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In a bizarre turn of events, bubs didn't go skydiving but did go to MoMA. That isn't bizarre or exciting. Its boring news, right? More, even-I'm currently reflecting on the fact that I've been a complete arsehole to a few people in my life. Something about feeling jaded or not heard or something. Anyway, my bad behavior has to stop one, because its lame; two, because being an arsehole isn't being cool; three, it just perpetuates shit, which comes from arseholes. Funny thing is, a long time ago i used to joke about people being jaded, I guess deep down I was steering myself down that path. Maybe I am just an arsehole at heart? Thats no good. We are a culture of cool people, must keep up. I think i need a few warm winters and some southern goodness.
Slow day here on Route 309.
I'm totally this boyfriend, especially the last version.
Even if you don't like fish
This is the last week of Design and the Elastic Mind at MoMA, and I'm gonna miss it. The website is wicked awesome anyway. But bigpoppa is taking me skydiving next Monday. Holy dang. Did you ever have one of those moments when you can really put yourself into a situation, like jumping out of an airplane with some stoner dude tied to your back, and you actually sorta feel what you can predict it would feel like? I've done that twice in my life (minus sex dreams...schwing!) once when somehow, for some reason I put myself on the firing line of the civil war (scared the shit outta me) and the other was last week, sitting or standing at the door of the airplane, looking down at Earth thinking 'are these propellers gonna chop me up?'. I'll get back to you on how precise predictive intuition is.
I finally did a real ride today, but my body was saying 'lay up boy, and bring me a beer.'
Apparently Papp is featured in the latest Outside magazine. For those not local, and not road racers-PA is a hotbed of Papp-haters, since he doped for years at our races, winning money and being a complete jerkoff the whole time. Ever wonder why some guys can't get on pro teams? (sundt beat the odds on that one, somehow).
Today I've got a racing hangover.
Nearly 8 hours of mtb racing in one weekend, 5hrs of that in Michaux-the legendary forest of destruction. The Trek boys can glide through this course in under 4hrs, and while they are just finishing up I was sitting along some climb, hating butterflies and little babies eating my 4th poptart of the day. Maybe my so-so performances lately are due to eating poptarts instead of fancy energy bars? I should stop eating them just from the fart attacks that penetrate my space.
It is funny, looking back on a long ride or race and realizing that when you start hating everything (mom, puppies, girlfriend, chocolate, rocks, logs, uphills, downhills, streams) thats the moment the bonk has begun. But you're too busy hating to realize thats your body saying "hey douchebag, just feed me."
I was convinced that my tired body wasn't going to finish the 50miles of Michaux, but those smart bastards put the water stops at mile 25 and mile 45, so that entire hate-filled 20+ miles was desperate for a way out, but no. And once you hear that it's just few miles up to the finish, the legs all of the sudden don't feel so bad (poptarts kicked in!). So at mile 35, when I was hating on mom just for having me, I was thinking if I'd ever dnf'd two races in one weekend (don't think so) and that I didn't care if that blemish was on my palmares (because I hate palmares) and then yet another single speeder passed me; it seemed perfectly logical to give it all up, stay away from the pain and emotional struggles of racing and the fragile ego and forget the fact that single speeders are passing me and that poptarts are actually kinda hard to pull out of your pocket.
Here is an article about Wrecking our Feet by wearing shoes, from New York Magazine. Its worth the read. I'm not going barefoot anytime soon (too many sweet shoes!) but the emergence of barefoot-mimicking soles is pretty cool. What would Fatmarc say?
