Not too long ago, my doctor told me I needed to stop running outside. My spine isn't doing so hot and the impact is making everything worse. So I arranged to get medical treatment and then started researching which elliptical to buy. Because despite the expense, it's still a worthy investment toward my health.
I went to the store, bought it, and arranged for delivery on a Saturday. And then I waited what felt like a really long time for Saturday to arrive. Eventually I received my big cardboard box and as I unpacked the box that's bigger and heavier than I am, the first thing I notice in the instruction manual is a bit of text at the top saying assembly requires two people. "We'll see about that," I think.
This is a big piece of complicated and expensive machinery. But as I was laying all the bits and pieces out on the floor, I realized that a lot of people would feel intimidated by this task. Sure, one of the bolts fell into the plastic casing around the wheel and I couldn't see or hear it. Did I give up? Pfft. No. I did what I do best. I out-stubborned the inanimate object. I was observant and tenacious and I figured out where the bolt landed and how to knock it down.
I refused to be daunted by the task in front of me and I attribute that to my parents in a grand way. They never shied away from teaching me the finer things in life. Like how to use a treadle sewing machine and the value of a furniture dolly. I grew up with a mom who used our workshop's radial arm saw as often as dad. They were a team that did everything equally and I learned how to be pretty darn handy because of it. So I assembled my lovely, complicated piece of machinery. Even though the instructions might say I can't do it by myself, thanks to my parents, I know better.
P.S. The chaotic aftermath.