Bike = Satan

OK.
"Satan (Hebrew: הַשָּׂטָן ha-Satan, "the opposer,") is a character appearing in the texts of the Abrahamic religions, who personifies evil and temptation, and is known as the deceiver that leads humanity astray. The term is often applied to an angel who fell out of favor with God, seducing humanity into the ways of sin, and who now rules over the fallen world."
Hmmm... I realize that many of you probably love biking (or exercise. See my rant about that here :) http://letsusjustseehowitgoes.blogspot.co.nz/2012/12/why-is-exercise-so-fucking-terrible.html) but I hate it. HATE it. There is a reason. I don't just go around hating on things without a proper reason.
I must've been around 8 or so when I was staying at my uncle, aunt and cousins house (who are crazy, I might add. They all weigh about 100 pounds, exercise for hours everyday, live in the middle of the woods and eat nothing but food fallen off of trees and when I say fallen, I mean literally fallen. Apparently, if you pick a piece of fruit or whatever off of a tree, you are hurting its feelings... Moving on from that). Since they just loved to sweat to their hearts content, we were brought outside so we could as well.
The choice was to go on a 2 hour run through the woods with my cousins (tempting) or bike around the driveway (not so bad). So after I went on the two hour run... just kidding.
I was given a bike with no brakes without knowledge. We were all biking around the huge circular driveway when we decided to go in for a yummy lunch, a delicious and filling bean and pepper salad. Don't be fooled by the salad part. It was just beans and peppers. No seasoning. Nothing.
I was the first to head in which required me biking down the steep path to their house. I was zooming along, feeling OK when I saw a sharp turn up ahead. I swerved around and made it! Yay!
However, right after the turn was a metal shed covered with rust and broken dreams. My life flashed before me, as there was nowhere to go.
I furiously squeezed the brakes but to no avail. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.
After the impact, I saw the bike lying on the concrete next to me, its tire spinning furiously. I lifted my arms to my face which was still intact but streaming with blood. The arms I lifted were too, covered with blood and dirt, especially my wrists.
Everyone got me inside and tried to clean me up. They weren't much help though since they weighed probably as much as me (I was 8).
I was left with a gash above my eyebrow, a cut on my chest, and multiple scars on my arms and hands.
Even now, I have those scars. They have faded a bit.
I also have a fear of riding bikes and even walking down hills. If I'm hiking or something, and I'm walking downhill, I get scared, and it's embarrassing.
I wish it were different, but it's not. You'd be surprised at how much it does affect me. Being scared of hills! I live in the hilliest place. It's ridiculous.
I hate the feeling of being on a bike, the balancing of the two wheels just feels unnatural and unsteady. I don't feel safe.
It sucks, what else can I say but...
...It Could Be Better