Commute stole my style

TODAY I was told some wonderful news. It wasn't that I had won the lotto or that I had got a promotion,  no, no, it was even better than that. I was told that there was a state-of-the-art bike storage in the basement of my work offices. Well, in my lame-ass world right now where my bike has become one of my most valuable possessions (when did this happen?), it was news that filled me with much happiness.

Let me explain before you think that I've lost the plot completely. Having been transferred at Christmas to an office 50 miles away from where I live, I came face to face with  what we call 'the commute'.  At first, it involved a 30-minute walk to the train station, a 40-minute train ride, and another 20-minute walk to the office... and then all over  again for the trip home in the evening. After doing this for the first week, I was in despair to be honest. No amount of positivity was going to overcome the feeling of hopelessness and exhaustion I had over the whole thing, the mini cheerleaders that had been pom-pomming away in my head, trying in vain to keep my spirits up, changed into their tracksuits and hit the road once it became obvious I was a lost cause. The endless walking and waiting around and 'daylight robbery' at the ticket counters was making me think I could not make this work.

So Himself suggested we get a 'fold-up bike'. It would be perfect for the commute and it would slash my journey by a full half hour. I agreed to give it a go as a last resort, at least I know I had tried my best to make it work then. A week later, I was the slightly terrified owner of a blue machine that at first, seemed to have the joints of an 82-year-old man as I attempted to learn how to fold the bloody thing up. It would not budge for me but seemed to move smoothly for Himself, which leads me to think that old 'Bluebell' is an 82-year-old woman, not man. As Himself  deftly tucked the pedals in to the neatly folded  bike - after the 50th fold-up demo that night mind - I believed I could almost see her smirking at me while Himself patted her saddle, overjoyed he had managed to figure it out so quickly, the two of them bonding instantly over their mutual distain for my folding skills.

Well, I did figure her out since (PMS - fold Pedals, then Middle, then Saddle - how ironic!) and after having spent some time together over the past month, I can say Bluebell has become a real lifesaver and made the commute bearable, if not almost pleasant on a sunny morning. I however, have turned into a seasoned commuter, but not the smart, suit-clad professional you see on the train with a Starbucks in one hand and an iPad in the other. I wish. No, due to the extent of travel on my daily commute, I am the girl with the bird's nest hair wearing the sneakers and ski coat carrying a fold-up bike that weighs twice my weight and lugging a Fitness First backpack I had gotten for free once after a gym taster session. Gone is the nice hair and feminine dresses of my non-commute days. There is no time or place for flowery dresses when I am pedalling furiously to the station and folding up my bike in the space of 50 seconds. One must dress accordingly to one's circumstances.

A few weeks ago I dropped my bike on the ground outside my office after cycling in the pouring rain and nipped into the ladies for the 2 minutes I had before my shift began. I stood next to a girl in the bathroom with straight, glossy hair wearing a red H&M dress that I recognise from my own pre-commute wardrobe who was applying her lipstick in the mirror.  I looked at myself in the mirror next to her, sighing at the red-cheeked, ski-coat wearing, drowned rat that was looking back at me, then pulled out my deodrant, gave a quick spray in the direction of my armpits like some sort of frazzled ape that had wandered into someone else's cave, and left the other girl to it.

I am now one of those environmentally friendly commuters, riding a bike and taking public transport, though this has happened unintentionally. I have come to respect Bluebell since I figured out how to fold her and apart from a few minor incidents, not least of all the massive black and purple bruise I have on my leg after she slammed her handlebar into me (beatch), we work together quite well. And the news that I can now store her downstairs instead of lugging her across the office floor on a daily basis while my co-workers look on sympathetically at my plight, is a real bonus. It means I get to take the lift to our floor bike-less and maybe have an extra few minutes to shed my efficient commuter/cyclist persona and spray some Chanel, not Sure, in the bathroom for a change.

It's the little victories that count you know.