Surprisingly, I woke up this morning feeling like a million pieces of currency! Sadly, they happened to be Greek drachmas, a million of which can get me halfway to buying Baltic Avenue. Instead of using my feta cheese legs to force a workout (after 2 hard two-a-days in a row), went on an easy jog/hike with the family on Arapaho Pass! RECOVERY DAY JOG IN PICTURES:
Straddling a waterfall is potentially not the best idea. That is the credited excuse for the constipated facial expression.
My older brother Jesse! I feel like Coldplay sung a song that relates to this picture. Maybe "Clocks" or some shit like that.
The coming storm clouds at the top of the pass. Also, awesome hair day Dave. To fix what's going on up there we'd need the cast of an entire Bravo TV show. Or a blowtorch.
It's like a gargoyle came to life and misused a Chia Pet as a cranial accessory.
When I use this angle for my dad, people say it's majestic. When I ask to use this angle on a Scotsman, people call the cops. MAKE UP YOUR MINDS SOCIETY!
Up-nose shot! New trend in fashion photography? Your revolted stare says no, but lack of ability to speak while gagging will be taken as a yes.
Finally, a picture of my brother's girlfriend Feriel, which is possibly my favorite ever taken: LIGHTNING BOLT!
Anyway, was able to get in some sprints on top of Arapaho, and a few extra miles in for good measure. But what of landscape pictures, you may be asking? Okay, you asked for it.......FOX TREE FINALE! : Kind of like a fox, perhaps?? If not, it totally makes sense---I think every Rorschach test looks like a team of puppies playing water polo.
Ran a distance with Tim this morning! I'm not certain how far the distance was, but based on salt rings around my eyes, I would guess about 173 miles, most likely through Utah. Absolutely awesome 13ish mile run with 2400 ft of elevation gain, where I got a small taste of the epic workouts he cranks out nearly effortlessly. In case anyone is wondering, it tastes like bile and purple Gatorade!
ZOMBIE ACTION SHOT!
We started down from his house at ~8200 ft, 4 or so miles to the Walker Ranch Loop. From there, it was about 2 on single-track to South Boulder Creek. "Easiest six miles ever," I thought dismissively, "Call me when you take off the training diaper." Tim listened to my thoughts (he is a Jedi, I'm sure of it) and proceeded to take a shit all over my hopes and dreams (metaphorically).
The rest of the run was pretty much up, and was basically the following scene run on repeat:
Dave: So Tim, [insert short, yet incredibly philosophical question here.....something like "What is? Answer only in iambic pentameter."]
Tim: Eloquent, rhythmically-sound, completely satisfying answer while his heart rate hovers around that of a hibernating Grizzly.
Dave: Grunt.
Anyway, the last few miles were especially fun, with a few striders thrown in for good measure. On the hills, he could drop me at will---once it took literally 5 seconds. After being consistently humbled, we did one last rep near his house. Notably, I used to be a sprinter. So I rigged the smackdown in my favor, then proceeded to CRUSH HIS DREAMS by about a half-meter. It's like a boxer getting knocked out, then going to opponent's house the next day and punching the crap out of his mother.
P.S. Beautiful scenery and really great run. Tim's family is awesome, and really refreshing to be around for just a few minutes. Now excuse me while I rub the residue on my face into a plate of recovery french fries....
Ever since the mountain run last Wednesday, my legs have been a little tired. Oh, wait...did I say a little tired? I actually meant COMPLETELY FUCKING DESTROYED. On Thursday, my walking looked like it was the byproduct of a night spent with an amorous prison bunk-mate named Thunder. Friday was a bit better--something more similar to a post-operative hip-replacement patient. Yesterday was the best--perhaps Forrest Gump with leg braces.
With motivation from the book I am reading about Lewis and Clark (Undaunted Courage), I decided to change my diet for added recovery. On the journey across America, the men sometimes ate 10-12 pounds of meat a day--much of it dog and horse. Now, my legs were not strong enough to chase down Scruffy or Seabiscuit on the trails, so I went with gluten-free pizza in Boulder:
It was delicious! Granted, I'm not the best judge, because I would consider cheese on cardboard delicious. To be honest, I'm a shitty, overly nice critic--if I reviewed movies, they would use my quotes on some atrocity like Grown-Ups ("A perfectly tolerable excuse to spend time in air-conditioning!", "Limited amounts of puppy-murder!"). That being said, the pizza was awesome....exquisite.....beautiful.........
It's not too obvious that I ate it without pants, right? Moving on from pizza-erotica (if you found this blog from a Google search for 'Pizza-erotica', we welcome you and are pleased to catch you red-handed), also saw Toy Story 3 during the forced rest period. The movie was absolutely amazing--impossible not to love. Touching, fun, and beautiful, one of the better movies I've seen. In non-related (yet necessary to report) news, I AM INCREDIBLY MANLY. MY TESTOSTERONE FLOWS FREELY. I WOULD CHOP THE WOOD, BUT MY MANICURE DOES NOT ALLOW IT.
P.S. Out for a long ride, hope things are awesome!
My legs were too sore today to do anything athletic. Unless you count emergency amputation with a butterknife as exercise. While popping Dr. House quantities of Vicodin had a certain appeal, I decided to take some pictures instead:
Hey BP, Alanis Morisette finally understands the meaning of irony. So thanks for the public service.
Did a hiking trip at Mitchell Lake! But seriously, Colorado is beautiful and all, but what is up with all these babbling brooks? They never stop their babbling! JUST LIKE THAT BITCH CHARLENE.
Me and my brother Jesse off the trail. The rock in the background shows clear evidence that Chuck Norris was there before us, practicing karate chops.
I'm attempting to swim in the lake. It's at an elevation of 10,300 feet, and snow fed. In the extreme cold, my swim stroke really didn't change from usual! Granted, my usual stroke involves lightly controlled drowning in the general direction dictated by societal conventions. Otherwise known as pool lanes.
Post swim picture. Cold. Most likely sterile. Cropped carefully in order to preserve my self-esteem.
The gluten-free birthday cake made by my brother's delightful girlfriend Feriel! It's the Peanut Butter Panda Puff panda! Bears are the number one threat to America, so I figure I'm doing my part as a FUCKING PATRIOT.
If you get too close, I will bite your finger off. In the words of Chris Farley, DON'T TOUCH ME, I'M STARVING. My legs need as much recovery food as possible.
Ran with the world-famous Lucho this morning, who is an outstanding athlete that happens to be an even better human being. These 2 attributes put him only one quality shy of earning a place in the Dave Roche Dream Girl Triathlon! Of course, the other category is huge boobs. While his bra-cup size may have had him competing in the duathlon, the trip/run was a blast and a really great experience for the third day in Boulder.
We began with an 'easy' ascent to warm up. Going 'easy' up Sanitas to 'warm-up' is like 'slowly taking shots of tequila' because you are the 'designated driver'. In other words, both scenarios involve lots of vomiting and swerving (in the case of Sanitas, the swerving is from improvising switchbacks to get over the incessant stairclimb). Luckily, the roofies I slipped into Lucho's water-bottle began to take effect, and we summitted the climb together.
Then, it was time to go down. My memories of this section are mostly cuss-words interspersed with the occasional forced smile whenever someone was around (I imagine this is the same process that goes through Joe Biden's head all the time). We accidentally left the trail, and I put my hand into a cactus. In Mr. Biden's words, THAT IS A BIG FUCKING DEAL. Not really, but I needed ready-made excuses for the next climb, when the proverbial shit would hit the proverbial fan, spewing proverbial poo all over the proverbial dinner party.
With our quads marinated from the descent, it was time to put the legs to the burner with another climb. My steak was well-done after a few minutes, leading me to stop the watch about halfway up in order to preserve self-esteem. I pushed to the top, thoroughly disgusting the many pretty girls that I passed along the way. It is severely doubtful that the future Mrs. Roche will meet me on a run, unless she is blind or has a thing for stroke patients.
All in all, it was a perfect introduction to the Colorado running scene. Great training with great people makes for an awesome experience.
So today is my birthday! Sweet, right? Most days when I ask random pedestrians to spank me 22 times, the cops get called. Today, the cops were still called, but were kind enough to take me to a birthday celebration with a nice fellow named Tank, who did the honors WITHOUT ME EVEN ASKING.
Other benefits include, but are not limited to:
1. Eating prodigious amounts of food. Gluten-free carrot cake? Don't mind if I do. You want to put some complimentary ice-cream on top? Sure, sounds great. You have a cabin in the forest made of gingerbread???!?! ME AND MY SISTER WOULD LOVE TO HAVE DINNER WITH YOU.
2. Drinking prodigious amounts of alcohol. "How many Orangetini's does it take to fell a mighty bastion of masculinity like you?" a pretty lass may ask seductively. "Do you know me at all?" I will respond, "The citrus tickles my nose. YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME, AREN'T YOU?!" Gosh, ladies, I am no Russian lumberjack. Make it a Cosmo, heavy on the cranberry juice.
3. Not cleaning up after myself. Hey Mom, that cake plate don't clean itself. CHOP CHOP. C'mon, 22 years ago, I did all of the heavy lifting. I mean, I kindly waited through 26 hours of labor so you could get mentally prepared. You owe me.
3a. Peeing on the seat. Today, the conventions of "cleanliness" and "basic human decency" do not apply.
3b. Peeing on walls, floors, and strangers' pets. After 2 cosmos, I urinate like Jackson Pollock paints.
Sorry about that :) Life really is amazing, and I owe everything to the outstanding people who I have been fortunate enough to have in my life over the past 22 years. Whether they take the form of family, friends, readers of the blog, or fellow runners with a passing smile on my birthday morning, each and every one of them means an indescribable amount. So to those of you I know personally, and those of you I don't, I want to say thank you. Your influence, no matter how small you may think it is, makes every single day a blessing.
You know you're in Colorado when you get accosted by an aging hippie! Not physically, of course, but conversationally. 20 minutes later, I have been given a lecture on birth-control/global warming/America's fascist government. I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but if I don't take notes, I won't know which conspiracy to believe. AND THEN WHO WILL PROTECT OUR PRECIOUS BODILY FLUIDS!?
In all seriousness, this just adds to the charm of Nederland. Yesterday I was able to do a 8 mile jog at 8500 feet, with mountain vistas on all sides. And perhaps most striking were not the views, but the people. I ran along a well traveled trail, and every single person that passed had a smile and a wave. In a public place in New York City, that action would be taken as an invitation to a fight. If in private, that action would be taken as an invitation to a Larry Craig bathroom break. Or possibly a Jeff Dahmer sit-down dinner---wave back and you might just find out! But in Colorado, this type of behavior is pure friendliness. I love this place.
Anyway, acclimation has been great! Planning on a long ride up to 11,000 feet later today, then some nice runs over the next week. Training opportunities are awesome partially because there are so many Celiac-friendly food options. In Boulder, the food revolution has begun, and it will be gluten-free! It's kind of like the upcoming Zombie apocalypse, but we will eat your brains with brown rice pasta.
*official motto: Kansas, ummmmmm.....Wizard of Oz State??....no, how about Twister State?.....that won't work, let's go with Glorified Interstate Expressway State........ahhhhh, fuck it, anybody see a Sunflower after Kansas City?
Will arrive in Boulder (then Nederland) Colorado by this afternoon after a 2 day drive across country. Me and my dad are totally like Thelma and Louise! I never saw the movie, so based on the cover I assume that it's about driving/smiling. I guess we'll see how the movie ends today!!!!!!1 The drive up Boulder Canyon should be fun! (sad trombone)
Anyway, super excited to get to 8,000 feet! I mean, everyone says it's similar to breathing through a straw. In other words, it's like snorkeling ALL THE TIME. I love snorkeling! Altitude has actually never been a problem for me--last year I did a 12km trail race 2 days after arriving without too many issues. And no matter what adversity may strike this summer, a night under the Colorado stars makes it all worthwhile.*
Anyway, did the 5k yesterday evening! While warming up, I saw a strong athlete and ran beside him.
"What's your name?" I asked totally non-creepily. "Do you like candy?" I continued. "How about vans without windows?" (the last two questions were implied by the first)
"Kyle!" he said in an evil snarl, as plants wilted at his body odor.*
*May be an exaggeration motivated by running jealousy
Kyle was actually an outstanding guy who I knew from results pages was also a terrific runner (won some big halfs, tons of 5k's). So the night was going to be hard, but I was excited for the experience (citation 1*). The course was idiosyncratic in that it was similar to a trail race, where it traveled up a large climb to the halfway point, then just turned around, requiring a pounding to the finish (citation 2*). No wonder times were so bad on this course in past years!
*References: 1 and 2. Her, saying things
Moving on, the strategy once I saw the elevation gain was to try to stay on Kyle to the halfway point, then hope for the best at the finish. Running comfortably past the mile marker, we hit the steepest section of the climb. Suddenly, he accelerated, catching me napping. I tried to rebound, but that foot became a yard, and before I knew it he had 5 seconds. That gap held to the finish, peaking at 8 seconds at the line.
Time was in the mid-16's, which I'm actually thrilled with on that course. Went into the race in a heavy block of training (including the morning of), setting up ready-made excuses that just needed to be reheated, consumed, and regurgitated today! In this metaphor, I guess any readers are baby birds eating TV dinners.
Finally, some notes and miscellany: 1. 2 miles in on today's hard bike ride, I swerved and almost hit a car. The cause? I saw a banana peel on the shoulder. Perhaps I watched too many cartoons growing up.
2. Apparently, miscellany is a word. WHO THE FUCK KNEW?
3. (this is me doing a stream-of-consciousness after reading Mary's post linked above) There are always uncertainties in life. Sometimes, looking back, moments can blur into minutes, which become hours and then days. The days become compartmentalized narratives that our brains are far too willing to condense and summarize, so that those distinct moments become hazy memories. And time feels like it moves too fast.
So while it is almost unavoidable to look back and ask, "How did I get here?", this swift march of time is nothing but an illusion manufactured by our brains for processing. Nostalgia can be overwhelming; it can be depressing, even if we are looking back at a life well-lived. The thing we cannot forget, though, is that even if we look just one day into the future, there are countless moments left. These too will become blurry memories, but in that next second-----in the moment-----time stands still.
-------------------------- Wow, that doesn't make too much sense. Articulating ideas is always worth a shot though. Perhaps I should have just posted this:
That doesn't make too much sense either, but humor is a good way to deal with anything. MAKE HIM THIRSTY!
Had a really strong morning workout today, so am thinking about doing a local 5k this evening. "Why David?" you may ask in a way that makes you sound distinctly like my impression of a concerned friend. "I will tell you why," imaginary acquaintance, "because there is a triple-digit payday to the winner. There is little I wouldn't do for that type of dough......"
(Pauses) (Looks at imaginary friend) (Winks seductively) (Imaginary friend commits suicide via butter-knife)
Anyway, I think it's worth a run to try to get a win under my belt. This year has been rough in general, and with the collarbone finally pain-free, tonight could be a good opportunity to (I have no idea what this means)
Hopefully a sub-maximal effort will take the Benjamins, which I can convert to small bills. Then, of course, the forecast calls for precipitation. BECAUSE I'LL BE MAKING IT RAIN.
Granted, there aren't many strip clubs around here. And even if there were, I don't think I can really pull that off. ("Hi Candi, don't you think we should talk a little first.......Ummmmm, so I see you're a fan of the music of Def Leppard.....don't you think that those confectionery instructions are unsanitary?") This is a very rural farming area, so I guess that just leaves farm animals. Making it rain on bovines.......taking cow-tipping to its literal extreme.
P.S. There may be some exciting sponsorship news on the horizon! I will keep everyone updated. Hope things are awesome!
New Zealand is currently losing against Slovakia in the World Cup. First, I severely doubt "Slovakia" is a real country. Second, I feel sorry for the Kiwis. Their name is the "All Whites", which would only be an advantage if this was the World Cup of Curling. Of course, the Flight of the Conchords are from NZ. They aren't crying over the loss, they are just cutting up onions to put in a lasagna.........for one.
It's okay guys. If you ever get down, or feel like things aren't going your way, remember what the South Africans say:
Anyway, training has been great! The collarbone is nearly completely healed and I've regained all of my strength. In other words, if you are a bottle of tomato sauce, WATCH YO BACK. I'm totally going to open you just to prove my manliness. If only I could figure out those child-safe caps on pill bottles! I mean, I want to snort some Centrum, but I'm no rocket scientist.
Biking has been especially awesome over the last week, with well over 200 miles. Cycling really is my biggest skill--a few months after I first got on a road bike three years ago, I rode a 58 minute 40k without aerobars (on a 800 dollar Cannondale). Also, riding the bike gives me an excuse to put on my Match.com profile. Girl, that is a saddle sore, I promise.
Still a little tired today from a Saturday track workout where I tried something new. I have trouble with 400's on the track (because they hurt) and miles (because I went to public school so I encounter difficulty counting to four). That just left 200s! After a 30 minute full race prep warm-up, I did 8x200 on 1:45 in 29 seconds apiece. I really don't know if that serves any true physiological purpose, but it is fun to run fast. If it hurts, you're probably doing something right.*
*This last sentence is probably the sentiment that leads people into sado-masochism, or voting Republican
Leaving for Colorado on Friday, so excited to meet some awesome people and do some fun races. My birthday next Tuesday (the 22nd) will be celebrated with a sunset over the Rocky Mountains...I really am a lucky guy. Or, as the South Africans say...........
Some of my most vivid memories growing up are the trips we took together. I distinctly remember being a small child, and shaking with fear while clutching your shoulder. But you had so much courage! You held your ground as we rounded the foreboding corner, with one hand on my shoulder and one eye searching for what was next. Suddenly, we saw it. A VELOCIRAPTOR! I let out a shriek, as you chuckled and turned the page. "Just one more chapter Dad!?" I pleaded. Your eyes smiled above your glasses, while you kept reading until your eyes couldn't stay open any longer, when I had fallen fast asleep on your bad right shoulder. The worlds you helped me discover may have been fantasy, but the courage was real; the curiosity was real. I was 5, and I was scared; yet even then I knew the love was real.
Flash-forward past birthday parties and long hikes to the baseball diamond. We had taken a trip to the championship game, and now, in the last inning, the bases were loaded. I know it isn't good for an athlete to say, but I wasn't sure if I even wanted to be in this situation. It was too much pressure. I was 12, and I was scared. Just then, the coach came out to the on-deck circle, and put his had on my shaking shoulder. He looked me in the eyes, and smiled. You had so much courage! A few minutes later, after I rounded the bases, the first person waiting at the plate was the coach, it was you---with the most elated smile I'd ever seen. That happiness was real; the love was real.
Moving past meteor showers shared through a telescope and high-school football games shared through your camcorder, I arrived in New York City. The noise never stopped, the people never smiled. WHY DOES NO ONE EVER SMILE!? College football was too much, I can't do it anymore. I FUCKING HATE NEW YORK! Suddenly, life had become real, and I was shaking with fear. On the car trip back home, you reassured me---about people, about life. You had so much courage! Over a beer in the kitchen, you told me exactly how the next four years would play out. And you were right. You were always right. That scared 17 year-old owed everything--the grades, the friends, the happiness--to your love.
Writing this Father's Day note, we are at the next step. I have graduated college, and I know exactly what I want to do--how I want to save the world. I love people. I love every second of life. I am 21, and I am not scared anymore. In those trips, you didn't only give guidance---you imparted your courage. And now, countless books, games, and conversations later, your love has shaped me. If I can live to be a tenth of the person you are, the world will be a million times better. I have never met anyone with your kindness, your compassion, your strength--and everyone you have ever met would agree. So on Father's Day, I just want to say thanks. You are the greatest dad, and the greatest human being, in the whole wide world.
2:00 Checking in a half-hour from kick-off with a gluten-free beer in hand and American Flag blanket on my body. So U2 is doing the World Cup music this year, apparently. I assume they are supposed to represent Africa. Because when I think of the Dark Continent, I think of four pasty Irishmen. Anyway, the US is being severely underestimated before the Cup--and this game will be the international coming out party. USA! USA! USA! /pours tea into toilet
2:08 Oh my god, these fucking noise-makers are the most annoying things in the world. It's like watching a game in a beehive, where a miniature Bono is singing U2 songs about soccer. We should change the name of the song to Bloody Saturday after I remove my eardrums with a lemon-baller.
2:15 USA beat England in an amazing upset 60 years ago. Today, we will party like it's 1950. Or, perhaps not. In 1950, Jozy Altidore wouldn't be allowed to play. Not because he's black (soccer integrated earlier than other sports), but because Jozy is a girls name. Jozy, this isn't competitive cooking and cleaning!
2:25 "England has won the last 3 times, but never conclusively." Good job, announcer--I like the way you think. I mean, that pretty girl said no to the date by vomiting at the thought of kissing me, but nothing is conclusive.
2:32 National anthem chills, and KICKOFF! Landon Donovan will own you Wayne Rooney, you pale, bad-teeth having, crumpet-eating piece of poop. Tea is dehydrating, and I heard London Bridge is falling down. OTHER STEREOTYPES!
2:35 Shit. Goal England in the 4th minute. Just spotty defense, playing off the ball at the top of the box. That being said, it's not over. WAS IT OVER WHEN THE GERMANS BOMBED PEARL HARBOR???
2:40 Possession is swinging back and forth. No matter what happens, our uniforms look sweet. We look like we won a beauty pageant! (sponsored by Nike)
2:47 Announcer's advice after a weak corner: "Stick it into the danger zone." This is also the advice he gave to Maverick in Top Gun, along with Bill Clinton after he gave him a cigar.
2:55 Amazing defense by the US on a few open opportunities for England. We just need to hold for the next few minutes and regroup. I mean, they have a player named Ashley Cole! Everyone knows Ashley plays hard to get for a few minutes, before getting buzzed and becoming looser with her actions. Someone buy lady England some Appletinis!
3:00 Tim Howard looks to be hurt after an outstanding save. He's one of the best in the world, and hopefully the US rallies around this moment. Howard has Tourrettes, and if there is ever an appropriate time to have that affliction, it is now. FUCK YOU ENGLAND! (and he's staying in! So awesome. In other news, England can still go fuck itself)
3:10 England is dominating on their end, with chance after chance. We are like Neo dodging bullets right now. Notably, that movie ends Agent Smith getting pwned. Hugo Weaving is British. In other words, just wait until Clint Dempsey 'gets' the Matrix. For this metaphor, let's forget about the shitty sequels.
3:11 GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!! Guess what, Clint Dempsey just 'got' the Matrix. I'm like the fucking Oracle.
3:18 "No thank you," England goal-keeper, "you cannot hold the baby." Alright guys, let's just get to halftime now.
3:30 HALFTIME, tied 1-1! Time to refuel. Another beer perhaps? Yes please! Everyone do your part.....England, WE FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION.
3:38 Second half begins! At first, I was confused and thought Jozy Alitdore was on a mission to score an own goal. 3 beers may be too many. I just saw Dave Beckham on England's side and got flushed.
3:41 Amazing save by Howard. Thousands of women all around the world were just impregnated by his manliness. If he lived in Louisiana, he would save the coastline by standing in the surf and grabbing all of the oil.
3:50 Wow, these vuvuzelas will forever haunt my dreams. The constant noise sounds like Donald Duck climaxing for 90 consecutive minutes. US is doing much better with possession now. About to take a free kick from just outside the left box!
3:54 Outstanding run by Jozy. He is amazingly fast. Also, Oguchi Onyewu has a neck beard. The neard--nature's scarf.
4:04 Fifteen minutes to go--we need to play much tighter on the backside to avoid a very regrettable Saturday evening. Before I continue, it is necessary for me to cite the previous sentence to something She said, most likely while dancing at the club at 2AM.
4:10 1-1, less than 10 minutes to go. Let's go USA! England just brought in Peter Crouch, who looks like he is most likely building a massive laser to shoot from the moon with his trusty midget sidekick, Wayne Rooney.
4:17 Ahhhhhh, almost to stoppage time. Let's get this guys, England looks ready to settle. Great shot by Landon, let's put the ball on goal.
4:25 It's a tie! Great result. In this case, with these countries, a tie really is like kissing your sister. AND OUR SISTER GOT LEGS FOR DAYS. This West Virginia kinship worked out well, let's get Slovenia next week.
Thanks for reading guys! Leave a comment if you'd like something like this for the future games.
Monty Python Jokes--YOU BETTER FUCKING BELIEVE IT.
Starting at 2PM EST, we will live blog the festivities in South Africa as the US curb-stomps the Brits. Notably, a face to the curb is actually an act of charity in jolly old London, because there is a chance it might fix whatever-the-hell is wrong with their teeth. FIX YO DENTISTRY.
We'll all be watching, just hit refresh for some fun comments and commentary! Hope things are amazing!
The Mercury Trident 2 is the best bike I've ever ridden. It is amazing in every way--beautiful, aero, and stiff. Riding today with my dad, every single piece of chatter from the road was silenced; every ounce of power into the pedals went into speed. I feel so lucky to have a relationship with the company, and if any reader has interest in one of their road or tri bikes at a slight discount (Mercury Bikes website here-includes an 800g carbon road frame!), email me any time at dfr2104@gmail.com
Oh wow, that was some whoring. But it was whoring for a good cause! Like when a celebrity runs a marathon for charity, or when a female praying mantis bites off the head of it's mate (I mean, who wants to wake up next to that the next morning........other than perhaps Katie Holmes).
PICTURE TIME!!! Foot Down Fit: Great outfit, douche. Christian Bale called, and he wants his physique back. From the Machinist, that is. Batman Christian Bale would just take your lunch money.
Foot up fit: Here I am turtling (how I ride in real conditions). Why is it named turtling, you may ask? Some would say it refers to the method of shrugging your shoulders to reduce frontal area (you should try this, awesome!). But those people are communists. It actually is named that because, after you assume this awkward-looking position, the number of people that would want to have carnal relations with you are the same as the number that desire similar relations with a turtle.
Face to the camera: I'm not saying I support euthanasia, but this thing should probably be sent to the big sandbox in the sky, for its own good. (This is also what I imagine the average viewer of Two and a Half Men looks like)
Close Up of best facial expression for optimal aerodynamics: AHHHHHHH! KILL IT!!!!
Push-mowers work just as well when you run behind them. It's basically like a baby-stroller, but without the spit-and-poop machine complaining about hitting bumps, or being impaled by sharp branches. Just kidding, of course--children are a gift. I mean, who else can fit into such small spaces? THE CHIMNEY WON'T CLEAN ITSELF, LITTLE TIMMY.
Anyway, after a super-fun workout (details to come), my dad and I were working on a house. Being assigned to the mower, I whipped out the carpenter's headphones, a yellow-and-black monstrosity that looks like it can pick up signals from North Korea. After conventionally mowing the edges (where the grass was tall enough to ride a Six Flags roller-coaster), the lawn was trimmed to a 50 x 20 yard rectangle. "Oh shit," I thought 2 Fast 2 Furiously, "Let's see what this baby can do."
That baby handled like a dream. The driver, however, looked freaking ridiculous. Full spandex, sunglasses, funny headphones.....running behind a push-mower. Oh, and don't forget.............
AIR GUITAR!!!!!
Notably, this house is right on the corner of a small redneck town, so I'd imagine that the passing pick-ups were motivated to devise innovative new hate crimes during my little lawn romp. But their scorn was totally worth it, because the job was finished in a jiffy. Oh, and for those enterprising souls considering investing in this new workout technique, be careful with the air guitar. One, because taking your hand off the mower causes it to stall (though the 80's-rock shredding was totally worth it). Two, because your extreme coolness might attract a horde of groupies. It's like the Running of the Bulls, but the goal is to get gored.*
*Ew
Moving on, the workout was awesome. 2.5 hours on the bike, with enough out of the saddle reps to rip the skin off my thumb. Followed that up with a run that included 8 hill reps, and the aforementioned mower-jogging. The trail race on Saturday definitely added a pocket to my man-purse of courage, and the next few months are going to be a lot of fun.
Overall: 5th/650 entrants. I am simply thrilled that I finished! The road to recovery from the collarbone injury of 3 weeks ago has been littered with roadblocks, roadkill, and copies of Jack Keroac's On the Road (to indicate the aimless nature of my travels). Surprisingly, there are no copies of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, most likely because the post-apocalyptic hellscape in the book feels diminished by the epic disasters that were my attempts to run/bike. My time was much slower than last year, but that is to be expected with the protruding bone. Perhaps I should have rubbed more Vagisil on it during the pre-race warm-up... Anyway, 30 seconds ahead at the finish were 3 runners---a sub-50 10-mile guy, a 2:32 marathoner, and a 14:30 5k'er. The winner was a guy I beat by 90 seconds last year. In other words, HYPOTHETICAL HEALTHY ME OWNED THEIR SHIT. Hypothetical Dave also is charismatic with the ladies and knows how to use chopsticks, so take that statement for what it's worth.
Pre-Race: Did a heavy training week leading up to the race, in the hopes of purging the epic fail of a DNF in the 10-miler from my body. I think it worked, for the most part. SEE KIDS, PURGING IS ALWAYS A GOOD THING. Gosh, I should be a school counselor, or a teenage girls dietitian. Woke up feeling great, and arrived at the race like a horse at the starting gate. Unfortunately, that analogy only applies to my face.
Lined up after a hard warm-up to hear that the race was delayed 10 minutes. That's cool, but 650 trail runners in a small space leads to BO that could fell a herd of elephants. Are all trail racers hippies that don't wear deodorant? YOUR BO HAS DISGRACED THE INITIALS OF OUR PRESIDENT, YOU DIRTY PATCHOULI-WEARING VEGANS. I assume they were all wearing tie-dye hemp-singlets. 10 extra minutes of olfactory exertion, AND THEY'RE OFF!!!!
Race: The Trail Classic is a 10.5k over surprisingly rugged trails, with steep climbs and rocky descents. After a flat first half-mile, the trail turns up a path called "Pain Hill". I told myself it was named for hip-hop artist T-Pain, and not the severe pain induced from the steepness of the trail. Sadly, that reminded me that it was currently as hot as DA CLUB when one of his songs comes on. Granted, I'm not sure what type of "club" this was, because from my perspective there were only a bunch of shirtless dudes grunting loudly. ON A BOAT cooling off interlude:
After that half-mile delusion, I found myself in 10th place or so. The single-track trail then wound around an exposed valley on the ridge, and I began to feel some discomfort. By the end of the mile in the sun, my ears were ringing and brain was screaming for mercy. So basically EXACTLY what happens if you listen to Rush Limbaugh, but without the strikingly depressing fear for humanity's future. My future, however, was in doubt until we hit the descent. My climbing may suck right now, but even when out of race shape I can go down. THIS TRACTOR TRAILER AIN'T GOT NO BRAKES (Come to think about it, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the title of an actual country song....the South---responsible for shitty music, segregation, and delicious biscuits since 1860). 8 runners were passed on the downhill! Disconcertingly, it was about to go up again.
When the course profile looks like a serrated knife up to the standards of Jeffrey Dahmer, you know you're in trouble. So began a see-sawing of places, where I would blow by some guys on descents, and I would be passed on the ascents. Notably, my mind was sending out discouraging thoughts this entire time. It was strange---that has never been a problem in the past. Asking for a certain level of performance, then receiving something inferior to what you are capable of---is a uniquely dispiriting feeling.
Most importantly though, I kept going. After the injury, I really needed EXACTLY this race, a race where my legs hurt, my lungs seared, and every neuron was firing images of a red octagon. On the final climb, a mile from the finish, I was able to muster an assault that earned me an extra place, and really was indicative of a meaningful growing experience. To be honest, I haven't faced much adversity as an athlete. Crossing the line in 5th, I realized that the last 40 minutes were much more important than any win----the time provided a bit of self-realization that I will always be able to return to in times of struggle.
In other words, I ADDED A POCKET TO MY MAN-PURSE OF COURAGE. That's room for like, at least 10 extra tampons.
Oh god, the guy that wrote that last post SUCKS. I mean, seriously, hope? C'mon Dave, the only things feeling hope after a post like that are your collared shirts, because they thinks it might be getting less crowded in the closet. Time to avenge the sentimentality with a good old-fashioned post from your friend Bone Dreamcrusher (read link for BDC intro), who will also be racing in the trail race tomorrow. Perhaps while I am setting the course record at the Wissahickon Trail Classic 10k on Saturday, Dave can shop for shoes or something.
You know what I hate (other than Dave, of course), Facebook's new privacy settings. Starting this year, BookFace shares information with other sites regarding the activity of friends. So, looking at CNN, I find out that 6 'friends' shared the story about Golden Girl Rue McClanahan dying at the age of 76. I assume that these people are either geriatrics with shitty TV taste, or younger necrophiliacs with shitty TV taste. Either way, DEFRIENDED! I mean, necrophiliacs? After seeing Kim Cattral in trailers for Sex and the City 2, I think I know the target demographic of the new movie.
You know what, it's music time! I need to wipe the old person smell off the keyboard, so I put it on one of Pandora's preset stations to hear some of the music the kids are listening to. Hmmmmm, Justin Bieber? No thanks--I am convinced that his music is the result of Alvin (from the Chipmunks) growing up and getting hair-removal surgery. Hey Justin, ONCE YOUR VOICE CHANGES, NO ONE WILL LOVE YOU. What's next? Oh dear God.....Miley Cyrus. Time to change the channel......wait, what is that? A friend "likes" this artist? THIS FRIEND IS A 20 YEAR-OLD MALE?! Dude, she is a 17 year old pop-singer! I can only assume the friend is a hipster with an ironic sense of humor, or an aspiring statutory rapist. DEFRIENDED!
I can't think about virtual friends anymore. Time to move my mind to tomorrow's race.....oh no. That reminds me of all of the assholes that make trail races unique. ASSHOLE COUNTDOWN TIME:
3. Guy that breathes way too loud on the hills--Seriously, I respect your impression of a teething hippopotamus passing a kidney stone, but tone it down a bit. It sounds like you are in the process of a horrific porno audition. Name of that porno: Man's Labyrinth.
2. Girl that does not shave armpits--So it's not natural? It's against your feminist ideals? Okay, I respect that. But if you just added some dreadlocks, I would expect your armpit to become a reggae singer.
1. People that try to beat me--YOUR DREAMS WILL BE CRUSHED.
Wow, sorry about Bone. He is a jerk. In reality, the race tomorrow suits me very well, and I am super excited to try to avenge last year's second place. Thanks so much for the emails about the last post--it really means a lot. Hope things are amazing!
Failure promotes a unique frustration. The cause of adversity is nearly irrelevant--there is a certain emptiness in unrealized expectations that seems to confiscate a part of your being itself. Of course, this internal hollowness occurs on a sliding scale--from the fleeting trivialities of a shitty race to the profundity of an extreme injury. Regardless of the cause, however, the pain is real; the frustration is real.
Perhaps there is no failure more disturbingly universal than death. Or, because death is always an abstract concept on the horizon, mortality. The bike crash of 18 days ago is not a foxhole in the Afghan countryside, and is certainly not a bed in a cancer ward, but that brief epiphany from my peripheral vision of mortality with 2 axles left an impression. The recovery from the collarbone injury has left an impression. Shit, graduating college has left an impression. Whether it is a catastrophic crash, or the unceasing march of time, failure is a theme of everyone's life--with an end point that is simultaneously daunting and unknowable.
Evident within every failure, though, is change. And with change comes the opportunity for improvement....for hope. After the crash, and after last weekend's race--both failures of my body--my mind nearly immediately shifted to the future, to self-improvement. That doesn't make me special; it is human nature. With failure, the ultimate weapon is the gift from Pandora's box. Hope, even when unrealistic, is unceasingly beautiful companion to disappointment.
Changing the world around us--even when in the immediately relevant areas of money, or property--is external. It is materialistic. There is nothing wrong with external goals, but they are inherently fleeting. Meanwhile, changing the world inside of us is inherently enduring. It is spiritual. Training our bodies and minds is the application of hope as the antidote for life's inevitable failures. That is why such seemingly trivial pursuits as running or biking are so important. Every day out the front door, every new race, is the manifestation of spiritual optimism. And in the better tomorrow, in this fight against failure, is a truly human beauty.
