Advice Sort of Taken

The following is a conversation I had with my editor yesterday. I sort of took her advice.


Me: Guess what, I did it!

Stacy B: Did what?

Me: I went back to the gym.

Stacy B: Oh.

Me: I’m going to write a blog post about it.

Stacy B: Hmmm… Literally, no one will care.

Me: Why not? It had been over a year of daily COVID beers, very little exercise, and the fewest miles ridden on my bike in over 25 years; don’t you think people will want to read about it?

Stacy B: No.

Me: Seriously?

Stacy B: Seriously, no.

Me: So you’re saying that even if I tell the world about the beginnings of Operation Pec-Lift II and how the gym was better than I thought in COVID times—especially being fully vaccinated—that no one will want to read about it?

Stacy B: I can’t imagine someone bored enough to read about some non-athlete dad going to the gym to lift a few weights. But what do I know? I just work here. Do you have any coupons or bottle slips?

Me: No.

Stacy B: That’ll be $124.98. Cash back?

Me: No thanks.

Stacy B: Good luck with your exercising and stuff. You might want to try cutting back on empty calories and maybe do some incline chest presses.

Me: Yeah… yeah. Thanks. Are you sure that no one…

Stacy B: NO!!!!

Me: OK!! OK!! Thanks.

Stacy B: Thanks for shopping at Meijer.


Later.

 

Death Moments

No, trust me, I haven’t died yet. Nor has anyone in my immediate circle of humans. What I mean by “death moment” is a moment so incredibly good that if I died during said moment or whilst enjoying the emotional afterglow of the moment, I would die happy. Or at least happy enough.

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Curt Notes

I have a resume of skills, talents, and responsibilities as long as an ill-written curt note stuck on a cafeteria vending machine, yet I can’t find the time or want to get outside and or write a blog post. Lucky you!

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Heavy Sighs & Returns

Well, we’re back from Indiana, and I’m hitting the ground running like a freshly excreted dog turd onto a frosty spring lawn.

The four-day trip into America’s heartland of COVID negligence for a soccer tournament was better than I thought (in that it happened at all) and just as bad as I thought (aforementioned negligence, combined with COVID fuckedupedness and guilt).

I’ll explain a bit.

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Lack of Time

My time to get out for some junk miles has been very limited as of late due to weather and time, mostly time. There has been too much going on this week, including a 3 day trip to Indiana for the Crossroads of America College Showcase soccer tournament, that at this point (7:30 AM Thursday), we still don’t know if we’re going because of COVID related issues with 1/4 of the team.

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The Chronicles of Meh

My newfound custom of getting up early continued on Sunday, and with that, I got a shit ton of stuff done, including baking some crispy, crunchy toasted homemade muffin bread and installing an Ortleib bag bracket on the Fattishson (The Roscoe’s current name before it becomes a 29er in the future). 

Then I decided to ride.

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So, it’s April

I woke up early this morning 75 pounds lighter, with no signs of depression in sight, a real job to go to, and a spring in my step as my about to be fully vaccinated self danced down the steps towards a hot cup of morning coffee. 

Yeah, April fools. The vaccination part is true1, and the coffee was hot, but the rest is all lies. LIES, I SAY!! FUCKING LIES!!!

Sorry.

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