Today I’m not even going to pretend to talk about cycling, I am gonna straight up waste your time talking about music, actually a musician. In particular Mr. Noel Gallagher. Yeah Noel, the talented one from Oasis, the older brother to nut job Liam. I dig him and here’s why, starting from the beginning…
Sorry to get personal here, but I figured since I mentioned my new modest and hopefully attainable 2014 resolutions the other day, I would follow-up on Last year’s laundry list of resolutions:
Today I am jumping the gun on 2014 and sharing my New Year’s resolutions. Actually these are more like “life resolutions.” No, I am not going to say I won’t drink beer, swear, look at boobs (or butts) not belonging to Wifey or anything else so wildly over the top and drastic as that. Basically I am going to attempt to do two–somewhat attainable–things every day for the rest of my life (which I give another two years, tops):
Today was another day on planet Hoth (AKA Michigan). Wind swept frozen snow and ice now covers everything and probably will until June. As per my standard operating procedure, I did not ride outside but did go to the gym for my cardio and strength training. It was pretty uneventful other than seeing one of the many characters I have come to encounter (or make up in my mind based on their appearance alone) each visit… today it was the Lesbian Mafioso.
Who is she? Hell, I don’t know, what I do know is that I spent my first few visits assuming she was a 50-year-old man. I’m not trying to be a dick or rude, I just thought she was a dude with a mullet and a track suit. Turns out he’s a woman, and from what I can tell, based on recently seeing her at the grocery store with her kids, NOT a lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that). I also have my doubts that she’s in the Mafia but if you don’t want to be stereotyped as such, don’t drive a Cadillac and wear track suits while looking like a high school gym teacher circa 1989. How do I creepily know so much about her? Easy, she pulled into the gym parking lot the same time I did one day driving a Cadillac and she always wears track suits.
All this makes me sound like I am nebby, prejudice, judgemental and homophobic doesn’t it? I swear, all this is in jest, not to mention if you would see her, you too would think that she’s a lesbian Good Fella. OK, forget all that, I am grasping at straws for something to write about. I guess I could talk about my past history of not doing stuff or not doing enough to make me a better bike rider or racer? OK, I will…
The trainer; instrument of physical and mental torture to some, hated by many. Me? I’m OK with it.
A cold and blustery, grey Monday morning had me returning to the gym for an hour and a half sweat-fest. Believe me, my workouts are no big deal and I have nothing to write about, so I thought I would share one of the random conversations I so often find myself drawn into. Today’s just happened to take place in the locker room of my gym (Maury Ballstein’s) with two random naked Silver Sneakers.
With that, I present to you…
I made this up in less than 10 minutes after the gym today. Some chicken or beef in it would have been nice, but for a quick lunch it was pretty OK. Then again, after last night’s meatloaf binge and 2 a.m. case of the meat sweats, I was just fine with meatless version. Who knew you could excrete ground beef and pork through your pores???
I wouldn’t say that I have anything against Lance Armstrong (except the lying, cheating, megalomania, sociopathy and making me feel like a Goddamn fool for all those years I supported him and his teams as they doped themselves to the gills to win bike races). And I wouldn’t dare to say that Lance does–or ever has–smoked grass, done mescaline, high powered blotter acid, cocaine, or a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, raw ether or amyls.
But I do think that he obviously got locked into a serious drug collection and had the tendency is to push it as far as he could. Only his drug collection had more to do with EPO and the like rather than Hunter S. Thompson’s laundry list of illegal, mild to hardcore and dangerous, recreational drugs.
In between my days at the gym I have been trying to get out and enjoy the dirt before the snow flies. As you can see from the ground in the pic above, it has been flying here and there but it has a long way to go before it causes any worry or would make me think about maybe regretting not purchasing a fat bike.
