Off to a roaring start this week: woke up at 6:43AM Monday after no kind of sleep at all, ripped from slumba' by the beep of a text message on the wife's phone, all from her 12-year old friend, all totally a chain-text. What the fuck. I mean everyone else figured out chainmail like 8 and a half years ago, what is her problem. Ridiculous. So I was rocking a monstrous headache all day, until a prescription-strength nap took that shit out. Nighttime number 2 happened between 10 and 3. Fool me I even tried to ride after that, no dice of course, oh wait muscle relaxant means just that. Spent the rest of the week getting hammered, not the fun kind, of course the kind where THA BROOS JUICE reaches out his wide and steady hand and totally crushes your shit, graah I am Bruce my bike is steel and all that.
Tuesday night woke up terrified, loins clammy because of dreams of bears, but as soon as I was able to recognize the right angles of the room, I realized what was up: THE SNOWBALL CRIT. Oh shitt but I started freaking out, totally making the elbows-out sprint motion as I fell asleep. Now I can't stop thinking about the podunckest race in the whole wide world. Oh damn but won't sprintin' season get here.
Even got my mountain bike mojo back between tha Bruce poundings, due to my ride partner / secretary / boss. Of course talking about THA WYFE, who has made huge claims to win Camp Hilbert this year what now suckaz.
Too bad her bike is totally half her body weight. Whayyeva, makes you trongah.
Have to start getting her to work on the piggyback squats, better hillclimb plus freakin' treetrunk roommate puts all the waterbottles up top the kitchen cabinets
