Dr. G-Diddy says that the knife sticking out between two ribs right below my sternum is probably a “pain flare.”  

Ah.  Such a remark reminds me of my dear friends in California who refer to their mountainous miles long hills they like to ride their bikes over as “rollers.”   As in, “oh, the route is pretty flat, just some rollers.”   When, interpreted out of California-speak into proper New Jersey speak: “you better lube your ass pretty well with junk jam because you are going be going straight up the side of a fucking mountain for about 4 hours.”   Rollers.  I can not properly articulate the rage that phrase puts me into when spoken by a South Californian… oh, wait, I’m sorry, a “SoCal” rider, when referring to the ride of the day.  Of course, the amazing creativity and artistry by me in utilizing the word “fucker” “cocksucker” and “motherfuckercocksucker” when trying to get up a “roller” is never realized by others, because I am too winded and usually on my back next to my bike collapsed on the side of the road to actually have enough air to utter the words.  

So, when Dr. G says “pain flare”, I imagine it has such a nice, fluffly, cutesy stuffed animal intonation to it.  “pain flare.”   Flare.  Like, flair on a Friday’s servers uniform.  Or, Ric Flair.  Or, the attitude exhibited by Evel Kneviel.  Kinda cool, and shiny!   Just like a roller.  It’s all fun and cutesy, and neat-o, until you’re Garmin has shut off because you can’t even maintain 5 mph on the incline, and you come out of your seat to peddle and you still can almost not keep the bike going forward, so you decide to stop for a minute, but you are going so slow, when you finally realize you want to stop, you realize you can’t get your foot unclipped soon enough and you just fall over on your side.  People passing are only concered about the condition of your bike.  And, I think they really mean it when they assert they “WERE NOT LAUGHING AT YOU FALLING, BUT INSTEAD, WERE LAUGHING AT SOMETHING THEY JUST REMEMBERED HAPPENED AT WORK.”