The Forty Days

I have made a monumental life decision.  I am going to quit my upcoming job before it even begins, run away, and join the circus.  After all, I already have a clown outfit (Day 8), I already know how to fly through the air on the trapeze (Day 12), and today I learn how to unicycle.  I know what you’re all saying–you’re saying, David, life in the circus is not all fun and games, contrary to well-publicized circus propaganda videos, such as “Life In The Circus: All Fun And Games.”  No, you say, it’s more like that piercing circus expose entitled “What You May Or May Not Know About The Circus Could Kill You Right Now.”  But I don’t care what you say–you can’t control me!  This is my life!  I hate you!  Given these newly-formed plans, it is unfortunate that I kind of sucked at riding unicycle . . .

I meet my friend Reid at about 5:30 pm to begin my lesson.  Reid is an expert unicyclist, has about ten different kinds of unicycles, and even somehow rides unicycle off-road in the Greenbelt.  Reid takes me to a nearby elementary school, as it has a good area to practice.  Unfortunately, there is an after-school program, and several little children gather near the windows to watch our lesson.  Go do your homework, I yell to little avail.  I don’t need you little people watching how terrible I am at this.  Reid gives me some basic instruction–how to mount the unicycle, how to ride the unicycle, and, most importantly, how to fall off the unicycle–and then tells me to hop on.  Here is my first pathetic attempt (notice the children watching me from behind the door to the left):

Wow.  I couldn’t even peddle one measly inch.  I am subsequently booed by several eight-year-old kids.  At this point, I realize that this is going to be much more difficult than I thought.  I feel completely unstable, I can hardly peddle forward even when holding onto the wall, and I am afraid of falling backward and cracking my head open in front of a horde of horrified schoolchildren.  I keep trying and trying and trying, while Reid continues to give me tips–lean forward, look up, find your balance, etc.  By this point, three middle-school skater types show up and begin watching us.  Just what I need–a bigger audience.  Get lost, you punk kids!  Does no one have any homework anymore?  After about thirty minutes and a hundred attempts, I get only slightly better.  I think I hurt my crotch at the end of this attempt.

The punk kids then start playing on the unicycles, and Reid begins to give them some instruction too.  In about thirty minutes, one of the kids starts getting the hang of it.  He is significantly better than I am in only half the time.  Wonderful, my embarrassment is complete.  But I am determined–I am going to ride this unicycle for at least three seconds without falling.  I try again and again and again.  I’m sweaty and tired and demoralized by the unearned unicycle-related success of a thirteen-year-old kid.  Here is probably my best attempt of the day.  Not terrible, according to Reid.

We call it quits at about 8 pm.  I feel alright about my progress, although I never feel truly comfortable on the unicycle.  At least I did not severely injure myself–a very realistic possibility.  Reid tells me that it takes approximately ten hours of practice to really get the hang of unicycling.  That makes me feel a little better.  But what about my dreams of running off with the circus, entertaining the youth of America with death-defying stunts, and occasionally making out with the bearded lady?  What about that, Reid?  Maybe I should just be a carney instead, you say.  Noooooooooooooo!