Helmets. Ick.

I am getting ever so slightly concerned about the fact that I haven't started biking or swimming yet. Bike's still leaning against the kitchen table, swimsuit's still sitting on top of my dresser. But in my own defense, I did attempt to look for a bike helmet on Friday. I wanted something plain, maybe black or silver- nothing crazy or fancy, nothing that made me look like Sonic the Hedgehog. I brought along my friends Callie and Wayne, because I knew I could not be left to my own devices when shopping for a helmet.

For starters, and this is something I'm quite honest about, I'm a huge goober. Serious dork. I knew helmet shopping would be funny, and if I was by myself I would be laughing at myself A LOT. Even if I was alone. So I'd rather have my friends laughing at me, too. Also, I needed someone there to remind me that a helmet wasn't going to make me look beautiful or win me first place in a fashion show, that the helmet is solely for protection of the head- period, end of story.

So, with their help, I tried on every. single. helmet. In the whole entire store. And I swear to you, none of them fit right. Most of them sat on top of my head leaving so much of my skull exposed that it didn't seem it could possibly be helpful should I take a tumble. Now, granted, none of us knew what we were looking for really, or how it was supposed to fit. But it just didn't seem right. I was even starting to become open to the idea of a helmet that wasn't plain and didn't match my bike or my tri outfit. Anything to get the process over with. I was laughing so much that I was getting extraordinarily hot. Callie was plunking the helmets on my head and I was standing there like a child while she adjusted the straps to fit me. Wayne seized the moment to hit me upside the head- just to be sure the helmet was sufficiently sturdy, I'm sure.

Then, just as we were about to give up, I tried one on that seemed to fit. The best part was that the helmet was white with pink and purple butterflies in a kind of abstract way. Pretty but subtle enough. And it fit. Score! Despite the fact that I had no intentions of getting a girly helmet, the helmet had found me, and I couldn't deny that we seemed meant to be.

So, helmet shopping complete, we continued to browse the store for workout gear and sports bras (yeah, Wayne must have been totally stoked about this shopping trip). Suddenly I looked down at the helmet box I was carrying, and one word stuck out at me. And that word was "Youth". It was a youth helmet. As in, for youths. As in, a 26-year-old triathlete-in-training has no business wearing this kind of helmet. Shit. Now I feel stupid because a) it's a freaking youth helmet with pink and purple butterflies and I'm kinda lame for liking it. Why don't I just get a Hannah Montana helmet and call it a day? and b) I know now that there is no way this helmet fits me properly because I know I have a big head, and certainly not a youth helmet sized head by any means.

Knowing that there is no way on earth I can purchase this helmet (both for safety and ego reasons), we decided I should definitely go to a bike store and get someone to help me- someone who knows what they're doing. I'll still need the moral support, but at least there will be a qualified professional there to help me find the right helmet, and probably stare at me oddly while I laugh at myself. So I put the helmet back on the shelf and left without it, imagining the 9-year-old girl who will be wearing it someday as she pedals to her friend's house to read Teen Beat magazine and gossip about boys.