My life, am I right?
My life, am I right?
The more things fail to change; the more things stay the same.
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, or a corrupt file for you youngsters, but I find myself —yet again—playing shit show catchup.
My excuses are longer than a porn star’s manhood. My slack is stronger than a pre-castrated bull. And my waistline’s girth and body weight are that of a Mart-Cart fatty with a basket full of Ding Dongs and Mountain Dew.
This past week was another busy one: There was time working in the shop, time shuttling B (and other neighborhood teammates) to soccer scrimmages and conditioning sessions, mind bender appointments, bike sales (goodbye Fatterson), family duties, house duties, a wedding anniversary (our 22nd), a birthday (my 48th), and some dirt road riding.
I won’t try to recap the week. It wasn’t that interesting, and I don’t have enough 48-year-old brain cells left to attempt to make it so. Instead, I will post some pics, say I’m mentally feeling good, physically looking like a walking sack of SPAM, and hoping for another week of riding, pedaling for pixels.
Mistakes were made. Again.
This week is all over the place, and I feel like I have no idea what day it is. I feel like the weekend just happened and today is Monday. But it’s not. At least I don’t think it is.
I don’t give myself credit too often, mostly because there is little to give credit for, but I will give myself a quick pat on my meaty back for somehow getting up and out the door on my bike early Sunday morning.
Wednesday night as I looked at the next day’s schedule of Dad duties, house duties, and a mid-afternoon appointment with my mind bender, I made the decision that I would get up with the dogs at 5:45 AM, get them fed and outside to poop, then immediately get out for a ride. This would have me home in plenty of time to get B to his morning conditioning session at the soccer fields.
After a day at the shop on Friday, I was eager to get out on the new bike (Mr. Burgundy) and dial it in on Saturday.