You know it’s December when you’re on the first rotation of the dreaded annual medical merry-go-round. I went to a hand surgeon to get a cortisone shot for my trigger finger. He must be in arrears on his boat payments because he diagnosed me with a pinched nerve in my neck (knew that already) and carpal tunnel syndrome (one leads to the other apparently). I go to a neurologist next to have an EMG exam next week. The exam involves shocking nerves in your spine and down your arm to your hand. The typical diagnosis is: your nerves are messed up but we really don’t know why.
You know it’s December when a cold spell hits just in time for you to get a flat tire. Not just any flat tire, but a mystery flat tire. And, of course, it’s on the rear wheel. Changing a flat in 40-degree weather is not fun. It’s especially not fun when you get everything apart and you can’t find the cause of the flat. (This usually means the valve has gone bung.) So you put everything back together and hope all is well the next time you go for a ride. (Fat chance.)
You know it’s December when you have two craft beers at a happy hour and your body rebels for 36 hours. I am not making this up. Not only did my GI tract go bananas but I didn’t sleep for two days. Fast forward a couple of days and you go to a holiday open house. My wife brought Juggernaut wine (I kid you not) which she says is smooth like buttah. So you have a couple of glasses. (It’s very tasty.) The good news is there wasn’t any gas but the bad news is I haven’t slept in two days. Ugh.
You know it’s December when you take your wife’s car to the mechanic for an oil change and he takes it for a test drive. It turns out the funny noise that she didn’t tell you about is the bearings in the rear wheels shot to hell. Expensive to repair? Don’t ask.
You know it’s December when you have your eyes on a spring bike tour but know that it will be a disaster if you eat any more Christmas cookies. Did I mention my wife has produced more cookies (and fudge) this week than Keebler’s elves on a Pepperidge Farm? The entire house smells of sugar, butter, and chocolate. It’ll be a miracle if I make it to January without looking like Victor Buono.
You know it’s December when you have your eyes pinned to the bike mileage spreadsheet. Will I? Can I? Yes! Ten thousand miles. For the seventh year in a row, no less. Impressed? Don’t be. It’s 1,000 miles less than last year. Old man take a look at my life, I’m a lot like me.
Time for some cookies….
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 
10k remains impressive despite being 1k less than last year.
I had an EMG for my foot way back when. It’s unpleasant. But definitely helpful in diagnosing nerve issues.
Good luck!
LOL. I feel you on the holiday cookies. It helps that gluten is off limits for me, so all the tasty treats my coworkers bring to work smell great, but I don’t touch them. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been indulging in my own ways, and even those cause annoying pains in my joints.
If I even smell alcohol I won’t sleep for two days. You are brave consuming it twice so close together. Bummer on the back tire, I would have probably had a mental break down. But that’s because I struggle getting the back wheel on after it’s been taken off. I should probably practice that more, but I don’t ride enough currently to bother.