O friends,
Does it suck mightily to plan your season out eighty-nine months in advance? Do you hate thinking ahead more than three days?
I know how it is. It's a stone prong, but it's (supposedly) got to be done. Mr. Joe Friel, the gaunt-ass interval freak who penned the big book of training hoopla, is insistent. Whenever I find myself having fun while riding my bike, the specter of Mistah Friel looms large and quite gaunt ovah my shoulder, looking over the rims of his specs, voice increasing in volume as he progresses through the shrill chant: "IT CAN'T BE BURNOUT, BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T CRACKED 200 WATTS IN A MONTH!"
Go jiggle someone else's knob, you goober. Everyone knows that races aren't won with discipline in the off-season. They're won the day before, with fried meat, and dried fruit. And when it comes to meat and fruit, to quote the inimitable Michael Ball: "You're talking to the guy."
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Dirt Dickled
Man I screwed up on today's ride. At every point before and during the ride, if it was possible to screw up, I did. I stayed up too late Saturday, drank too much beer and too little water, woke up sick to my stomach because of it, couldn't get any food down, and farted around till it was too late to ride over, so I had to catch a ride. Then, of course, freakin' Justin Raynes decides that this Sunday of all Sundays is the day to go balls-out from about 2 miles in, and my dumb ass decides that the ideal moment to sit up and eat is right when the front group sights him over a rise.
Everybody off on their own, doing the fast chase thing, and me all the fat kid, wad of Clif Bar crammed in my gob, all breathing heavy and wondering where all my buddies went.
Poor, lonely fat kid, his gut all hangin' out in the cold.
Hopefully these shameful shenanigans will be motivation enough to keep me riding this week. Hate the thought of not having enough in the legs to make up for screw-ups like today.
Everybody off on their own, doing the fast chase thing, and me all the fat kid, wad of Clif Bar crammed in my gob, all breathing heavy and wondering where all my buddies went.
Poor, lonely fat kid, his gut all hangin' out in the cold.
Hopefully these shameful shenanigans will be motivation enough to keep me riding this week. Hate the thought of not having enough in the legs to make up for screw-ups like today.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Ttha Dong Prong
Stone cold had to lay adveyes down on Winslow ttha dong prong today, he was totally ready to drop ducats on a 52cm Raleigh Technium for to build a fixed gear upon. Man wasn't the completely first thing Moses commanded to the Hebrews, "Raleighs are five-fifths bullshit, just totally find a wet turd and scratch 'RALY'* into the side of it with a stick and you have got the whole Raleigh experience."?
Damn you Winslow you made me expunge the virulent pus of my Raleigh-hatred on the clean white pages of the Internet. Don't build no Raleigh fixed-gear you donkus.
On the flip side of the metaphorical koynne, all hail THA BRUICE JUICE, who totally threw down the gauntlet last night, via electronic mail. T.B.J. was the sole reason I was even conscious at the witching hour (7 in the morning) today, totally pride pricking me to ride in the ass-bitingest weather of the winter so far, shit on that noise. Next time I go on a ride in 24 degree weather it will be in the shop panel-van.
Just had some discussion of this post's content with my boss, eventual decision was "doesn't take much to be up to the standards of B&R." So that's the moral: ride bikes, even if it's so cold your nipples are poking the guy in front of you, and don't be afraid to puke your sloppy idea of humor onto your inane blog. I do it, why shouldn't you?
*there is no room for Raleigh on a shit
Damn you Winslow you made me expunge the virulent pus of my Raleigh-hatred on the clean white pages of the Internet. Don't build no Raleigh fixed-gear you donkus.
On the flip side of the metaphorical koynne, all hail THA BRUICE JUICE, who totally threw down the gauntlet last night, via electronic mail. T.B.J. was the sole reason I was even conscious at the witching hour (7 in the morning) today, totally pride pricking me to ride in the ass-bitingest weather of the winter so far, shit on that noise. Next time I go on a ride in 24 degree weather it will be in the shop panel-van.
Just had some discussion of this post's content with my boss, eventual decision was "doesn't take much to be up to the standards of B&R." So that's the moral: ride bikes, even if it's so cold your nipples are poking the guy in front of you, and don't be afraid to puke your sloppy idea of humor onto your inane blog. I do it, why shouldn't you?
*there is no room for Raleigh on a shit
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Too cold
It is officially bullshit season, as temperatures this morning are reported to "feel like" 24 degrees. What the hell, people. Conditions are not perfect. That's way too damn cold and you know it. We could bust out the amfib tights and freeze anyways, or we could just admit that nothin's happening till it warms the f-bomb up. Unfortunately, I'm gonna be at work while it does just that.
Gotta find a way to burn calories without losing fingers to frostbite-- maybe raise my heartrate by watching the news with the volume at full blast, then run up and down the stairs for an hour to punish our neighbors for their screaming children. Or maybe masturbate while jogging in place, Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" on the stereo. Not that it really matters-- I solved my weight loss problem, 'Se7en'-style, by cutting off one enormous butt-cheek. Kind of tough to put the power down on the left side now, but I'm confident I'll be able to work around it.
Wait! got the indoor workout figured out. Gonna let the rabbit out to chew through Mr. N-B's new R-sys spokes, then spend the morning dodging thrown objects around the apartment. Conditions are once again perfect.
Gotta find a way to burn calories without losing fingers to frostbite-- maybe raise my heartrate by watching the news with the volume at full blast, then run up and down the stairs for an hour to punish our neighbors for their screaming children. Or maybe masturbate while jogging in place, Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" on the stereo. Not that it really matters-- I solved my weight loss problem, 'Se7en'-style, by cutting off one enormous butt-cheek. Kind of tough to put the power down on the left side now, but I'm confident I'll be able to work around it.
Wait! got the indoor workout figured out. Gonna let the rabbit out to chew through Mr. N-B's new R-sys spokes, then spend the morning dodging thrown objects around the apartment. Conditions are once again perfect.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Butt-dogg
man it is so rough when it is nice but also windy. i hate that shit. it's like the weather is tapping on the window, all "i'm so pleasant," but secretly once you are like ten miles from home and you can't really justify turning around, your buddy the weather is all suddenly a stank stark butt-dogg bitch, totally creating great winds which are extremely unpleasant. the old switcheroo, no thanks weather, i one-hundred percent hate that crap to death.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
EPIK
The toughest part of winter isn't getting up to ride in the cold, though I've certainly got enough trouble with that. It's not the short daylight hours, or the unpredictable precipitation. It's trying to train at low intensity when you live a mile away from all the group rides. Add that to the fact that it's been so warm lately, and I start freaking out about whether I should be cutting back, or if I'm at the right intensity. No wonder people shell out the big ducats for coaches.
In an effort to get some "LSD" miles under my spandex waistband, I churned out another Epic Sunday, riding to the Waller Mill hammerama, then cruising up Rt. 5 to Providence Forge and back, rounding out at 133 miles. There's a point around mile 90 where you start to realize that you're not really deriving any benefit from riding for so long, except maybe you get some psychological boost on the start lines, because you know that most of the dudes around you have never spent 8 solid hours on their bikes. Or maybe they school you no matter how smug you feel, because they spent their winters productively. Either way, my neck and my ass hurt way much for a day and a half, and when you're broke and twenty and you've got the day off, you've got to do something until it's time to sleep again. In other news:
Chippokes Duathlon: Mar. 30. I'm not doing this, and I hate multi-sport, but this is the first I've heard of it. So if you really can't stand the idea of the Jeff Cup, this one's for you.
Mohican 100: Only 11,000 ft. of climbing, hopefully 100% less head-crushing action. May 31? Sign up now, save twenty dollars.
Racing season: Can't come soon enough, cripes I hate "training".
In an effort to get some "LSD" miles under my spandex waistband, I churned out another Epic Sunday, riding to the Waller Mill hammerama, then cruising up Rt. 5 to Providence Forge and back, rounding out at 133 miles. There's a point around mile 90 where you start to realize that you're not really deriving any benefit from riding for so long, except maybe you get some psychological boost on the start lines, because you know that most of the dudes around you have never spent 8 solid hours on their bikes. Or maybe they school you no matter how smug you feel, because they spent their winters productively. Either way, my neck and my ass hurt way much for a day and a half, and when you're broke and twenty and you've got the day off, you've got to do something until it's time to sleep again. In other news:
Chippokes Duathlon: Mar. 30. I'm not doing this, and I hate multi-sport, but this is the first I've heard of it. So if you really can't stand the idea of the Jeff Cup, this one's for you.
Mohican 100: Only 11,000 ft. of climbing, hopefully 100% less head-crushing action. May 31? Sign up now, save twenty dollars.
Racing season: Can't come soon enough, cripes I hate "training".
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
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