Defecated Bricks

Thursdays, am-I-right?

As I’ve previously mentioned—like, 315 times since March 2020—there are no “real” days for me right now. But Thursday stood out for me for a few reasons; 

  1. The sun came out for about two, maybe two and a half minutes in the late afternoon. That’s two-ish minutes more than at any time in the previous five.
  2. I snagged a couple photos of my favorite bird (a Cedar Waxwing) in the backyard of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack while Lola was outside taking a dump.
  3. I rode the magic Zwift® machine for over an hour, virtually “climbed” over 1,300 feet and turned into an actual sweaty, out-of-shape, red-faced freak (see non-bird photo below). S000 not a KOM!!

Fuck yeah, THURSDAY!!!

Friday was just like the four previous days this week, except today, we had rain/snow showers instead of freezing rain, and I rode a 16-mile flat course on Zwift® for an hour instead of a hilly one. Side Note: I always debate whether “hilly” is a real word or not. I’m sure it is, but still, I fret. 

The past two Zwift® rides were two of the hardest I’ve done in a long while. I attribute that to my bike fitness being akin to that of Augustus Gloop from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory1, as well as pushing myself into uncomfortable places fitness-wise for the first time in, um, 8 years or more? Granted, that doesn’t take much these days, but like they say, “If you’re gonna shit bricks, you might as well build a house.”2

What I THINK I’m trying to say is that if I’m going to take the time to Zwift, I might as well exert some deeply suppressed and long-forgotten “give a fucks.”3

After three days of looking at the screen, I have finally admitted to myself that this is probably as good as this shitty post is going to get, so publish away; ain’t nothing better going to happen today but a 3-mile lumber on the Dreadmill™ as we enter our sixth straight day of ISO 6400 darkness. 


  1. Charlie and The Chocolate Factory for the younger movie watchers, literary types, and obsessed Roald Dahl super-fanatics who are probably also role-playing swingers or very, very single.
  2. I fully admit that I made that “saying” up, and I’m not sure that I could explain its meaning properly without additional help from some friendly local intoxicants of various makes, models, and natures. I digress.
  3. Hmm, I guess I had enough of those “friendly local intoxicants.”

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