M

People do a lot of stupid things. There are some things I will just never do.

I will never eat anything "coagulated". I don't care if Fear Factor is going to give me $50,000 for it, or if I'm going to get voted off the island. No way, no how.

I will never wear an otter as a hat. And I don't mean otter fur, I mean a live otter.

I will never BASE jump. I'm an adrenaline junkie, but I'm not doopid.

I will never betray a friend. Because people who do that suck.

I will never pursue a Guinness record for fun. Some assjacket set the record for having the hottest metal on record in his mouth. Seriously, dude, get a hobby. Sorry, get a BETTER hobby.

I will never be a missionary. Because inflicting your beliefs on other people is wrong.

I will never calm down. This is who I is, yo.

I will never play in the NFL. Much to my dismay.

I will never take up skateboarding. BMX, yes. Skateboarding, no.

I will never be taller than Kobe Bryant.

I will never be satisfied.

I will never be a supermodel. Because, well, it just wouldn't be fair to the competition *hair flip*.

I will never take a sunny day for granted. I will, however, hate who or what locks me inside during one.

I will never like Liv Tyler. I don't care if she does solve cold fusion.

I will never understand fashion or pop culture. Seriously, apparantly what's in lately is to look like hell.

I will never be able to get the mental image of Rod Stewart gyrating around in black spandex singing "if you want my body and you think I'm sexy" out of my head.

I will never be able to get the mental image of my six-year-old (at the time) brother doing a frighteningly good imitation of Rod Stewart gyrating around in black spandex singing "if you want my body and you think I'm sexy" in a hotel room in South Bend, Indiana wearing the hotel laundry bag on his head.

I will never drink and drive.

I will never stop liking flames, monkeys, or pirates. Ever.

I will never contribute a single red cent to the likes of Paris Hilton.

I will never be able to pronounce "quincaillerie."

I will never participate in the Vendee Globe. Because, again, I ain't doopid.

I will never understand why people kill each other because they pray to different gods.

I will never get to meet my mother's father.

I will never know myself as well as certain others know me.

I will never make green curry with 2 cups of paste instead of 2 tablespoons. Again.

Not that that's everything.

I can't believe how much of my riding time I spend thinking that. Crash into a tree... why am I doing this? Smoke my knee on a shifter... why am I doing this? Lungs/legs on the verge of explosion during the fire road in a race... why am I doing this? Picking the pieces of my busted bike/body up off the ground... why am I doing this? Light dies in the middle of the freezing cold woods after crossing a stream full of runoff... why am I doing this? Caught in a rainstorm 25k from the car... why am I doing this? Flatting alone in the middle of nowhere... why am I doing this?

Finally clearing that stupid boulder, finally nailing that stupid first climb, standing on top of the podium, flying through the singletrack dodging trees that my headlamp lights up almost too late, the silence/noise of hearing nothing but wind and seeing nothing but the wheel in front of you, the people... that's why. God. I love this sport.

I realize it's been a while, and this blog is being reinstated for Nomi, and only for Nomi!

**race report**

Last weekend was the 12 Hour. Our 4 person team was able to win again, making it a threepeat (my second year on the team). It was a hard-fought victory, and thanks to our superstar, David, who clocked in 7 laps all under 25 minutes, we won by about 26 minutes in the end. I myself rode 5 laps. Lap one I took it pretty easy, getting to know the course, lap two was my best time, and lap three hurt like the dickens. To add insult to injury, when I finished, some j@ck@$$ downhiller was standing by the finish, smoking, so I got I mouthfull of cigarette smoke while my respritory rate was way up and my heart was going about 150. Thanks, buddy, for causing me to hack and cough for the next two hours. I left for lap 4 at around 5:50, and then took a long break until 9:30 when I rode our bell lap. I missed finishing under the gun by about 20 seconds, because as I was screaming towards the finish, I misjudged the pavement, skidded out, and crashed about 100 feet from the line, as I could hear the countdown... "10...9...8..." I thought I had lost the race for us, so I crossed the line in tears, but all was not lost, as our closest competitor took 20 minutes longer to finish her lap... so victory (and a large jug of protein powder... what am I supposed to do with that??) was ours!!

**end of race report**

I was pretty lucky yesterday. And by "lucky," I mean "convincingly stupid."

I went up north to ride with a shop group. It was a really good group, and a really good ride... casual pace, amazing trail (I've discovered I like tight, technical singletrack... big drops and rock gardens aren't really my thing... I like 180 degree turns and shoulder-checking trees). Anyway, after I cracked my knee on my handlebars trying to ride over this 3' boulder (ow), I was quite ready to go home, but the usual standing-around-in-the-parking-lot-drinking-beers-and-speaking-French had to ensue. *yawn* By the time we actually got in the car, it was pushing midnight. I have to be at work at 8am, so I just wanted to get home... so I was going about 70 in a 50 through a sleepy Laurentian town in the north. Nobody on the road, clear, smooth pavement... I look in my rear-view mirror to see blue and red lights. $#!+... I can NOT afford a speeding ticket right now! The two hardcore francophones I have in the car advise me; "whatever you do, do NOT speak French?" quoi? j'ai pense que c'etait meilleur parler en Francias! Mais, non... apparantly, if you get pulled over outside the Montreal region (with American plates), they'll let you off easier because they don't want to speak English! Anyway, I hand him my International Drivers' License, which is this big complicated booklet with all sorts of pages and stamps and seals, and I'm digging through my glove compartment looking for the registration (I honestly don't know what it looks like!)... and then I told him how I'm just so confused with this whole miles/kilometers thing, and I haven't lived here all that long... anyway, long story short, he decided it was way too much effort to issue me a ticket and just let me go. bah-da-bing! So proud of myself!

We won the 12 Hour for the third year running!

Just thought I'd let you know.  More later!

**race report**

This is gonna be short. The tally: 3x4.5km in the mud/rain/rocks/roots. Two big crashes, too many little ones to count. One badly scraped elbow, one very bruised jaw, two legs that look like I've been put in a dryer full of rocks. One back that kills. Two triceps that burn. One broken derailleur hanger, one broken race number, one broken derailleur. 1km walked while carrying the bike. Two incidences of major chain suck. At least 15 extra pounds of mud on the bike/body/camelbak. 7th out of 9.

= one hell of a race.

Would I do it again? I am. Sunday. For 12 Hours.

**end of race report**

The real reason I was late for dinner:

I showed up a little later than anticipated to dinner. Why? Well, the walk from my apartment to the restaurant took a lot longer than the bus ride would have. Why didn't I take the bus? I did. Why did I get off? I'll tell you why.

As I was sitting on the bus, looking accross the aisle, there was a couple chattering joyously away. I spaced out (maybe dozed off a little bit), and when I woke up, a block later, they were gone. But left behind, ominously, was a small, black suitcase. Stowed off in the corner, there it was. "Poor saps forgot their suitcase," thought I. But then, what if they didn't forget it? What if they left it on the bus on purpose? What if they were some FLQ terrorists? I'm pretty sure the FLQ is, for all intents and purposes, defunct. But what if it's not? I moved to the front of the bus. I figured, if the suitcase blows, at least I'll be farther away from the source of the blast. Boy, do I wish I had my mech eng project with me now! I kept glancing at the suitcase, seemingly sinister in it's normality. Rolling. Handle extended. Tucked away by the window. My paranoia overcame me, and 3 blocks from where I got on the bus, I got off. I half expected to see the bus explode as it rumbled away. It didn't, and I never heard that it did. And I was late for dinner.

That's the last time I let someone else's dirty laundry make me delay eating.

*sigh*

Those wiser than myself have advised a break.  They are probably right.  Blogging while sleep-deprived and overwhelmed/underwhelmed (I guess I'm just whelmed) isn't healthy.

til I get it all figured out...

OK, everything is right with the world, as I get to spend the afternoon comparing Direct Bury Wire Connectors, Butt Connectors, and Vinyl Insulated Butt Splices.  The aforementioned Butt Connectors come in  a seamless butt variety, and with or without a support sleeve.

Yup, I have the sense of humour of a 12-year-old.  But at least I'm laughin'.

I was raised in a bread-and-butter variety congregationalist Protestant church... a we-accept-all-types-but-you-just-won't-see-them-here philosophy on the world. Apparantly, that has changed since I left and there is now a gay minister. Huge step forward for my small town in Ohio. Huzzah! However, when said minister came to lead his flock in this white, steepled, New England style church, there was a veritable uproar in the community, complete with one of my Sunday School companions (a man, who, at the age of 26, still introduces himself as "Tommy") storming out of a board meeting. In a classic case of "hello, pot? Kettle. You're black," this guy had been convicted less than a year before of statutory rape. Since when does a convicted sex offender get to be the pointer of the moral compass?

Something else that has always gotten under my skin is two confrontations spaced out by about 5 years with my parents. My parents have, in general, been fantastically supportive. But there is one issue that drives me up a damn wall. Smoking. I am an athlete. I haven't always been an athlete, but I am now. Anyway, that is neither here nor there. I have never, even once, even drunk, ever, taken even a puff of a cigarette/cigar/cigarillo/pipe. Tobacco is a substance completely foreign to me, much like vindaloo. I house sat for my godparents in high school, and had myself a very scandal-free weekend. I think the worst thing I did was invite a friend over to watch Wayne's World. We didn't even make out! Anyway, after that weekend, my godparents confronted my parents saying the house smelled like smoke. My parents, in turn, confronted me. To this day, I don't know how that's possible. Honestly, I don't. So they hired the neighbourhood goody-goody to house sit and have never quite trusted me again. There was a second confrontation, where I was sitting around with my parents and a friend, and my dad made some offhand comment "we know you smoked in high school," as if to show me how cool they were with it. I flew off the handle. I don't deserve a lot of credit, but smoking was one thing I never did. Same with drinking (until university where, man, did I make up for lost time). There were times when I've done something where my credibility should have taken a hit, but in general, I was a REALLY GOOD kid. A little too good. And all that not-doing-anything-wrongness was replaced by attitude. I was steeped in attitude. It was a force field that extended about eight feet away from my body in all directions. Flame me for attitude. I deserve it. I'm one of the hardest-headed people I know. But don't call me a smoker.

song of the day: Happier (by Guster)

reason why: "so go on, if it will make you happier... it got you this far... do what you have to"

I am ever so very excited about my upcoming 10-day vacation. I will be free, free, free for ten whole days. Thank you, Canada and Quebec, for schedualing two holiday weekends in a row. I think that perhaps I will purchase a ticket to the moon and see if you really can see the Great Wall of China (I'm personally convinced that the only non-geological object visible from space is yo mama). Anyway, any of my east coast friend sorts who might be reading this, let me know if you have plans between June 23 and July 3.

So I've had quite the bizarre morning. Since I was a little kid, my left shoulder has always been a little wierd. Never painful, just strange. If I rotate my left shoulder I can feel it popping, but it's not the joint.  It just kind of sounds like everything just doesn't fit quite right. I trace it back to when I was about 7 and I was playing in the hammock with my friend Annie. One person would lie in the hammock, and the other person would push it, then yank it backwards, and you'd bounce over and land on the edge. Well, once, I landed NOT on the edge. I landed on my back on the ground, where a rock was eagerly waiting to jam itself into my back. Well, rock, life purpose accomplished. That is the first time in my life I can remember swearing. I believe I said "God Damnit," which, by my current standards, doesn't even qualify as swearing, because it doesn't involve anyone's mother. Anyway, since then, somethin' ain't quite right in the old left shoulder, but it's never caused me pain. Until today. I injured myself today in quite possibly the stupidest way possible. I was standing in the kitchen, thinking about how I was going to pass the 32 more hours of work that remain until the end of the day Friday, and I made the stupid mistake of yawning, which caused me to stretch, where I managed to do something very painful to Left Shoulder. Felt like a combination of a squish, tear, and pop. Like the evil twins of the Keebler elves. I called in "in pain" to work, and set out to be the first person seen at the CLSC near my house. After sitting on the sidewalk for a half hour, I was refused because, of course, they don't accept drop-in patients. They sent me 3 metro stops away, where I was painfully jostled by some dumb... girl with a big bag yapping to her typical U de M friends. Upon arriving at the drop-in CLSC, I was turned away because I don't have provincial health coverage... they told me to go to a private care provider. Yeah, except that all the freakin' GPs in this city aren't accepting new patients. I've been looking for one for months. Anyway, I was lucky enough to find a clinic on the way home that will see me... tomorrow. In the meantime, my shoulder seems to have unpopped itself, so while still sore and feeling weak, isn't causing me nearly the level of pain it was this morning, and I think I'll survive the day.

Some ass jacket is eating beef stew. The smell is absolutely repugnant.

**race report**

Well, Saturday was my first road race ever... I did the FQSC Granby TT this weekend. It was 18.5km in howling wind. We arrived to discover the bastards were running two hours behind. Frustrating, but eventually my 4:25 start time rolled around. There were six women in my category (senior 3), and I was the second to last to start. I was really worried about making a complete ass of myself, but because it's a time trial, it's harder to do that (was mildly concerned that I'd topple over when the official was holding my seat post so that I could clip in... but I succesfully stayed upright, although I missed my cleat the first time). Anyway, I went out really strong, hitting 48kph in the first stretch. I took one of the early corners at about 35, which wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, because it was covered in loose gravel. (I freakin' love Quebec) Skidded and had a mild heart attack, but stayed upright and kept hammering, until I had to turn around and come back. The rest of the course was in an absolutely demoralizing headwind. I started to feel like I was dragging a cinderblock behind me or something, and like my legs were going to explode, but midway through that terrible stretch I caught the girl in front of me. So that was a bit of an ego boost, but then there wasn't anyone ahead of me to set my sights on, and I slowed down a lot. The blasting wind and climbing a false flat were really hard. Eventually she passed me again, and we traded places a few times (her catching me on the uphills, me catching her on the downhills. Yup, the big ol' winter ass is slowing me down a bit!). She ended up crossing the finish line about 50m ahead of me, but since she had a one minute lead, I was pretty happy that I beat her. So I finished 5th of 6, with the two girls ahead of me within 15 seconds. A little frustrating, because due to my inexperience (translation: idiocy) I hadn't turned on my odometer, so I didn't know how long I had to the finish and didn't put the hammer down until I saw "1km left" painted on the road (there weren't any other markers). I missed my goal time by 00:16, and I'm sure I could have shaved 16 seconds off with my current level of fitness, but all in all I'm pretty happy with my first race of the season, my finishing time of 35:16, and my first road race ever...

**end of race report**