creepyfriendly

Rapid eye movement.

Waking is easy. Easier than sleeping. Some count sheep, others take prescription meds, some just pass out. I break the day down until I doze into the NREM where activities from the prior hours are forced through the significance filter. By REM I'm ready to observe. Observe the influence that my last waking stint had.

Lately my influences have been mixed. Plenty of motivation but a disconnect between my body and mind. I cancelled a long time knee injury out with the fact Amanda that ran her first half marathon in personal record time. How can she run a PR if it was her first time? Better yet how did she run a half Marathon? To the average reader these things could be a given. When I met Amanda I was running a lot. Not just running for fitness but closing my collegiate career as a distance runner. On my run home from practice I would swing by her place just to tease her and her roommates with my short shorts. A porch full of non-athlete females and a sweaty half naked guy standing on the sidewalk made for some entertaining conversation not to mention more fuel to their anti runner fire. It's been inspirational to watch Amanda grow into the goals she set and even more astonishing to witness her reach them.

With the division of my time focused on pixels, pedaling, and poaching we not only fit Amanda's race in but also a wedding. Yes, in the same day. This feat was performed flawlessly by Amanda even after her radical run and working guest book duties. Since the wedding was in Milwaukee we hooked up with the youngest bro James who was a champ chauffeur even at 3AM in the taco bell drive thru. 

"I suck at riding geared bikes." 

After a long week of not feeling 100%, bunk knee, and 50hrs of wrenching I was ready to spin the wheels. Falling off the wagon was all I needed to get back on track. I've taken the proper precautions and ramped up my sweet stretching in order to clean the fatigue while Marko set me straight at a medium pace. 12hrs in three days has left my legs in the blender. I'm going to WOR a boy, hoping to return a man...

PSA.

"We're all human."

L squared.

Pain.

Pain is a pebble in my slip on, a bee sting on my lip, or a refurbished saddle sore. Pain is a death in the family, a hang nail, or a flat tire sixty miles out. Pain comes in a handful of forms. This pain comes in the form of wheels, a numb taint, bloody palms, legs twitching, and a charred throat. This pain stems from myself and it's only the beginning. WORS #2

The pain train: Me, Ben, Tristan, and Marko followed by the rest. Colorado heartbreaker.

Ample weekend.

R&D.

Resume bike pratice.

"You must have done some bad things to birds in a past life." These words from the mouth of T-da appear to hold more verity than one would think. If you recall my experience last year then you would understand my hesitancy towards our feathered friends.

As we contorted through the opening trail into the opening you could hear the belt of a sand hill crane. A pair of wings dispersed upward as we neared the clamor. I lead the train of T-da and Marko when suddenly we were brake checked by a five foot wing span. I was deafened by the obnoxious racket as I dismounted and used my bike as a shield. The motherly instincts morphed into a fiery of attacks which forced my ass into the fresh morning dew. Flashbacks of the DSG jousting matches entered my being as I fended the massive bird off me by force of bike. It appeared to work as my chainring did the damage. I wasn't out for blood but for a brief moment I was in fear of my own safety. My defensiveness proved to work as a second crane landed and mother crane backed off. Shortly after, the rationale for the attack was revealed as a fuzzy new born hopped through the grass.

10 miles down trail we intersected with the rest of the TBS boys who were gearing up for the connector trail. T-da did his best to recreate our encounter but without justice as AOM threw the obligatory "no way." We continued on at a medium pace for the next fifteen miles which left us moderately winded. We weren't the only ones playing hooky as we intersected WORS friends Jerry and Jeremy at the trail head. "You boys wanna rip off a lap." And we're off...

The Garmin doesn't lie, 51.4 miles of single track.

Sweet tooth.

I'm sure you acquire it at a young age. Turning down a jolly rancher would be obscene or at least down right derangement. The truth is I'll eat anything "sweets" and have the nerve to eat yours. Whether it's frequenting the local Walgreens or passing a sale pyramid at Target I have my eyes on the prize. While I get by on the gummies my passion falls within the hard candies. Gob-stoppers to be exact. Yeah, Wonka... now there's a guy I'd love to meet.

Colorless.

Days blend as the pieces fall together. My body and mind have resorted to cat and mouse games while the pedaling becomes thirsty. Round two of the hand printed, hand stamped and signed pedal pirates graphic looks boss along with a bevy of other fun stuff that you'll be aware of shortly. The Gary Fisher event was spectacular and drew in an array of fine folks which included many close friends. Thank you to the Trek bicycle stores of Madison and the BFW for a killer evening.

5.7

Wet dirt forced us to the pave where we treated our hybrids like tour ready vehicles. Braaaap!

The Fish is in town this Friday, click to hear it straight from the AOMtrain.