Last Tuesday, I looked on the CrossFit Durham website and found that the owner had scheduled a Painstorm. I’d list the elements here, but suffice to say it was Lift a Bunch of Shit Over Your Head Until You Can’t Anymore Then Do Fifteen Rounds of Some Other Crap Then Lift the Same Shit Over Your Head Again.
I decided to mow my lawn instead. Little did I know I’d have a Painstorm, mostly psychological, of my own.
See, for years, I owned
I had two of these mowers, actually. Kilt ’em. Kilt ’em both dead.
The reason I had gotten electric instead of gas-powered was I wanted to reduce my carbon footprint.
Lies.
In truth, I got electric because yanking on the cord of a mower that won’t start makes me want to put a foot through somebody’s ribcage.
But after I broke two electric mowers in five years, I decided I would really be ecologically conscious.
Lies again.
In truth, I was just being cheap. I bought
Every blade of grass gets cut using only human energy! Problem is, human energy is crap. I mean, it would cut, but not very much and certainly not anything high. I have a special mixture of grass and weeds in my yard that proved too much for the Silent Scott. I’d go over a tall weed—it would flatten out under the blade and pop right back up to full salute.
Every time he saw me out there grunting behind my “mower”, my 70-year-old neighbor insisted on lending me his self-propelled beast of a gas-powered machine. But I was terrified I’d hit a rock or a stump and mess up his blade, or worse.
So Tuesday, after work, I put on my Big Girl Panties, stopped by Home Depot, and picked up
The cheapest one they had, natch. It came mostly assembled. All I had to do was attach the handle and the rear wheels and add some oil. I’m handy. I had no problem with the mower.
I did, however, have a problem with
“Just turn, and click—you’re ready to go.”
Lies.
In truth, turn, and click, and nothing comes out. Turn the other way, and click, and still nothing. Turn really forcefully, and curse at it, and click, and nothing. I must’ve messed with that thing for half an hour. And it was starting to get dark. If there had been a ribcage around that didn’t belong to my dogs, my foot would’ve been through it. I finally poured the gas into a glass measuring cup and transferred it to the tank.
I mooshed the little rubber button to get the gas to flow in, held my breath, and yanked on the cord. Raaarrrrrrr! It started up on the first pull! But it was cutting REALLY SHORT. I realized I needed to change the level of the wheels. Because I’d bought the Piece of Shit model, there was no lever to change the height. I had to take off every last wheel and reattach them in a different hole. Argh.
First wheel, done. Second and third, done and done. Fourth…fourth…fourth. Won’t. Come. Off. I was using the only tool I had: plier/wire snip combo thingy. I knew my neighbor would have a wrench or something, but I was afraid it was too late to knock on his door.
Lies.
In truth, my pride was saying, “You don’t deserve those Big Girl Panties! Turn the fucking bolt!”
After 20 minutes, I told my pride to shove it and tromped over to my neighbor’s house. Sure, he had an adjustable wrench. Even better,
That bolt came loose like nothing.
I’d like to say that I adjusted the wheels and mowed and everything was wine and roses. Truth is, two of the wheels kept falling off as I mowed. I had to keep stopping to reattach them, and one of the washers got lost in the process. At this point, it was 8:45 or 9:00, dark. My neighbors probably thought I was on meth.
But that grass got mowed! Those weeds got chopped! And I missed remarkably few spots considering that it was dark as pitch when I finished.
So what did I learn and gain from my Painstorm?
Adaptabililty…gas can nozzle doesn’t work? Use something else.
Humility…I should’ve asked my neighbor about 30 minutes earlier for the wrench.
Economics…spend the extra twenty bucks to get the adjustable mower.
Physics…I need to buy a pair of vice grips.
Wisdom…that sage of sages, Tim Allen, was right: sometimes you need more power.
Did the same thing on Tuesday for the exact same reason. However, our mower progression began with the Scotts radial. Now we’re on to our first electric mower. Any bets on how long it’ll take us to kill it? Considering our lawn is a quarter acre of weedy grass, I’m thinking two months! I really just want to skip mowing altogether and get a baby pygmy goat!
My Dad taught me a lot about tools. The very first lesson, when I was about seven, was “This is a vice grip. If you can only have one tool, it’s this one.”
Let me know how long it takes you to kill it, Michelle. I’m pretty special. I bet you can’t kill it as fast as I did.
Dan, my dad didn’t teach me that! But my dad didn’t really use tools. My mom did. But my mom didn’t teach me that!
Hmmmm—I actually own at least six vice grips in different sizes and shapes. How could I have missed teaching you the importance of not only having a pair of vice grips, but one in every room in the house?!?!?!?
mom, you failed your daughter.
amy, now i know what to get you for your birthday.
i got a push mower on the low carbon footprint idea back when my yard was 90% mulch. only to discover the lawn has to be flat. really flat.
which, as you may remember, my front yard is not.
so i did the only thing a self respecting butch could do.
dr trimmer. 500 (back then) bucks of raw power. cuts through stuff the size of your little finger 9honestly) with just super thick cord.
cuts through 3″ trees with optional beaver blade. oh, yeah, baby, yeah.
(take that, kathleen.)
every time i mow… oh. this is too pathetic to admit publicly. (do it. for amy. sigh.)
okay. every time i mow i have to…
ihavetogetbrucetostartthefreakingthingformebecausei’mtoomuchofaweenietodoitmyself.
i’m proud of you for starting that mower, amy.
as many times as you needed to.
i hope the next time you mow it’s less painstorm and more wine and roses.
I don’t know how that lesson slipped through the cracks, Mom, but it’s OK. Lesson learned. I went out and bought one. A sort of medium-sized one, I guess. I don’t have one for every room, but it’s a start.
A beaver blade, Margo?! A beaver blade?!
…A beaver blade?!
Melissa, the only reason I was able to start mine was because it was brand-fucking-new. Talk to me in a few months. I’ll be calling your husband to come start it for me.
Um, I am pretty sure it’s called a VISE grip….a vice grip is something…..different.
I’m googling both and getting the same thing! What is a vice grip in your neck of the woods? Something dirty and embarrassing that can get me fired from my job? I swear, I was using the thing you take bolts off with!
and bargain hunting – who needs homo depot when you could’ve taken your (other) neighbor up on that sweet-ass deal for the riding mower he wanted to sell you.
p.s. you using a riding mower to cut your postage-stamp front yard would be so hilarious, i might worry you were on meth.
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