Thursday, September 15

(insert creative title here)

Despite the shit ton (imperial not metric) of fuck all that's not going on here, I feel the need to shout into this vacuous space if only to remind myself that it's still here and my fingers have activities to do that aren't in my nostrils.

But what to say?

Self-deprecation would be my thing, if I didn't think I'd be the worst at it.

Self-aggrandization could be my thing, but everything can be fact checked pretty easily, and also why bother?  Sounds like a great activity for a politician.  Why be falsely braggadocios when I'm not running for any office other than the sexual congress... which would be a great band name.  Sexual Congress.

I don't have time to be self-obsessed when all I can think about is what a great athlete I am, how awesome my hair is, and how I wonder what it would be like to be someone else and just wanna be someone like me all the time.

Self-pity though?

I've backed into it in the same manner that anyone born after 1969 parallel parks.  

That would be reluctantly, haphazardly, and not without causing some damage.

Fucking Covid, man.

I still feel like shit.  That is to say, I feel more like shit than a normal 53 year old male with proclivities to stay awake watching shit TV too late into the night while holding a beer should.  My legs are not back under me, and sometimes when I'm riding, I feel like I'm still up in the thin air of Breckenridge.  For some reason, my calves started to hurt the other day.  Some reason?  No reason?  

I'm not a patient man, and without a certain injury that I can blame in a pin-pointed manner for my inability to do the things I love in the way I'm accustomed to, I want something to directly blame for my woes.

*side-eyes dog sleeping lazily on couch*

My life is quite satisfactory... dare I say great.  I have jerhb, wife, dog (albeit a lazy dog), most of my health, that great hair I mentioned previously...

It's just...

But as The Pie RN would say, "You're not living on a mud floor in a hut in Haiti."

So bear with me as I don't blerhg about racing and riding and how every bike should have a drooper post and AXS shifter curiosities and how my recent purchase of some brakes I didn't need means I should probably build a whole new bike around them and also full suspension plastic single speeds...

What is it... like two weeks and change before I'm supposed to do the Pisgah 55.5k?  And if I feel like I can't handle long climbs and even longer suffering, I can head over to Watts's neighborhood and do the King and Queen of the Watershed (again) and take my beating in shorter but much more intense doses?

I'm hoping to have my eureka moment this weekend... the same moment I was hoping for last weekend... and the weekend before.

Because if I continue this trend of riding less and over-consumption much longer, I'm seriously considering taking up bowling.  If for no other reason than everything I know about the sport is based on watching The Big Lebowski a billionty times, it looks fucking awesome, and I've already picked out my outfit.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I’ll roll wit cha. Just not on Shabbos.