...skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid. God how good was it when Chevy Chase was funny?
Anyhow, I was thinking about it, and I really like crits. Not all crits. Reston? Awesome. Crystal City? Pretty darn good. Some sucked. There's one in a featureless dirty parking lot in the middle of who knows where, in which my inaugural appearance will be my last. Crits are good when the course has interesting terrain and turns, rewards good bike handling, offers the chance to transit up and down the pack and has big screaming crowds. The crowds at Reston, plus Joe Jefferson screaming on every one of the first 1o or so laps that I was the guy who needed to get it together or get dropped off, made the difference for me getting it together that race. I didn't even do well - mid teens or so, but man was it fun. There has to be some pucker factor. The big lefthand sweeper at Reston certainly provides, as did turn 1 at Crystal City. I actually hit the curb guard on that turn at Crystal City, but made the turn. That had some pucker, all right. The crit at PA Dutch was all right, if a bit featureless. It was fun riding to keep a team mate on the podium, and I actually think we rode it right and acheived that end. Tour of Christiana crit was a great course, I just had a hideous day there, but huge and enthusiastic crowds.
So imagine my delight to hear that the Reston race and the Poolesville race are supposed to be on the same weekend, and by some magical stroke of fortune I actually planned the weekend right when I set up my training plan.
The Rock Racing dude is taking a lot of heat for talking smack, but I'm kind of a fan. I'm a bigger fan of Horner (how can you not like guys whose pain face is a smile?) than of Ball, but I can get on board with what he's doing. If everyone says what the script tells them to, it's a boring, boring world. Personally I don't think the "win or you're fired" thing is a directive to dope. I have to "win" (versus budget, schedule and safety) in order to keep my job. Plus, the team has really freaking cool kits.
Last night, I officially saw upper body muscle development. It's a good thing too, because I had this totally destroyer 2.5 hour workout that I didn't want to do, would much rather have taken a nap, but I fought through it. Then, today, I fought through a tin of Danish butter cookies. It was really time to nut up, and boy, did I ever.
All right then.
Oh yeah, baseball. Didn't see that one coming. What will they tell me next? That 300 pound linemen whose physiques make HeMan cartoons look like a thumb sucking pussy are on the sauce, too? Nah!