Going Home

I grew up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. On a tree farm, in fact. It was hard labor; every morning I'd wake up at the crack of noon to milk those trees. And sometimes, when things became lonely on the farm, the only thing to keep me company was Dolly, a 17-year old pine with wood for days. Our affair was a forbidden love, but was worth every single sensitively-placed splinter.


Actually, it wasn't like that at all. I mean, Pines????? Seriously?! Everyone knows that white oaks give the best trunk. Not red oaks, of course, because this is a very conservative area and interracial tree-hugging is frowned upon.

Oh god, what a terrible start to the blog post. I had something serious written about the idea of home, but decided to discard it when I realized it had already been done as a shitty Bon Jovi country song. Hey Dave!, I thought monologue-ily, when someone from New Jersey beats you to the punch intellectually, it is probably time to lose a little bit of that enthusiasm, Chief. The only things that people from Jersey do well are discard bodies and date rape.*

*Hopefully not concurrently

Anyway, with an important race approaching next Saturday, I am planning to ramp up the training for the Mon-Wed cycle this week. After the epic fail over the weekend, coupled with the collarbone-induced layoff, my mind could really use the assurance of a solid block of 2-a-days. So the plan is 45 miles over the 3 days, with a hill workout today and a longish tempo on Wednesday.

I joke around about home, and about my life in general, but every second really is a blessing. All the miles over the next few days are at this home, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, where I know that the people, places, and things will always be familiar. The friends will always have a supportive smile.....the restaurants will always have some food for the soul. And, after the adversity of last weekend, it gives me comfort to know that the roads will always provide a caring embrace.

On this Memorial Day, thanks to all our troops, past and present.

Sad Panda Suck (Like Black Snake Moan but with more suffering)

I really don't get it. To say my legs felt spongy at the 10 mile race today is an insult to the structural integrity of sponges. If my performance were a symphony, it would be fart noises that sound out Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance'. Look! Over there! What is that!? I think it might be a bird with clipped wings, or a plane with engine trouble....nope, it's Adequate-man, ugly facing his way to the half way point.

Ahhhh, that was catharctic. Long story short, led for the first 5 miles before pulling up due to some combination of mental/physical struggle that is difficult to pinpoint (about 27:40). I am not actually upset at all, but it's sometimes fun to vent a little. That being said, it was frustrating. One, because I was at my peak when the fucker in New York hit me and ran. Two, because this race continues a pattern of less-than-stellar performances that do not even remotely match up with the most mediocre of training days.

I imagine that a confluence of factors led to the DNF today--starting with the collarbone and moving on to slightly abbreviated training, but the thoughts running through my head on the course simply felt far too similar to my other bad races. Last year, I won 12 races and DNF'd 6 times (only finishing 5 other races). At this point, I think there is a basic issue--whether it be mental toughness or training deficiencies. Like I said, I really don't know.

Moving on, it was still a fun experience because of all of the cool people that were around---like a root canal administered at a Dave and Buster's. And it's regroup time--each DNF in the past has been followed by a win, so maybe it's just a necessary step in regrowth. MY FAILURES ARE THE FOREST FIRES OF THE ATHLETIC WORLD.

Wait a sec....a Sad Panda is a Bear, and a Bear educates us about forest fires (Smoky). Or did my code-breaking JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?????? I think I stumbled onto something that could inspire a Dan Brown book, or at the very least a series of shitty Tom Hanks haircuts.

Dear Diary

Because personal blogs are glorified diaries anyway, here is an actual day in the life. Whenever I read biographies of historical figures, there is always mention of their early writings in a diary or in letters. In that vein, I wonder if this blog will be my legacy decades from now. Like, if I run for President, will an errant bestiality joke be enough to cause a scandal? Thank god the average Republican can't read!*

*And enjoys having sex with livestock!**

**As long as the sheep is of the opposite sex. Manimal love is okay, but contracting THE GAY is horrifying.

7:30 AM:
Wake up! WOOOOOO! Now, it's important to note that there is no reason to wake up this early. But there is too much excitement to stay in bed! Time to start the day! So many things to do!

7:30 to 9 AM:
Do absolutely nothing

9 AM:
Breakfast time! Round up the pigs and the cows because their services are needed! Of course, by that I mean my stuffed animals with whom I share all of my meals. Miss Piggy loves my vegetarian bacon meat substitute!

9:30 AM:
Work? Adult stuff? I AM SO GOOD AT TPS REPORTS!

11 AM:
Workout time! Wait, why is it called work-OUT? It should be called Work-IN, because that's what we're doing---WORKIN!.....Thanks guys, I will be here all night, and I love tomatoes, so I will take that response as a compliment.

1 PM:
Feeding time! I eat pretty much the same things at breakfast and lunch every day---some cereal, some whey protein, some fruit. Also, I usually have some tea, which makes me similar to an English person. Except that I have melanin and a soul.

2:30 PM:
Wow, what a busy day. You know what that means?! NAP TIME! Of course, this is after doing some yoga and core work in the sand box. DON'T TOUCH MY JUICE BOX YOU DIRTY PRE-SCHOOL FINGER PAINTERS!

3:30 PM:
Wake up and it's time for some work on the computer. These photos of airborne mammals do not caption themselves!:

Amelia Earhardt thought that joke was too soon, but before she could finish talking, a giant dolphin leapt into the sky and resulted in the crash and burn of her attempted critique. Then, Starkist used both of them for a can of albacore. And that, kids, is a humble blogger solving the mystery of Amelia Earhardt. SUCK IT SCOOBY!

5 PM:
Number 2 workout on a hard day.*

*This means very different things in Elvis' training log.

6:30 PM:
Dinner!? I hardly know her!

8 PM:
The evening is often nature time. I have begun to carry a camera around, not because I am a good photographer--"The Scream" was painted based on a reaction to one of my art attempts--but it does change perspective a bit. The Earth is so beautiful, and I hope that my time on this planet will make things just a little bit better.

Anyway, here is a pic I took the other night with a rose framed by the camera flash:

GAY JOKE RUN-DOWN:::
Coincidentally, this is also the design of my lower back tattoo.
George Rekers wants to have this photographer carry his bags.
It's a symbol for my delicate femininity.

10 PM to ?:
It could be time with friends, it could be a movie, but whatever it is, it ends at question mark--the great existential deadline for all shindigs and hijinks.

10 miler on Saturday! 2 weeks out from the collarbone injury, I am just thankful to be running, and hopefully I can come away with a win. Hope things are awesome!

Summertime!

So that Lost live blog was a bit of an adventure. I knew nothing and spoke with authority----mirroring the process that has given us both the House of Representatives, and every single liberal arts college in the country. Yes, I'm looking at you Chris Murphy, Democrat from Connecticut* and graduate of Williams College, you are heretofore pronounced the King of Bullshit.

*As an aside, this asshole should introduce a resolution that takes that excess 'C' out of his state's name. Seriously, it should be Conneticut, and anyone who says otherwise is a Communisct.

Wrapping up the Lost coverage, I will tell you the ending...

FLYING PUNCH JACK WILL NOT LET YOU REVEAL SPOILERS. Though Jack, dude, that is probably an inefficient way to fight. It looks like you are auditioning for a "300" sequel set in post-apocalyptic Seattle.

Moving on, the collarbone is feeling better every day! We are now a week and a half past the injury, and I am able to do girl push-ups! At this rate, I will be able to put on mascara and un-clip my own bra strap in no time. To be serious for a second, I owe so much to friends and family for the recovery. Every kind word, every message, and every smile added a little bit of happiness---when your heart is filled with joy, healing comes much more quickly. Ummmmm, Motivational Poster distraction:


Anyway, now that the bone is getting stronger, it is time to do some summer planning! Not Summer planning, which, according to 500 Days of Summer, involves doing ironic things while listening to music most people have not heard of due to hipness-deficiencies, but race planning. The general outlook is the following:

March 29--The triumphant return from injury at the Chestertown Tea Party 10 miler. The Tea Party is a big event where people dress up in Colonial garb and lay some serious fantasy-hate on the British. After the race, I will do my patriotic duty by punching the first person I see with bad teeth. YOUR WEAK DENTISTRY IS EVIDENT OF ENGLISH HERITAGE. (more on this race later in the week)

June 5-The Wissahickon Trail Classic 10k in Philadelphia. Absolutely amazing race that suits my skill set (bad jokes and leg shaving?) perfectly.

Mid-June--Moving out to Boulder for the summer! To prepare for the hippies, I have not bathed in 2 weeks. It's like, natural, man.

After that, the plan is the Slacker Half-Marathon, the Leadville Marathon (or Half?), and lots of relaxing/meeting awesome people while prepping for law school/doing some research.

I am so excited for the next few months. And the next few years. And the next few decades, for that matter. I make a lot of irreverent jokes, but at their root is a general gratitude and happiness to be alive. More than anything, I owe that to the people in my life, and not just my current friends/family, but people I have yet to meet as well. So, while looking forward to the rest of the summer, I want to say to those future friends: Thanks.
Wow, that was super terrible and sentimental---very deserving of some Hangover dismissive wanking:


Training:
Monday-90 minute ride and 5 mile run (1 mile at 5 min)
Tuesday-3 hour ride (hard?) and 4 mile jog

Hope things are amazing guys! Thanks for reading :)

LOST Live Blog!

So apparently the finale starts at 9 instead of 8........PLOT TWIST!!! Gosh, those Lost writers, always keeping us on our toes.

Some quick background from the summary show that is currently on---smoke monsters, time travel, fat guy, hot girl, COMMERCIALS.

8:07--A commercial for the University of Phoenix. Basically, it's like going to college at the worst school in the world, except throwing your money away FROM YOUR OWN HOME. At the same time, you are always one click away from hardcore porn. It's just like Arizona State!

8:15--During the summary hour before the finale, they are airing "Final Transmissions" detailing fans love letters to characters/writers/cameramen/inanimate props. Meanwhile, I send ONE severed finger and some lotion to Evangeline Lilly, and they don't show it on TV. They will never understand our love, Kate.

8:22--Wait, so apparently there was ANOTHER plane crash later in the show, and 2 people landed in 2007, while 3 others landed in 1977. Ummmm, I'm no Einstein, but relativity FAIL. So far, I have learned that there are no rules on the island. You can even talk about the island. Fight Club thinks this is anarchy.

8:33--Watching a summary of Lost in one hour is like attempting to build Rome in a day, literally. What you end up with is a very, very shitty city. Basically, this pre-show is the Detroit of prime-time television.

8:39--ICE CREAM BREAK! I just learned that the finale goes until 11:30. Whew, daddy needs some meth. Also, the disembodied promo voice-over guy just called tonight "The Television Event of the Decade". So the last 5 months. Narrowly beating the "enjoying penis" news anchor:


8:50--So the smoke monster is actually the "man in black". Will Smith thinks that the MiB name has been sullied by a distinct lack of curse-free hip hop theme songs.

8:52--The 'miraculous push-up' from Victoria's Secret adds two whole cup sizes! When I used to play baseball, I would wear a cup. If only I knew I just needed to push things up to make everything grow! I now have a job for the obligatory side-kick midget I will buy if I grow up to be a Bond Villain.

9:02--The finale begins with a classical music montage of close-ups of peoples faces. Then a Jesus. Then a truck. Then a wheelchair. Apparently the script-writers were playing Mad-Libs.

9:03--And now it's a coffin.....ON WHEELS. It's just like my bike, except when I ride, it is my competitors' funeral (/slits wrists). Also, Jack is Jacob. And they need to protect the heart of the island. Which is a light. They also need to put out the smoke. Something about a magic leprechaun and Yoda. Sorry, that will be the last time I just list plot elements that seem to make no sense. It's like reading something written by Sarah Palin.

9:15--So I gather that there are two realities--LA and the island. The two reality concept is also utilized by Republican figures that advocate "sexual rehabilitation" for gays. Perhaps Larry Craig's bathroom stall foot-tap was a Lost code.

9:23--The Local News in Baltimore just had a promo that said, "The end is on their radar, stay tuned to find out what is on ours." Based on that ad, I am guessing bad puns.

9:25--I officially have no idea what's going on. This live blog thing might not work. I feel like I landed on an alien planet where story-telling is confined to classical music with serious-faced smoke monster interludes.

9:33--AAAAAAnnnnnd, I'm done. My attention span is better suited to other pursuits, like getting distracted by shiny objects.

Thanks for reading guys! Will check in with an update later, and hope everything is awesome!

Training:
Saturday: 20 mile run (6:14 avg)
Sunday: recovery

Live Blog Announcement!--8PM EST, SUNDAY

Continuing the tradition of the last live blog, tonight we will again unveil jokes and observations IN REAL TIME.

I will pause for a second while you pick your Jaws up off the floor. "Ummmm, David, no one invests that much interest in your blog announcements," you may say. Yes, I assume you are right, disembodied hypothetical reader. I can only assume that I actually meant that you dropped your 2-disc set of Jaws, the heartwarming tale of a shark-out-of-water in New England. Have you picked it up?? DO YOU NEED A BIGGER BOAT!? Wait, that line from the movie doesn't apply to this situation at all. I NEED A MORE RELEVANT QUOTE.


Anyway, the occasion is the Lost series finale. Notably, I haven't watched Lost since the first season. Smoke monster? Polar bears? Time travel? All more deliciously humorous when viewed completely out of context. So at 8 PM click the blog and hit refresh for some fun with a cultural event that is sure to be mocked in VH1's "I Love the 2010's" special (airing in 2030). My observations will be at least 21% more humorous than those of cyborg George Lopez, created specifically for annoying VH1 specials in the future. Hopefully they don't create time travel for this robot, because John Connor would just have committed suicide.

Healed!

I AM IRONMAN! Ummm, well maybe not. I mean, I'm not an overrated movie whose humor is best appreciated by Justin Bieber fans. My collarbone is also decidedly not similar to Bieber fever, because the bone is getting better. Bieber fever, meanwhile, is best treated by euthanasia (sending them to the shitty concert in the sky).


Anyway, that is a convoluted way of saying that I am astonished by the quick healing of the collarbone. I think I owe Wolverine royalties now. One, for my rapid healing that mimics his X-Men powers. Two, for my startlingly well-groomed facial hair. Actually, I need to stop exaggerating. My attempts at mustache growth make "Dateline: To Catch A Predator" camp outside my door.*


*Typical dialogue from show: "I swear, guys, those Natty lights and condoms outside the elementary school are for a particularly innovative game of water-balloon toss!"

Today was the last day confined to the bike trainer, with 90 minutes plus intervals. The terrible jokes above, however, were prompted by the run---12 miles with 10 at tempo in 56:41. Obviously, cradling my right arm across my hip 5 days after the injury, I looked more ridiculous than people who wear matching outfits with their puppies, or women who vote. But, to be serious for a second, it was so much fun and relatively painless. I am so privileged to have such amazing friends and family, and I owe them everything for making the last 5 days so comfortable and easy.

Some photos from graduation:


My brother, his awesome girlfriend Feriel, your ugliness truly, and one of my closest friends, Morgan.


Book-ended by my dad (left), and his brother (right).


Three of my best friends: Tom, Krish, and Raul.


My last picture on campus for the foreseeable future, with the library silhouetted in the background. Thanks for making me the person I am, Columbia. I may not have enjoyed every second, but would not choose to change a single moment.

Are you there real world? It's me, David ;)

Wow. Officially graduated. Out of New York. Went pantsless under my robe. Collarbone is healing faster than imaginable. SEVEN WORD SENTENCE.


Anyway, it's all done and I'm typing this from my childhood home in Maryland. While leaving my closest friends is difficult, leaving New York is easy. It took my collarbone, it took my ability to initiate conversations with strangers, but dammit, IT WON'T TAKE MY FREEDOM. Granted, that movie ended with Mel Gibson getting castrated*, so that might not be the best line.

*The fault of the Jews

A couple notes from the last week:

1. Collarbone--I ran 6 miles this morning! Four days after the injury, it is stable enough to run at 6 min/mile pace while immobilized in a sling. I really am thrilled with its progress---at this rate I will be lifting heavy objects in no time at all. Yes, that means I can pick up chicks at the grocery store:

-What is that dear maiden? You want me to lift that gallon of soy milk?!?! Why, that will be no problem at all...
-(lifts....grunts....struggles.....breaks a sweat......gives up)
-I think I need a massage....Now, what are you going to do for me?
-(winks)
-(does sexy dance)
-(gets maced and tackled)
-(re-breaks collarbone)
-(repeats 1 week later)

2. I graduated Magna Cum Laude from Columbia University! Now, I know this is an obvious joke (Who is Magna, and what is her number!?!?), so I will refrain from making it. That being said, it is totally weird that I got out of that place without anyone discovering that I am an un-intellectual, possibly mentally slow impostor. Sling Blade would beat me in a game of Jeopardy. Seriously though, it is a great honor, and I am so excited for the next step.

3. This weekend was also American Zofingen, the best race in the country. Sadly, the Thursday collarbone injury precluded my participation, but I watched my father win his age group (Age Group: Larry King to dirt)! During the race, I rode the trainer for 2 hours and spoke to others watching. It was awesome meeting some people who read the blog (along with others I know from an online forum), and I am so flattered that you take the time out of your day. That being said, you could be a little more intense about your fan-hood. WHAT DOES A GUY GOT TO DO TO AUTOGRAPH A TIT AROUND HERE?



P.S. It is terrific to be done college, but I will miss my friends so much. The only thing I take with me from New York, aside from the intellectual development inherent in a top-notch education, is the amazing group of people I had the privelege of sharing time with over the four years. Last night, I was speaking to one of my closest friends, and as I looked into her eyes, I saw something more than the beautiful soul that usually radiates from her smile. I also saw a little bit of myself.

From those terrific human beings, I have learned so much, and their companionship/guidance has changed me for the better. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I will take them with me and I owe them more than could ever be expressed. So thank you guys--you will always be in my heart. Now let's go change the world :)

The Next Step

So graduation is next Tuesday! Afterward, I am leaving New York City and never coming back. This accident reinforced 2 things:

1. It sucks being an athlete in Manhattan.
2. Chicks dig well-placed scars. The bump from the collarbone displacement is directly on the trapezius muscle, and I look totally jacked ALL THE TIME. Now I just need a bicep contusion, and the ladies libidos will be at the mercy of my sexily-located swelling.

Anyway, was able to see the best shoulder guy in NYC yesterday for an examination (at least that's what the hobo in the scrubs said after he saw my sling). Long story short, no surgery necessary! There is just enough overlap for healing, and he said getting back to activity is pain-limited. This news made me happier than an Arizona lawmaker at a Xenophobia convention.*

*A Xenophobia convention, of course, salutes the contributions of Xena: Warrior Princess to modern law enforcement. She hated those fucking Mexicans.


So here are the goals. To be serious for a second, I know I am not Superman. I know this will be a process. But I also know that the combination of a positive attitude and a progressive approach to recovery will have me back on the road in no time.

1. First aerobic exercise:
Well, I watched Fox News for a bit yesterday to get my heart rate up (this is how it works: pretend you are Mexican or Black, then watch any show for 2 hours...zone 3 induced fear ensues), but I did 30 minutes on the trainer today. Granted, I'm in the anti-aero position (sitting straight up). However, it simply feels great to start moving forward again (metaphorically of course, the trainer is like an overgrown hamster wheel).


2. First Outdoor Ride:The plan is to hop on the mountain bike next Wednesday, and ride easy on the roads in an upright position. I mean, Tyler Hamilton rode in the Tour de France with a broken collarbone. So by association, I only need to inject an amount of steroids similar to what is spewing out of the Gulf Coast oil spill to duplicate his results. Also, how does he inject so much testosterone and still look like a little boy? Hey Tyler, Doogie Howser called, he wants his body back.

3. First Run:Easy jog planned for next Thursday/Friday. The collarbone already feels stable enough to move up and down, so a bit more scar tissue and I should be good to go. This good "scar tissue" is not to be confused with "Scar Tissue", the sweetly melodic Red Hot Chili Peppers song, or "Scar's tissue", the rag used by the evil Lion King character for masturbatory purposes when he sees the pain of other animals. OH MY GOD, you know what!? I just realized that Scar might have survived the movie! Someone must have developed the Republican environmental platform!


4. First Race!!!!:
2 weeks from now, at the Chestertown Tea Party 10 miler. The doc said 6 weeks for running, but I think a concrete goal a little sooner is a good idea. Concrete goals are always a good idea for recovery. I mean, CONcrete? More like PROcrete, AMIRITE.*

*vomits from bad joke**

**Hurts collarbone from heaving***

***Takes Percocet****

(30 minutes later)

****Does push-ups with friendly pink elephants while being able to taste colors. PANCAKES!

Car Accident Dick Joke Spectacular

When life gives you lemons, make Percocet-flavored lemonade. Or something like that. Long story short, a driver ran through a red light and side-swiped my bike (hit and run accidents make a very sad panda). Broken collarbone, minor crush injuries in the shoulder, and a mild concussion ensue. Luckily, my healing prowess makes Wolverine look like Terry Schiavo, and I'm already feeling better. Or maybe that's just the Percocet talking...


Anyway, the frustration and sadness passed rather quickly after the 3:00 PM crash, and it's time to move on. This is graduation week, and nothing gets in the way of a man and his margarita, not even drug-alcohol interactions! What is that, I could experience seizures and extreme brain injury? No big deal, because I watched Glenn Beck once. Thus, I AM EXPERIENCED WITH HEAD TRAUMA. This same head trauma reasoning applies to listening to women speak. What is that? You want to vote? Do we let the stove vote?! Women should be dressed in white and silent like all kitchen appliances*


*Oh god, sorry. I love and respect women. I mean, they are so beautiful. Did you ever SEE The Crying Game?? I only watched the first hour, but that type of love story and feminine grace makes life worth living. The things I would do to that woman make George Rekers blush.

Okay, lots of jokes, but the serious fact is this: I'm at peace with the whole thing, not in much pain, and just a little sad to be missing Senior Ball tonight. It's okay to miss the big dance, however, because the grand mal seizures I call dance moves might cause them to revoke my diploma. Also, I broke my left collarbone in high school, so now I have a matching pair! Which is great for when I wear that formal strapless dress. Hmmmm, thinking about that wardrobe option, perhaps I should still go to the dance. Me and my little black number could be the Belle of the Ball.

At the emergency room today, a facebook post from my brother prompted some of my best friends to show up to the bedside. Throughout the evening, all of the visits to my room and calls to my phone really put things in perspective. I am so lucky. And if I tear up a bit, it certainly won't be due to pain, or sadness. Joy is a much more powerful emotion.

A Rebellious Mother's Day Duathlon Race Report

Summary:
1st overall/250
Long story short, I am a rebel. I did many things deserving of disqualification today. And why? BECAUSE I CAN'T BE HELD DOWN BY YOUR SILLY RULES! Also, because my bike currently does not have a rear brake (seriously, as in not attached), and due to some intimate time spent working my way into a pothole, my waterbottle was launched to Uranus/my front tire flatted. I am such a rebel that I don't need proper inflation, or the ability to stop. James Dean thinks I have gone too far. Well screw you Jimmy, YOUR SAUSAGES ARE MEDIOCORE AT BEST.


Pre-Race:
Decided to do this race yesterday because the new Mercury bike is so amazing that I need to show it off. The Trident 2 is like a Porsche in that its awesomeness makes your masculinity swell by association. In that way, getting the bike makes me like the Grinch, except the body part that grew three sizes that day is my penis. Ummmm....moving on. Woke up bright and early for a Peanut Butter Panda Puffs breakfast, subway down to the race site (with awesome girl), checking in (making sure the official does not see my brake cable tucked into the bottle holder), and a warm-up with an awesome Slowtwitcher had me ready to go. Rebellious stretching followed by even more rebellious choice of bathroom location AND THEY'RE OFF!!!


First Run:
The idea today was to take the first 5k incredibly easy, to set up for a strong bike. This course has 2 steep hills, and the first came about a half-mile in. Decided to pick up the pace from duck waddling on the beach to baby antelope learning to run, and came into the lead by the crest of the 18% wall. Then it was into the dog park, where this baby antelope's placenta-covered legs were tested by German Shepherds that seemed to think my jugular was a Snausage. The long, winding trail was slammed by strong cross winds, and I was able to open up the stride to gain some ground on the chase pack. One more long hill at mile 2 led us through a beautiful garden of azaleas. Because Henry David Thoreau was terrible at dick jokes, I will refrain from comment. Back to transition I flew, ready to ride after a 17:2x 5k.

Bike:
Hopping on the Mercury, the idea was to ride it hard and ride it long, pounding my way to the finish. (Ed. note: Excuse me for the interjection, but it is necessary to properly cite the previous sentence to something She said at some point). The bike felt great up the first gradual climb, responding to every extra piece of power with rapid acceleration. On the descent, the 20 mph winds began to wreak havoc with my front wheel, so I put my head down and tucked. Then, it happened. CRACK! My front tire landed in a pothole that was apparently used by BP for oil exploration. The water-bottle rocketed into the bushes, and the front wheel began to rub violently. I stopped to adjust the brakes, then resumed the bike. But after that first lap, my tire felt funny. "Fuck it," I thought rebelliously, "it's not over. WAS IT OVER WHEN THE GERMANS BOMBED PEARL HARBOR!?" The aero position felt strong, and the wind gave me a huge advantage with such an outstanding new bike. Over the next few laps, I got into a zone of limiting turning and staying in the saddle to avoid exacerbating the wheel which was now clearly leaking air. After 14 miles, I came into transition on a completely deflated tire to a chorus of applause from the stunned fans. If they came too close, I was worried the gallons of testosterone spewing after the performance would make them look like Louisiana Bayou seagulls.


Second Run:
An okay transition and it was back to the super hilly run course. The slow first run left my legs fresh, and the pace was markedly faster than earlier. Scurrying up the climbs, the euphoric chills of a good race ran down my spine. Rebelliously attacking the course to the turnaround, my Maverick style could best be compared to the final Top Gun dogfight scene, or John McCain's policy in 2004. Approaching the finish line at an easy pace to avoid any last-second cramps after seeing the lead, my freshly neutered conservative style could only be compared to John McCain's policy in 2010. Through the finishing chute in first (four minute margin), with my first win of the season! Afterward, I was able to socialize with some amazing people, meet some awesome volunteers, and give out awkward high fives to all the finishers.*

*In a style that can only be compared to the Top Gun shirtless volleyball scene



Happy Mother's Day Mom! I was going to thank you for such great genetics, then I looked in the mirror :) On a serious note, love you so much Mom and owe you more than you could possibly know. Thank you for being such an amazing human being.

Mercury Trident 2 --- Speed Objectified

When I first saw the new Mercury Trident II, I was blown away by its appearance. After taking the above picture in front of Alma Mater on campus, I learned that this bike attracts more ladies than a Corvette and a puppy COMBINED. Weighing in at 16.9 pounds, the Mercury Trident II also weighs less than the Times Square Bomber's bowel movement after the NYPD boarded his flight. Simultaneously, it has more explosive power than his SUV, with every single piece of effort channeled into forward motion.

If exceeding the speed of light is like punching God in the face, then the Mercury Trident II goes all Chuck Norris on every single deity. Yes, Gozer God of Destruction, fictional supreme power from Ghostbusters, you too are not spared from the pure speed emanating out of this machine. The Mercury certainly looks like the gatekeeper to another dimension, but what about the specifics?



First, this appliance of acceleration has the lowest front end I have ever seen. The immediately striking front wheel cut-out allows for a head tube length that puts the rider as close to the ground as possible without compromising safety. Because of this, your frontal area is GREATLY reduced; I was absolutely astonished to find that (even with spacers) the Mercury Trident II is 2 full inches lower than size smaller Cervelo. Putting out power on a flat stretch in Central Park, it felt as if the there was a massive tailwind. Looking to my left at 30 mph with a huge smile, I saw the American flag hanging perfectly still.


The top tube tapers into a rear-wheel cut-out that completely hides the brake and rear wheel from view. If you can't see it, the air sure as hell ain't seeing it. Last, the aerobars are a single-piece carbon design by Uberhund. Marketed as the lightest bars on the market (410 grams for the ENTIRE front end), they facilitate effortless power when out of the saddle. When in the bars, the bike is as comfortable as a massage. I have no doubts that the happy ending for this piece of art will be on the podium if my legs are even remotely up to the task.

I want to conclude by saying that the sponsorship by Mercury in no way precludes me from saying the truth about its performance. They have been extremely kind, but are simultaneously confident enough in their product to exclude any non-disparagement clauses from the contract. I promise to be as honest about the bike as I am about everything else, and if you ever have interest in the Trident or any other Mercury product, contact me anytime for a full description.

Today in SCREW YOU!

1. SCREW YOU, Central Park cops! During today's recovery ride, my friend was pulled over and given a ticket for going through a red light. Let me repeat, HE WAS GIVEN A TICKET.....IN CENTRAL FUCKING PARK. This is absolutely absurd, and New York City cyclists cannot stand for such randomly draconian enforcement. Rodney King thinks that the abuse of power is ridiculous. When reached for comment, a very tan Arizonan said "Es ridiculoso!", then was arrested for speaking Mexican.

Granted, afterward I was wondering what their enforcement capacity really was. My buddy did not have his ID, could he just give false information? Also, can rent-a-cops arrest people? I suspect they actually have as much authority as I do when I carry a stop sign and stand in front of pretty joggers in the park. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS", I proclaim Galdalfily. Then, I demand their phone number and email.



2. SCREW YOU, Paul Rudd! After watching the video below, my mind is completely blown:


My head hurts, and for some reason I am aroused. NUDE TAYNE will haunt my dreams. I love Paul Rudd so much it hurts.

3. SCREW YOU, pollen! I do not have allergies, but some of my friends do and the last week has been misery for them. I mean, yesterday was such a beautiful day. But whenever there was a wind gust in Central Park, all the pollen looked like Yellow Rain. Which also happens to be a Prince cover song by R Kelly. And yes, that is two R Kelly jokes in 3 days.*

*2002 called, it wants its jokes back.**

**1998 called, it wants its humor constructions back.***

***1990 Sir Mix-A-Lot called, Baby Got Back.



Training:
Wed: 30 mile ride with 5 mile easy run

It's reading week here! Or, in the parlance of my more adventurous colleagues, "Drinking Week". Hope things are amazing!

Real Emotion

Today was one of those days. Today was the day you hop out the door unassumingly, without distraction and without structure, and truly experience beauty through a run. The emotions that manifest themselves through physical exertion can only be described as transcendentally real---radiating out from your spine and through the nape of your neck before permeating out from the tips of your fingers.

Now, this will not be a sentimental post, because it was not a sentimental run. Today, I ran angrily---this is wholly unusual for me. Feeding off the Nationals frustration; feeding off school frustration; feeding off social frustration, each mile passed with an emphatic, stomping stride. Each sideways glance from denizens of Central Park was returned as a sharp glare. 3 laps of Central Park (18.1 miles) passed in 1:53 as a fartlek, with angry intervals interspersed with celebratory strutting.

In that anger and antagonism, however, was a primordial passion. Days like today are reminders of why we run, or bike, or swim----because the emotions evoked on the special days are indescribably real. I don't think an athlete can go through life with a detached ambivalence for the simple reason that pushing the limits of mental and physical capacities requires full emotional commitment. The same passion that motivated this unusual anger today is responsible for my love of people; it is responsible for my love of life. In reality, I had no reason to be angry, and I'm perfectly happy now. But in those moments of passion, in those moments of real emotion (whether during a run or during a social interaction), there is life-defining beauty.

Training:
Sunday: 2h30min ride with 8x2 miles hard
Monday: recovery day (30 min trainer and 15 min run)
Tuesday: 19 miles total (18.1 in 1:53 as fartlek)

Penis Fountains and Pigeon Love

Yesterday, my legs had the two-day lethargy lag from the hard workout on Thursday, so I needed recovery. Simultaneously, it was 88 degrees in NYC, and people were apparently trying to car bomb Times Square. Perfect day for some sun-bathing with friends on campus, and some random observations:

-PENIS FOUNTAIN ATTACK!


Columbia has two massive fountains whose phallisicm makes the Washington Monument feel jealous. The Space Needle wants to point out that it is particularly cold and rainy in Seattle. Anyway, it is always a little unnerving to see children playing in the dry fountain, when all of a sudden it turns on. With how often this seems to occur, I'm not sure if the fountain operator is R. Kelly, or if a Boston priest is having an especially rigorous try-out for altar boys.

-Pigeons are fearless, and I think they are out for blood. First, let me give a little backstory. On Thursday's ride, I was doing a repeat in the park when I felt a feathery thump, and saw a street-rat tumbling off to the side like a gymnast on Quaaludes. Looking back, I regret not stopping for two reasons:

1. Perhaps I could have nursed the pigeon back to health, my own version of the movie English Patient, but with less unnecessarily piliferous full-frontal nudity (look it up, if you were able to stay awake through the movie, you know what I am referring to).

2. Maybe it was dead, in which case it was important to pay last respects.....WITH SALT AND PEPPER, PLEASE. Never pass up a free lunch.

Anyway, after that backstory, I was approached by a group of pigeons. I tried staying perfectly still, when suddenly I was pecked. Then again. I have seen this movie, and it is NEVER GOOD when Alfred Hitchcock stories predict your life. I mean, I NEVER kill people when I wear dresses. This was a long-winded way of saying I was attacked by a flock of pigeons, or got to second base with a beautifully-ornamented fowl, depending on the extent of your love for ornithology.

-Yesterday there was a niche group (about 20 people) protesting "Illegal Aliens" in the USA. Now usually I am all for freedom of speech, but this was just ridiculous. I mean, all aliens should be illegal, as their two most notable pastimes seem to be crop-circles and anal probes. Oh wait, perhaps they are talking about 'immigrants'....that puts a different spin on it. Seriously though, the only thing 'aliens' do to crops is put in the labor for cultivation, and the only time anal probes would be necessary is to extract the racism and xenophobia that is apparently stuck up Arizonans asses. Granted, the probe would have to be from a very advanced civilization, because people from Arizona are all incredibly old and it would be damn near impossible to get around their grapefruit-impersonating prostates.

Tomorrow is my last day of undergrad classes ever, so it really is an exciting, and relaxing, time. Off for a long ride, hope things are amazing guys!