After a few days off, I have returned to the Soiled blogosphere like a clogged toilet, poised to overflow its well-ripened contents onto the floor of life. But not yet.
I have been working on a post for nearly a week, but I just can’t find a proper ending for it. So instead of that post, I am throwing up and alternate post with some photos from Thanksgiving Day.
Like a moth to the lame, a lemming to the fire, and a virgin to a cliff, Macro Monday has returned! [insert feigned applause and mumbled groans here] This time, it’s a two-parter.
I mentioned at least one to seventeen times in my two recent crap blog posts that I’ve been trying to workout more, even when that means not riding. I also mentioned that I’m trying to eat a little better, and a little cleaner. Thankfully that has all been happening as planned.
Winter is now (unofficially) officially here in the mid-Mitten. I was hopeful that it was detoured when the snow we got last Sunday melted through the week, but I knew it was here for sure when a quick pre-ride check of my phone Friday said it was 24˚/Feels like 17˚. What it should have said was 24˚/Feels like cold as f*ck.
The week thus far has been a three day blur of riding, house shit, chores, heat, humidity, traveling, soccer practices, and AC repairmen. None of that is all that bad except for the AC needing repaired during one of the hottest summers I’ve experienced in my almost six years here in Michigan. Thankfully we had some sort of appliance, warranty bullshit and that covered the cost of the repair. Now just to hope that the thing holds on for the summer without having to have the unit replaced!
Thursday’s ride was followed by two days in the Stankment™ on the treadmill. One of those days consisted of some brief–don’t pull a hammy you fat bastard– sprints, followed by incline intervals at a walking pace that surprisingly got my average heart rate higher than the trainer, and about on par with–what admittedly are–my crap fat bike rides on snirt roads. Thankfully those two days underground were followed by a ride outside Sunday, a ride in which I pray to the Cycling Gods was my LAST ride on snow until late 2016.
Pre-blog post note of sadness, guilt, regret and admission to you that the following has shit all to do with cycling, save for a tiny, tiny sliver.
Ma Nature decided welcome in March by puking down upwards of 8 inches of fresh snow and wind all day today. As I type at 7:25 E.C.T. (Easter Chamois Time) it continues to puke down and I have no doubt that B’s school will be is cancelled tomorrow. March; in like a dead, frozen, one-legged fucking lion. With that said, the only riding I did today was another sweaty hour on the trainer in the Stankment™.
What a difference a week can make. Last week during our visit to Pennsylvania for the holiday it was 66˚. That’s not normal for PA, or anywhere in the north-east of the U.S., but I was loving every single whacked out degree above normal. Fast forward seven days and I’m back in Michigan and dealing with heavy, wet snow, slush and ice, and all the joyless activities that come with it: wearing ugly winter shoes, shoveling, back pain, slipping, sliding, scraping, having a mental breakdown because I can’t get the snowblower to start, breaking a snow shovel during said mental breakdown, having a friend point out that it’s a dirty spark plug preventing the snowblower from starting, using the snowblower, and knowingly and calmly accepting Wifey’s lecture to me where she points out that she loves me but it’s so not normal to have a complete breakdown and break a shovel (and maybe a piece of siding on the house) because a snowblower won’t start. Point taken.
But as they (mostly the U.S. Sweet Potato Council) say– at least we have sweet potatoes to bring love, peace and harmony to our lives…
Part I, The Broccoli
Wednesday was a planned day off the bike to get some things done during the day (the least of which included washing two months worth of mud off the Boone) before heading into the Stankment™ to do some treadmill sprint intervals and strength training in the evening.
It was also my day to not eat leftovers and make myself something tasty for lunch. That something was one of my fave standbys: whole wheat pasta tossed with fresh, store-bought, not at all locally grown, non-organic broccoli, garlic and extra virgin olive oil.
I had no sooner started thinking about what I wanted to make for dinner when I opened the fridge and saw a pound of unused 90/10 ground beef. A minute later I found myself wrist deep in a mixture of beef, egg, breadcrumbs and spices.
