Did you fart?

No, but I did.
No . . . . I didn't fart.
I was only joking.
I do fart, sometimes. But I didn't at the time I was wearing the mask or took the picture.
I am actually experimenting with different training methods.

Don't tell anyone that I fart. Okay? I've got a rep to protect.


Who's got the kind of money to buy, rent or go to a place to use an altitude training mask? Not me. But then again, I also don't have world cup colours on any of my jerseys.

Another option is the altitude training tent . . . pffft. I can't even afford tent pegs, let alone a tent.

So next time that Danny Devito floats an air biscuit, or you want some faux altitude training shots, get your mask on.

I'm in my basement, is that still altitude training? Maybe I should move the bike and trainer to the roof - that'd be better, eh?

A sad day to remember

I miss my Jackie-boy.

One year ago yesterday . . . . it was a quiet day at home Sunday remembering Jacks. We took The Peanut for a walk at Jackie-boy's favourite walking trails this morning, but it just wasn't the same without him.

Mash Potatoes

I've been in a mental funk for the past month or so - perhaps you've noticed? The blog has been lacking lately, don't think I haven't noticed. Seems I've been clawing and digging at things to write about. It'd probably help if I actually did stuff . . .

The past three or so months of being away, training for my new career, out of routine, diet messed up, gained some hefty weight, not exercising (at least not in a cardiovascular kind of way) regularly, blah, blah, blah - really messed me up. I'd have to say that I'm in the worse cardio fitness shape that I've been in since the summer of 2001. Being conscious of all that junk really beats me up and I've struggled to "get going" again.

Thankfully I've managed to force myself to climb on the trainer the past couple of days. Seemed to have stoked the motivation fire inside somewhat, as today I finally got out for me first skate ski of the season - a short one, but a ski nonetheless - and on New Years day.

What helps is having friends to help my arse out the door and back into some sort of fitness routine.

Giles (as in 'miles') and Curvy Butt waiting for my fat, yet soon to be slimmer, ass.

Melissa giving her new skate skis a workout.

Very tempting to lie down like a quivering mass of out of shape jello (is jello ever in shape . . . am I?!)

'Twasn't that cold out and the snow was actually pretty fast considering it was new and deep.

Someone mentioned that it was like skiing in mash potatoes - lumpy, thick mash potatoes.

However, it was totally ungroomed . . . despite what the Gatineau Park XC Ski Conditions page says.

Only a few of the aprox. 200 km of xc ski trails in Gatineau Park.

*Supposedly* Demsis (who I like to call Demise - as in failure) had groomed before 8 am. Bullpucky.

These eyes . . . . these cynical eyes.

I've bought a season pass for the past two years after Demsis took over from Lafleur and it's been two years of sub par grooming. Phooey. Shame really, in my faulted opinion, things have really gone down hill in the grooming department. But what can you expect from a company who can't even get a web page up and running or be accurate with what they've groomed and haven't?!

From Steve, Shirley and myself . . .

Happy New Year from Steve, Shirley and myself.

I've failed on meeting my *goal* of getting one third the following that there is over at Bad Idea Racing. Great failure. Being three thirds the size of Dicky, I figured I could at least scrounge up one third of the number of followers. I needed 2.7333333 more followers. Fail. Perhaps it's because I'm not an established writer, famous celebrity, not a very good driver of bicycles, that witty or sharp with the typing of words on the blog-o-sphere . . . whatever it is, I fail.
That means my self-esteem and sense of self worth, which by the way I hold you responsible for, will be in the shitter for the beginning of 2010. Until I can fabricate a few false identities to add to my list of followers, thus artificially filling the hole in my ego, I'm going taking a step off the ledge and plummeting into a big bag of Doritos to take away the pain of suckiness.
Thanks fuggers & happy new year.

*Goal* - pfffft . . . lose weight, get faster, win races . . . . pffffft. Those aren't goals, those are unrealistic. My only true success comes from gaining a false sense of self worth by way of having people I don't know read the blog. Makes sense. Meh.

Dracula saved me from riding my bike on the trainer

After yesterday's training ride I was all tuckered out and looking for excuses not to ride. Found a good one - go donate blood. I know that after you give blood they tell you not to do anything strenuous for at least five hours after donating . . . perfect, my arse was still sore anyway.

Actually, I was planning on donating tonight anyway - so happens that it got me out of a workout. Goodie for me!

I've got an ink session with Julie this Saturday which means that I won't be able to donate for six months (them the rules if you get a tattoo), so I wanted to get another donation in before then. Did you know that you can donate every 56 days? You can, and you should.

It's easy for me as the Canadian Blood Services central Ottawa office and clinic is just around the corner in my neighbourhood. I've been donating regularly since I was in university with a few breaks in-between the years when I've gotten tattoo work done.

Takes me less than an hour to go through the whole process - getting signed in, reading through the questions, preparation stuff, donating (which is the quickest part), rest and goodies.

I'm actually using donating as part of my training - that bag of blood must weigh close to a half a pound?! Wicked. How many ways can you drop that much weight in under an hour?!?
However, I probably eat a half pound of goodies afterwards.

Did you know:

• One donation can save three lives.
• That your blood type says a lot about you (got to know your blood type).
• Best question they ask: "Have you handled monkeys or monkey feces in the past ten years?" Oh, the fun you could have answering that one.
  
• The needle doesn't hurt . . . . really, it doesn't.
• Nurses are friendly and funny.
• And the best part . . . you can eat as many cookies, donuts, granola bars, sweets and juice as you like when you're done! Guilt free! Whoot!

Back on

Despite being twenty-two days behind my scheduled goal for being on the bike, I'm almost a week and a half earlier than last year. Whoot!
However, I am much more behind the eight ball in terms of overall fitness (there isn't any) and weight (there's too much).

My first trainer ride of the 'training season'.
Was hoping to squeeze out an hour, but my arse could only handle 49 minutes or so before it crapped out (not literally). Only been on the bike a handful of times since September, so all my callouses on my nether-regions are pretty much gone.



'Tis the season to be fat and slow and back on the trainer.

Merry Christmas

** no blog for the next couple of days - and you shouldn't be sitting in front of a computer anyway!
Go spend time with your family or get outside you big loser.**

Farty McSpends-Alot

Don't do it.
I refuse to do it this year.
Refuse.
If my family already doesn't know that I love them due to all the time away I spend from them, well, there's no point in spending dollars I don't have.
Rose peddles and sonnets say enough and I don't have to worry about sizes or colours and shopping at The Gap.
My present to my family, especially my wife, may be just sitting down and playing a board game or cards - she loves that kind of stuff . . . I hate it.
I hope she doesn't read this.

** Thanks to the VV, I am now only 2.666666 "Followers" away from my goal of one-third of Bad Idea Racing followers.

Accessorize

A new jewel to add to the bike. I may be a bit behind on this piece of news - just saw it.
Me likey long time.

**Note: ten more days to make my goal of one-third the followers that Dicky has got (equaling 3.66666 more followers). My self-esteem is in the basement this past month, so what better way to drag me out of the depths of self-pity.
Tell your friends!**

I hate this time of year

I'm not doing it . . . whatever "it" is, I'm not doing it.

Caption this

I lied

I lied about not doing anything on the weekend. I got my waxing bench and a couple pairs of skis waxed. All that's missing is the motivation.

Santa Baby - I'm accepting presents

I don't 'need' anything for Christmas. I actually don't really 'want' anything either.
It's a nice feeling just to be happy (and pretty blessed) with what I've got.

Before you go nominating me for being the "Best'est Sensitive New Age Husband/Father of the Year", keep in mind that for the past three or so months I've been out of touch with the cycling world and out of touch with the latest and greatest tid bits and shinny parts.

However, if anyone in the blog-o-sphere wanted to pick me up something as a little sum-thing, sum-thing for being such a good little blogger all year long, they could get me this:
Despite rumors that I use a speech-to-text software program to do my blog each day, I am in fact literate. It takes me about a day to read a full page due to being a slow reader, partly cixelsyd and have the attention span of a retarded fruit fly, but I do enjoy reading.

Also equally acceptable and very much enjoyable presents that you can buy for me:

'Tis the season for buying me stuff.

That's what I did this weekend.
Nothing.
Take it all in.

B4H

A bike CAN change a life . . . .

Clean

There's a garden gnome in my shorts

Cleaning out my old bike clothing and sorting through some shit to pack away for the winter I decided to toss out some worn out bib shorts.

Peek-a-boo.
I see you from this bum hole-ee-O.

An alternative to clogging up our landfills with unsightly garbage and if you're looking for some OBR memorabilia, send me an e-mail and I'll send you a pair of well worn, slightly stinky, skid-marked and hole-ee bib shorts.

Who needs Mike Piazza barking orders at you and acting as a personal manager, when you can have a whacked out Christmas garden gnome. Despite being two thirds the size of Richard, I can only seem to muster up one third the following. That disproportionate sized head of his, which sits on top of his bird-like bony shoulders, sure can type up some gooder English than me can.

In my attempt to gain a larger number of stalkers and ego inflators, I figure if I do what Dicky does and get I should be able to get at least one third of the number of his total (83 at last count, but could be higher by the time you read this as they seem to multiply faster than rabbits in heat), and at last count I had calculated that total to be 26.666666 followers. Since then we both increased one our heard by one, which now means I need 27.3333333 cult like followers by then end of the year to meet my goal.

Remember, my goal not only increases my readership following, it boosts my sense of self worth and self-esteem . . . . two things this world needs more of.

Act now and become a follower and I will send you not one, but two pairs of hole-ee bib shorts originally worn by me, the original big ring, as a free present (aren't all presents free?) for subscribing.

Pandora was a beeatch

Pandora's Box?

Pandora's Box - "unleashed many terrible things on mankind – ills, toils and sickness – and burdensome labor that mankind had not known previously, escaped from the box, but it is said, that at the very bottom of her box, there lay hope."
Ills? Toils? Sickness? Burdensome labour that mankind had not previously known?!?
WTF?

Alas, there is hope . . . . at the very bottom of her box . . . . the very bottom. Question is, how long will it take to get to the bottom of that box? My guess all winter sitting on my trainer - one must get on the bike first in order of finding any kind of hope at the bottom of any boxes.

Pop Up: actually, Pandora's Box was not a box at all, but was rather a jar or vessel (didn't know you could learn valuable, & at the same time utterly useless, pieces of information here did you?)

Uggggggg . . . . shudder.

Ewwwwwwwwww . . . .

'Tis the season for getting unfat.

Remember kids - save yourself some cash and skip buying one of these when you can use the Yellow Pages for free.

Cleaning house

The brownies were from Friday. The Lebanese schawarma platter was from Sunday night. Honest. It was my last delicious, tasty, high calorie, best'est meal ever before my "cleanse".
Did you see the movie Super Size Me? Who didn't?! And if you didn't you should - you'll never want to eat McDonald's again. I don't eat fast food as it is. I eat food fast, but not fast food. I eat a lot of food, but not the fast variety. The main dude's (Morgan) wife apparently wrote a book after the movie was made about detoxing and shit.
After three months away eating collegiate cafeteria style food, I feel like a big fat pig-o. So, in an effort at regaining some of the fat-battleground lost over the last ninety or so days, I'm attempting a shortened version of The Great American Diet.

Jamieson does a noble job of spelling out the detrimental effects on the body of sugar, caffeine, and an overload of fat, carbs, and protein, all of which are present in your typical fast-food meal, let alone a "super-sized" one. (Spurlock's diet included a repulsive 30 pounds of added sugar and added sweeteners over the course of the month.)[p22] Those horrified by Fast-Food Nation will find familiar territory here, but will also receive constructive advice on how to alter one's diet for the better. Jamieson also spurns wheat, corn, and dairy products [WTF?!?] citing them as potential allergens (interestingly, she points out they're all heavily subsidized by the government), and she recommends viable sugar and caffeine substitutes [No coffee?!?! WTF!?!?] . Nearly 90 recipes round out her treatise on healthy eating, and although some are not unusual (revamped versions of Guacamole, for example, and Oatmeal Raisin Cookies), a few others like Miso Tofu Cheese Spread will be a bit of an acquired taste for those so accustomed to burgers and fries.

Sounds like a lot of fun . . . . . . . . . . fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggg. I guess I'm going to find out what the Vegan Vagabond eats on a daily basis. Blah.

*Tomorrow find out what other house cleaning I did this weekend - weeeeeeeeeeee!

**Late edit: I had a dentist appointment this afternoon and was speaking to the receptionist there telling her of my plans for this diet. She said that she saw a show once, on some channel, with some people speaking about something, that proved that detox diets didn't really do a lot for you and your body has it's own way of getting rid of all the crud in our systems. Sounds good enough for me. I'm off the diet.

**late edit part two: as of 7pm this evening (that's redundant saying it's evening after typing 'PM') life without getting on the trainer goes on. I'm not surprised that I'm not on the bike. In the back of my head I told myself that I was too tired and had way too much stuff to do after getting home. Meh. Mah. Bleh. Blah.

Done. Fat. Change.

Goodbye books, desk and ittsy bittsy suck ass dorm room.

Done . . . . at least the hard part: studying, testing, qualifying, quizes, tests, exams, total immersion. Being away from wifey and The Peanut, being away from home, being away from the bikes, being away from friends, entirely missing all of Fall (my most favourite time of year to ride), losing any sort of cycling fitness that I had, getting fatter, blah, blah, blah . . . . all that matters now is that I am home. Hoooooray!

Pffffft . . . yeah, I see the alternative healthy snack behind it. Bite me.
It'd make a good painting or something.

A couple days to put the feet up and sleep in Bobcaygeon after a busy week of exams and graduation and traveling. Also meant a couple days of eating. My lovely mother-in-law, Jeannie Beannie, made me a big pan of brownies. I usually fight with her not to do it as I am watching the love handles and extra girth, but I fought no fight this time.

Yes, I ate the whole thing (all except two - apparently it's nice to share. meh.) - was there any doubt?!?

Now it's back to reality, back to settling in to some sort of routine and getting my sweat on - which if you were a keen follower (and had your photo over on the side bar as a dedicated reader -----------> ), you might remember me saying a while back that my training schedule is/was supposed to start Monday. Will it? Did it? Does it? Was it?

Boot to the head

I took a boot to the head the other day in class . . . not a rubber one, but more like this (it wasn't purdy).

My head is spinning and still hurts, hence no post. Exams Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. No time to blog-itty-blog.

Big & Fat Weight Class

Seeing how I am offically a fat fucker (*based on my relative misconception of how I should or should not look, my height vs my girth, food intake, caffine intake for the day, state of mind, lack of sleep or numerous other influences that may or may not affect me today based on my mental grounding), it looks as though it might be in my best interest to slide gently into a new cycling category - the Clydesdale Category.

I COULD work hard to get my weight down. Which WOULD mean limiting my daily caloric intake by eating watercrest, celery, skim milk, bran, and Canada's Food Guides recommended daily intake of fruits and vegetables. It WOULD also mean excercising on a regular and consistent basis. Which WOULD most definitely mean giving up The Thom Parsons(Bacon Egg & Cheese on a Boston Cream Donut)Project.

But I mean, do I really want to give up eating what I want to eat? Do I really want to give up lazing on the couch? Do I really want to have to try and fit into my cycling shorts, sit on a stationary bicycle in my basement for nearly three months doing various cycling workouts just so that I can look slightly slimmer, ride slightly faster, and place slightly higher than mediocre in a three person race where I inevitably come in third? Meh. It seems like an awful lot of work for very little pay off.



But this is apparently what I am SUPPOSED to do - is it not? Hasn't the cycling community, the racing community, my stalking fan club of interweb blog reading community, sponsorship community, at looking down their nose community expect this of me? Haven't I come to expect this of myself? I do it every year. And every year I cease to win any world titles, cease to set any records for fastest lap/most laps, cease to win any cups, cease to . . . .

. . . . wait, just realized that I am using the verb 'cease', meaning: come to an end . . . . . I never came to a beginning or ever even started to win or even won for that matter any of the above mentioned cups, races, laps, records or nothing. I couldn't even win a prize at the AntiRace and had to go on Scott's pitty generosity to get any kind of acknowledgement. I suck.

Now the question arises: will I again suck next season? And the answer is: most definitley - like the Leafs . . . lofty aspirations to begin the season, plans of a parade down Younge St. with the Stanley Cup, and at the drop of the puck - period one - game one of the season, the same answer. Suckiness.

Fashion sense rocks single speed world order

In shock and awe, I managed to snap this photo two weekends ago.

What is the world coming to? AntiRace founder dresses and rides all day in this.

Is this the beginning of ditching the baggie shorts and going to a team one piece skin suit?

Are single speeders everywhere relinquishing their tattoos, facial hair, independent micro-brewery drinking ways and piercings for shaved legs and aerodynamics?

This?

Or perhaps this is in Misfit Psycles near future?

Red Wigglers

On the way back from the AntiRace, Curvy Butt and I stopped to fill up for gas. Taking advantage of the break I decide to go to the little ring room for a pee when I see this:

WTF?

What is a "Mr Twister Jig Head"??

Japanese school girl underwear in a vending machine, but live bait in a vending machine.

Un-be-liev-able.