Last year I rode in the annual 12-mile Polka Ride. That was my first time. I was doing pretty good. Then, at mile 11, I fell on the ground and the bike fell on me really, really hard. The worst pain I've ever felt--and I've felt some pain in my life. As soon as I fell, people came to help me. This Irish guy named Steve had this bicycle taxicab--so I'm riding behind this cute guy. He rode me the rest of the way here. Someone rode my bike in for me. He made sure that I was OK, and everyone was checking in on me, and everybody was amazed that I was still walking around given all the noise I'd made when I fell. Even though my leg was getting bigger I could still walk, and I thought, "I'm going to polka since I came all this way." I asked the bandleader to write a one-legged polka. He came up with something and dedicated it to me and I danced with my friends. What ethnomusicology major doesn't like to polka? This year I think I'm going to park my bike outside here and pretend that I did the ride--no one will ever know, right?
--Cynthia Shern, direct marketing consultant