puncture

Three years ago, my car died at an intersection during a heavy snowstorm. Mere blocks from my house, I grew frustrated that I wasn't able to make it home, and the car remained stranded in the middle of an intersection as it snowed heavily. Bested by a corroded grounding cable inside the engine compartment, my car refusing to start again. I called my father for assistance and he arrived within fifteen minutes, but with the snow piling up, my car was unable to move. A stranger approached my vehicle from behind and asked if I needed a hand.

The only method of assistance I could think of would be for him to use his car to push mine out of the intersection. An idea struck, and I wanted to put my spare tire between my rear bumper and his front bumper so he could use his car to push mine out of the intersection; the spare acting as damage control so neither cars would be damaged. Our efforts were futile and my car refused to budge under the stubbornness of the fallen snow. After growing tired, we gave up and thanked the stranger for his kindness and effort. I walked home as the snow fell and called a tow truck to move my car.

Except I forgot the spare tire at the scene.

I never found that spare tire again. I've gone three years without an incident that required use of the spare tire. Every three to four weeks, I make it part of my routine to check the tire pressure on all my tires. The front tires were a bit low at 28psi. While filling the front left tire, I checked the pressure of the rear left tire. Out of the corner of my eye, a glimmer. A screw, contrasting with the dark rubber of the tire and wheel well. Unfortunately, it wasn't lying on the pavement or in my hands, rather puncturing my tire as if it were making a statement. Thankfully the tire maintained its pressure.

Another close call; another day without the need for a spare.

I sit at Discount Tire in Bloomington, an hour and a half remaining until the puncture is repaired. It's bright red chairs all-too familiar to me. My package from Target was retrieved from its holding cell at the local post office, which always seems understaffed. A line nine people deep was serviced by one United States Postal Service employee, who was preoccupied by a woman attempting to ship seven packages to Mexico.

My to-do list is quite populated today. Visiting Best Buy is next, as I need to retrieve an order I made online on Sunday. After, a visit to the gym is in order, followed by Target (again) for odds and ends. Then, if I'm not stuck in traffic for hours, a brisk jog around Lake Calhoun.

The scale I used to weigh myself has sat idle for over a week. Deciding to step on it today, the display revealed a body weight of 141 pounds. Many weigh themselves every morning or once a week. I used to belong to the former, weighing myself every morning and scrutinizing every ounce of weight I would gain or lose. Food was a science, calculating every calorie or gram I would ingest. Since the State Fair in late August, I've found myself using the scale every two to three weeks instead, and have found myself to be in a much healthier mental state. No longer is food weighed meticulously, and the emotional harm I cause myself by scrutinizing my weight every morning is a thing of the past. In fact, I've lost weight while eating a more relaxed diet. The only reasoning I can find is that, by weighing myself every morning I could justify binging that day if weight was low. It was a rollercoaster; down one day, then up the next. The scale started as my friend and quickly became my enemy.

The weather is partly cloudy with a warm breeze from the west. Winter has grazed Minnesota with its presence over the past weekend, providing us with a taste of its harsh reality. Winter is coming.