stomping rather than gracefully gliding like cats do. Her head shakes when she eats but she has better control of her food and water now in a soft plastic bowl. Litter management is easier and instances of her soiling herself are far fewer.  

When we open the door, seeing Shakes anticipating us is a huge moment. She stands right at the door and brings her tiny soft self to unload her cuteness on us. There is no doubt that she loves having us around. She hates being alone and maybe sometime soon we might add a companion for Ms. Shakes. Till then I will record every moment she waltzes out victorious from a massive pile of something she has successfully managed to crash.

 

Momma and baby girl

Daddy and his princess

To my love and baby girl. Nothing is bigger than you 2 in the world for me. Ma Famille

For more pics and updates, visit: https://instagram.com/gatacdo7/

https://instagram.com/tipsies/

Unplanned parenthood

“She trots in with button sized pupils rimmed with fiery amber. There is no sloth, greed, anger, resistance, distrust, hate… none of that. It’s beyond pure and full of longing and love.She runs to me, clips her paws into my trouser legs. *Tch… those threads are ripped out now*. She looks at me “Pick me up momma”. I do and the trousers, the scratches, the hell day at work, the ever-disappointed folks and any tiff with the better half… all vanish. Soft silken fur with a warm cuddly bundle lie naked in my arms. A damp snout and an eager tongue greet my chin and neck. That’s my baby girl. And I’m her momma.”

Jennifer Aniston spoke of something very powerful. “I don't like [the pressure] that people put on me, on women — that you've failed yourself as a female because you haven't procreated. I don't think it's fair. You may not have a child come out of your vagina, but that doesn't mean you aren't mothering — dogs, friends, friends' children”. This really struck me. Mothering or being a mother is a powerful role. It involves nurturing, protecting, providing, caring for, teaching and so many many tireless (and thankless)activities by one hapless person. Nowhere, does it mention the need or requisite of a vagina or womb to begin this process. Else, we would shamelessly undermine the work of remand homes, foster homes, social workers and adopters.

I am not a mother. Not by the physical sense of having given birth. That doesn’t mean that I do not miss or imagine the idea of having my womb filled one day and experiencing the hilarious and serious joys of pregnancy followed by being armed with the lifelong weapon “I kept you in here for 9 months….”. Motherhood is a beautiful, amorous, unique experience. There was a time I was desperate to be a mother. I wanted a child and I wanted to do the whole 9-yards. I hadthe right man and I was ready. The man wasn’t and unfortunately, thereafter, the relationship and the desire died with me. Or so I thought. It doesn’t. It lies like a dormant volcano. Quiet and unprovoked. It just plays occasional moody tunes with the strings lining your heart and one fine day a whole symphony resonates. That’s when I adopted Elsa and a year after, Ella.

I thought it was all just a string of events that fell into my lap. It wasn’t. These were subconscious plans unknowingly orchestrated by me. I decided to take them on as babies. Mere infants with just one or two people telling me what to expect. There was no baby shower, no diapers or cribs, no baby things and no celebrations. It was me and voiceless little ones. I had to observe, be extremely patient, breathe, not complain about staying up nights, roll over and adjust sleeping positions, hunt for their little furry bodies in a pile of pillows etc. I had to unlearn and learn new ways to care for them, integrate them, medicate them, feed them, and love them. All of it came naturally. I was surprised at how well I coped. I assumed I would be a massive failure and out of pity, I would have to give them up. For me that was a clause that didn’t exist in my decision. They were coming home and growing old with me. There was no exchange, abandonment, giving up or any of the sorts. They maybe another species but I would be their mother and behave like one too.

Having them has changed me significantly. I am calmer, more patient (with them and others too), more conditioned for acceptance and looking forward to love in a different exchange. Over 2 years, there are stories, photos, instances, episodes, nightmares, fights, scolding, surprises and abundance of love. Each day is a new jungle theme at home. Today they break something, tomorrow they create something. Today they eat something and later they decide it’s not gourmet enough for their royal palates. Today they are well behaved and tomorrow they make up by being real rascals. Today they love each other and tomorrow they both question me as to why I brought the other one home. Today they are calm and tomorrow the newspaper and freshly laundered clothes see the ire of my attempts at disciplining them. No, you can’t train cats. I mean you could condition them but dare not train them. They feel insulted and have that “for real… I mean c’mon.” look on their faces. They have multiple personalities and each of those personalities is diabolical. Barely do you make peace with one and understand how to tackle it a new one springs up... almost like a fresh challenge in your face. My foster contact is always full of praises for my Elsa and Ella. He and his family gush over how cute they are, well behaved, loving, sit on laps and do not struggle or wiggle out, eat and drink EVERYTHING and play with other cats. NONE of that happens in my house. They treat my abode like the gangsta’s hideout and anything outside of these premises is remand and correctional facilities.

I don’t mind them at all. They love me and I love them. People’s concept of cats being selfish moody beings couldn’t be more tangent. They have a magnanimous and interesting personality. They are super expressive and very individualistic creatures. This only… a momma can see and understand. Elsa loves a good head scratch; Ella drools and snoozes on belly rubs. Elsa loves his privacy; Ella needs constant companionship. Elsa loves fish and chunks; Ella likes kibbles. Elsa is moody, bossy and stubborn; Ella is calm, feisty and fun. Elsa is always hungry and only wishes to sleep like a true tabby; Ella eats minimal and gallops and amuses herself every chance she gets. Elsa has dichromic green-blue eyes; Ella has fiery amber eyes. I could go on and this could be a book. But they love each other and me fiercely. They sense my absence and I deeply feel theirs when I am traveling or on the road. They wait for me at the door and I feel empty if I enter a house and they aren’t around doing their signature stretch and tumble over maneuver. I could go hungry but I dare not forget their food. Life, as I knew it, had changed.

Every plan, trip and me not being around involved thinking of ‘what about them’. They became the core of all decisions. Their presence and absence was the nucleus of my actions. Dad chided me about getting them home and then being a negligent pet parent. It took me a whole year and a stubborn Elsa in his teens for my father to understand that they wanted to be left alone to play and thrive and not have us constantly at them. They were to be fed minimally and allowed maximum breathing space. It was safe to say, my dad compared their upbringing to dogs. He assumed I was torturing them by keeping ‘em in a massive 2BHK to run amok, eat and sleep (yes…. such profound torture). But they are happy, playful, cute and cuddly and think up new adventures for me every day. I smack them and then I grab them and love them equally. They are smart enough to know that despite humans being aware of the big dilated pupil routine, it ACTUALLY works. That maneuver completely changes the expression and emotion on their faces and the ones evoked from us. Humans cease to be any form of force in front of our feline counterparts.

When I walk into a room and see Ella, I see a bundle of innocence in its purest form. I see pure love and I see 0 expectations except one of love that’s unconditional in its defined form. She is barely 2 palm sizes tall and white and tiny and in that vast space of a room, I see her button eyes longing for me to hold her. How can I not? How can anyone not? She was christened Minnie and was rescued and fostered with her twin brother Mouse. She gelled superbly well with 3 adult cats in the foster home and showed them all who’s boss at the tender age of 2 months. I loved her to bits as she reminded me of the wildness that’s laying trapped in my heart. My only apprehension lay in separating the siblings. I knew taking them both would be too much so I stuck to just taking Minnie as I needed a female to keep my Elsa in check and give him company. Both neutered, healthy and adorable as they explored each other post being friendzoned and devoid of any natural attraction. They look out for each other just as much as they beat each other up. Ella loves dad and will NEVER miss an afternoon nap beside him or on top of him, (the stance is akin to her having conquered some giant in battle). Meanwhile dad sleeps oblivious of a furball parked on his body somewhere. When she is accidentally/deliberately locked up inside a cupboard or cabinet, Elsa parks himself outside that door until we open it and let her out. This is one of the signature ways of finding where either cat is. Litter trails are another story. Elsa is prissy and clean like any cat. Miss Elsa thinks litter is something to express boundless joy in as she rolls and scatters the fresh lot of it ALL over the place – much to the chagrin of my father who has enough reasons to throw us all out. I watch her go nuts, imagine a smile on her face and then clean up. A routine I am used to :)

2 years into mothering these two has taught me tremendous amount of all things mothers do except being a human mother. As some random poster proudly declared, ‘yes… my children have paws’. I am not sure if now, I ever wish to bear my own or procreate or my better half wishes for one of our own. However, I think that these two do a good job of filling that void. I don’t think of them as temporary or as replacements. I don’t think of them as wild or something to pass a few years or attempt a trial. They are my heart, my song, my love, my kids and my endless stories that escape every time someone asks me about them. They are a reason for many things good in my life and their value is at par if not above having human kin. They may not have the ivy league dream, the marriage and the future, but they have their own individual future. I invest in them with as much love and pampering as I would do my own blood and flesh. I love them fiercely and cannot imagine in any realm that I am less than a mother. I hope that their biological momma is smiling and content that I am keeping her lil ones on a pedestal :)

Paws and purrs!

Workout Pains!

One would imagine that going for a workout would be fun, relaxing, stress relieving and quiet. Well…. Think again!

I have been through the rut and cycle of much of the fitness offerings in Mumbai city. There was a time I was obsessed with trying out any fancy offering in sports and fitness and decide if I would go for more than 2 classes/sessions a week after a trial class. If there was an accompanying enthusiastic fool, then he/she would succumb and we wouldn’t waste time or energy in beating down the doors soon.

Dance, jazz, drums (yep don’t underestimate upper body workout), parkour, martial arts, karate, gyms, swimming, bboying, hiphop, crossfit, personalized training, dumbbell marathon workout, Capoeira, yoga, kalaripayattu and errrr… many more. On my to-do list are pole workout, Pilates and scuba diving in the pipeline. Despite 2 busted and surgically repaired knees, I have no intention of stopping or slowing down. P.S. This does not include occasional lazy ass bouts of nothingness. In my experience, doing nothing is a workout too :P

The good part of all the above was knowledge and experience. To know that there are folks who lived in absolutely poverty to mediocre standards just to fulfill their passion and keep it going. To impart it day after day in practice and training without expecting it to become popular at the speed of a bush fire. They put their comfort, their price, their personal time and even their family on the line to make things happen. Despite media exposure and workshops, a marginal percentage actual manage to make it to the big league – and by that I mean having at least 2 or more high profile clients and a periodic mention on social media. The rest remain to slug it in the mud and a majority to embrace defeat, shrug and move on. Their skills are narrated as after stories or introductory glory moments to give them an edge in an unknown crowd. The more exotic the art, the tougher to have it established and running.

What ropes me in is their passion. That passion is what convinces us learners to follow in their footsteps and dedicate few valuable hours from our day/week to the skill. This also accounts for the commute back and forth from the center – case in point when I worked myself to the bone doing Malad – Powai – Khar/Andheri – Malad almost 3/4 times a week. Over the last 10 years, I drove myself to the bone working out as much as 3 hours at a stretch at the gym, doing dance or yoga classes, swimming (when time, money, a clean balanced pool and mood permitted) and then followed a brief confused period in bboying followed by a long term stint at capoeira. All the art forms showed immediate and visible effects on my body and mind. Some very slight and some rather drastic. Gymming caused me to drop to a number that was underweight for my height and frame. But for someone like me who has battled weight since puberty, they were golden numbers in the 40s and I was only thrilled to drive it down rather than stay healthy and up. The result was atrocious skin for the 1^st time in my life, disrupted monthly cycle and deficiencies due to a not so well constructed diet.

Poor knowledge and even poor skills can cause severe long-term damage – something I have learnt personally. Capoeira unearthed a part of me that lay dormant for far too long. The art form just married my body movements and it was possible due to all my activities, I had the wavelength and flexibility to pull of moves that takes months for some new folks into this art form. I was home. And I made it home. Weather, space constraints, distance, time, energy, fuel, nourishment, balance… nothing mattered. I hated and loved people around me fiercely. But I was clear… I was glued to the class and the instructions than people and superficial offerings. I didn’t care if I missed a party or if I was early to leave from a party. No one lived my side anyways and some were more than eager to drop me home, repeatedly. Don’t think I have ever declined those many offers over and over again. But I hyperventilated if I either missed a class or someone occupied my comfy lil spot on the left extreme corner (1^st row) in class. I HATED that. They were minor possessive elements in my mind. I ignored it by watching year after year, month after month all kinds of folks come in. The class was no different from the gym. 

There were the wanderers and socializers among the scattered hardcore trainers.

People in Mumbai have learned to be comfortable in the tiniest spot. By that I mean, you can take a 360° turn but not really stick your arm out. The concept of giving space in life, in person, in class, in gym, in public spaces does not exist. And people carry this attitude with them everywhere they go and every discipline they infiltrate. In gym, you could hurt yourself from machines or anyone with weights etc. In Capoeira class you could easily have an arm or worse still, a leg, land on any part of you and most certainly add a few painfully sore days if not worse to your body. Safety couldn’t be further pressed and stressed about in class and yet not everyone pays heed or is mindful of it. It’s just flaying arms and legs for some who just wouldn’t care about the consequences or others around them.

Fast forward to when I joined Mickey Mehta’s 360° routine. So Capoeira had physically and emotionally damaged me in some irreparable ways. I realized that I would need a lot of time before I sensed that freeing feeling when I 1^st started practicing and training in it and that no one in class, not even in jest, would try to hurt me. So in the meantime, a suddenly ballooned weight (per my standards) prompted me to consider something tamer to be added to my routine. Mum enrolled me into MM360. It worked for her and she thought it would at least help me. Boy it did…. Calisthenics, cardio, boot camp, yoga (extreme and asanas), dance, stretch class, grow tall, aerobics, drills, well they had it all packed into 1 hr sessions 7 days a week all year long. One could pick and choose any one class per day and walk out content. Who doesn’t like variety served on a platter and the freedom to do ANYTHING from a slot reserved between 6am and 9pm. I used it and abused it. I was addicted. But I was careful and I trained sensibly. It worked wonders for me and the trainers who are so well taught and inducted into the system became my go-to folks. Early mornings and early-late evenings were packed like a Mumbai local. The odd “housewife” slot so to speak (that’s the term for 11am to 6pm) was scanty to empty sometimes. There were days I was the ONLY student and class was conducted with no discounts or trimmings from the actual routine. I loved it and I used my work-from-home privilege to slip in a class anytime. Sometimes even during a lunch break. But them ladies got on my nerves when they joined class. There is always the collective echo of wailing and yawning and laziness. I still cannot comprehend why would you attend a class if the only aim was to mark attendance. This wasn’t school or the army where it was traced and a consequence was announced. The only consequence was weight gain and not being fit. Them ladies would come and collectively slow me down by blocking my way with their group chatter or slow the class down by prompting the instructor to either reduce the number of repetitions or change the movement to an easy “doable” one. To add to the bane of my problems was the air conditioning. In a tiny studio space, 3 split ACs and 2 high speed noisy fans HAD to be on. The common sense that we warm up our bodies to work out and not cool it down with these tertiary gadgets didn’t prevail. I scouted areas of the class, however farther away or awkwardly placed just to avoid the direct blast of these gadgets. When the class would be packed, I would try to be patient and accommodate folks around me. It came at a cost. They didn’t feel or think the same way. Selfishness bid itself a warm welcome right with my breathing radius.

I joined Dumbelled workout regime as a trial for a month. T’was 3ce a week 6am-7am. Rigorous marathon training and tailor made for runners and marathon enthusiasts. I did not fit in and yet I managed to drag my crucified knees through 4kms of running non-stop at 6am temperatures. Discipline, attire, routine and stress levels were uniform and high. Just what I needed to push me over the edge and get me to do what I loved but just couldn’t find the right tools to aid me. I always needed a trainer and someone who would drive me down the road. However, the idea of doing this just one more time made me grovel and I had no will to join a bunch I barely spoke to or connected with. I think connection is key in a group. It makes you wake up and look forward to joining them no matter how bad your day was. Workouts in any shape or form always relieve you. But this… I left after a trial month. No regrets.

This was just a handful of issues I faced working out. At Goregaon Sports Club, home to the whos who of the rich and classless, I was hit on by men 3-4 times my age, causing my friend the member abundant embarrassment and refusal to bring me back again lest they pester him for my number and details. I once left a gym because the instructor insisted he wanted to marry me after training me for 2 years. Once refused to join a gym because the eager instructor looked like he would propose marriage after 2 years of training. Swimming was another story. If you find yourself in a slot that includes anyone, you are in for smelly dirty kids not minded by their parents or dirty old men who inch their whale like bodies close to yours and try to brush past or even slip in a creepy ‘hi’ in the middle of your laps. Excess chlorine and sometimes questionable hygiene drive you away faster than Juhu beach water could.

Working out is a headache and a boon. 3 scenic gardens around my home keep me grounded. Yes, I have to pass couples making bad attempts to hide in bushes to do what they do in bushes. Some quite out there and almost making babies. But if I strain my neck and eyes enough, I can pack in a good run followed by a few workout moves. The oxygen is a good trade off.

Clothing. Wait… APPROPRIATE clothing. Such a debate. Women ‘dress up’ here for workouts. I have seen pushup bras and heavy makeup beneath the perspiration. Tight clothing and see through it all clothing. And never a proper fit or a comfort. Adjusting and flaunting workout wear is THE workout. Its awkward and just a tch tch moment for spectators. Why or why would one want to be discomforted in the outfit that’s supposed to be the MOST comfortable. I once wore Quecha brand sportswear to a gym where I was told off by the gym instructor to cover up. I was shocked that racer-back was inappropriate in the near 40° heat but a camel toe and a tight T-shirt donned by someone else was acceptable. Bias! Both men and women also tend to conveniently ignore what to wear underneath the attire. Sometimes it’s way too embarrassing to acknowledge or even pass by in the same room. I shall not delve into the inappropriate details of what disasters those result in.  

In the end if not a workout, at least our wits, common sense, visual sense and our humor has a good workout and we make up for the rest elsewhere. I will never run out of feeling that initial pulse of getting my bikini bod and then leaving whatever space thinking “what the hell was THAT”. But if I never do any of these, I wont have any more experiences or make attempts to stay fit. Gotta 'ruuuuun'