Tag Archives | not doing stuff

Heaping Gobs of Love

The time between rides these days is vast. Horrible spring weather, a super busy soccer schedule for B, time at the bike shop, and a scorching case of don’t give a shit have all played a part in my lack of saddle time.

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Seeing Red

A rain filled week of fall-like weather combined with work at the shop and a LOT of travel for B’s soccer meant that there was only one ride had all of last week; a quick 22.5 mile ride on Saturday morning.

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The Search For an Enema

After last Thursday’s rainy hike, I was in the shop on Friday. Then on Saturday B’s team had their first State Cup match of 2019 winning by a score of 2-1 (yeah!).

Easter Sunday was filled with slack and little to do with Easter. I’m not so religious (12 years of Catholic school riddled guilt, and a nation of right-wing religious nut bags and their vile hypocrisy leaves me with a low tolerance for it), so I basked in the glow of laziness, the bright spring sunshine, beer, and footy on TV.

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Relaxing AF

The snow of Sunday gave way to sun, and melting snows on Monday; followed by days of rain. Pretty typical spring weather. With that, saddle time has been non-existent, but sometimes I’m OK with that. As life goes on, cycling is something I like to do, not something I have to do, rely on for my identity, feel pressure to do, or rely on for my sanity. Sorry, I digress.

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Gaps Between

I recognize the words I throw up from the rotting nether regions of my head and onto these digital pages are vital to everyone’s day. I totally get that and apologize for the ongoing gaps between posts.

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Slushy Hikes & Puppies

After I hit publish on my last post, I was anxious to get outside to ride again. Sadly, after I looked at everything that needed to be done around the house—and elsewhere—before we went to pick up our new bulldog puppy late Friday afternoon, I reconsidered and slipped into a world void of riding and littered with chew toys and puppy prep.

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145 Days Later

It took 145 days, or 4 months and 24 days if you like counting that way better, for me to finally make it back outside for a ride. There was much rejoicing; there was also some “what the fuckery?” and some generous helpings of self-loathing on the sad topic of what I’ve let myself become (spoiler alert: fat, drunk, and stupid).

We’ll get to the ride soon enough, but given there’s not much to talk about, let’s backtrack for a little bit and talk birds, dogs, and beers.

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Normal’s Just a Word

I don’t want to say I feel like I’m back to normal, but I’m feeling about as normal as I’ve felt in a long time. Physically, of course, the S.S. Mental Normality sailed long ago and is presumed sunk at the bottom of the ocean with no survivors.

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