023: a good day for james bond

Sometimes I get caught up in the culture and the people that make cross great. The romanticism of it might start to get the best of me. This week I headed out to start some cross specific style work, all of those allusions were wiped out almost immediately as I pedaled my machine around the fatcave. At the core of cyclocross is fucking pain. It hurts, it hurts a fucking lot, and my job in the next few weeks, aside from getting down to fighting weight, is to condition myself to become as numb to that pain as I can, or the opposite come to thrive on it, because in less than 50 days, I’m gonna have a whole shit ton of master’s guys do their damnest to put me deep in the hurt locker. I will of course do my best to return the favor. I have a lot of work to do.

I would like to point out that there is no hurt locker in half priced nacho night.

just good smiles and a cheap tastey treat mid week.

got out for the no douche bag ride this morning. The pending storms had our small group on a slightly altered loop. Jan, (i)paul, Lisa Lisa, Charley and myself got a nice couple of hours basically rain free. Up our final climb to the park where we started the skies opened up on poured on us.

Two final thoughts:

1. my beard is coming along very well. At one point I shot a snot rocket that went a little wrong. I thought I got the remainder off of my face, but sadly Lisa Lisa pointed out that it was infact smeared all over my beard. Super sweet. I finally got it cleaned off. If my beard was a spiderweb, then my booger was a fly smeared all over my cheek.

2. Helping my grandmother in law pack up her place. I walk by her neighbor with a box of stuff and say hello. To which he responds, "hello hippy"

Not sure how I feel about that.

respect.

Fatmarc

"you can not grow a beard in a moment of passion."