Kid just loves him some cows (komos) wrote,
Kid just loves him some cows

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Street Spirit

I spent my weekend acting on widely conflicting impulses.

On the plus side, I started riding again. I probably managed to log 25-30 miles on Saturday (into town via Harvard Sq.) and Sunday (on the bike path out to Lexington). I was feeling a tad weak on the second ride, so today I let discretion be the better part of valor and didn't ride at all. It felt good and strangely natural in spite of my long hiatus. Even though I've gotten slow, I can still handle the bike pretty well and seem to have retained at least some of my mountain goat endurance.

Now the bad news... Seems that old habits are going to die hard. I had hoped that I could clean some more this weekend and otherwise be productive, but I got sucked into the worlds created by my magic box again. CivIII demanded far too much of my time over the weekend and this in spite of my increasing frustration with the game. (I have a kind of "why can't we be friends" approach because I'm far more interested in building magnificent cities than in global conquest. I generally end up being overrun by the impossibly large Chinese armies in the late Middle Ages.) Short story, then, is that when I wasn't on the bike, I was home being sedentary and snacking too much.

Went out Natick today to catch the runners with Ron and Sandy. Spent most of my time out there cheering on the folks with BC shirts on. Somehow, cheering for them seemed to make more sense than just shouting out the random names sported on people's arms and shirts. Yeah, I know it helps, but Ron's nephew was there taking care of that detail, and he was loud enough for all of us. By day's end, he was hoarse, I was not.

Near the tail end of my ride on Sunday, some folks in an SUV slowed down outside of W. Medford Square so the woman in the passenger seat could shout out "Nice ass!" before they sped away. First reaction (and these are often the truest) was to think that they might as well have clubbed me in the head with a baseball bat. People never cease to amaze me with their utter insensitivity and selfishness.

News flash, and this may be somewhat shocking, but I know I'm not in great shape. I also have a sense that because of that, I probably look more absurd than most riding in my 'space alien suit.' It's a hazard I suffer in the name of some small bit comfort. A comfortable ride is not only a longer ride, but also motivation to repeat the experience. I'm really sorry if somehow this offends your sensibilities (which I'm assuming are akin to "people with more than 5% body-fat should NEVER wear spandex"), but I could give a rat's arse over what you're thinking. It's not for you. I'm not out to impress you or entertain you. Riding is for me.

So yeah, I'm overweight and out of shape. At least I'm doing something about it.

I remembered this group of young women who joined Hal's marathon ride three (or was it four?) years back. They were absolutely fabulous, splendiferous characters with all the right gear but next to no road experience. You see, they felt that a 56.2 mile ride would be a cinch because they were so fit after all of their spinning classes (their words, not mine). Most of them didn't finish. One bonked before she got to Wellesley and then filed a formal complaint at the Y about Hal's "Ride of Death." Really, they just didn't have it in them, and it was a brutal reminder that sometimes pretty doesn't mean a thing.

We tend to forget that because there's very little to test us. Most spend their lives killing time and buying into the WB's vision of what the world should be... which lately has appeared to be young, flawless, and sporting a fetching pout that represents the full range of your emotional abilities. Why? Because there's nothing that drives us to seek out substance and function instead of form and flash. All value is based on pleasure,and it's such a waste.

We're living in the late Roman Empire... with better communications.

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