As The Lad showed considerable improvement (thank you, miraculous antibiotics), I hopped on the trainer for 90 minutes of maintainence this afternoon. The trainer was in the bedroom, where there's no TV, so I bounced around on the radio, listening to some Prairie Home Companion; an interview with that blowhard Mike Barnicle on the "progressive" talk station in town; and the beer talk show that mercifully takes the place of a wing-nut on one of the many wing-nut stations. It was all pretty damn boring until I remembered My Wildflower is coming up next week and I got excited about planning for that.
Newcomers and frequently stoned readers might need to be reminded that My Wildflower is not the Wildflower; I rejected the idea of spending so much money, time and effort to get down to the Central Coast for the race—no, this has nothing to do with the fact that Wildflower kicked my ass in '04—and am instead staging a personal half-iron distance triathlon. I had planned to do it next Saturday, the very day the masses will be hitting it hard down south. But Saturday is opening day of the Hollywood Farmers' Market, Hollywood being the neighborhood adjoining my North Tabor 'hood, and a walk to the market on Saturday being one of those things that makes life here good. So I'm doing My Wildflower on Friday, assuming good weather. This highlights the true beauty of My Wildflower, an even more appealing aspect than the race fee of $0.00: the race director is totally flexible. (He's also a little scattered, and won't have race maps and course profiles available for a few more days. But he knows you'll come back.)
No comments:
Post a Comment