Tuesday, March 13, 2012


Ohill, kids.  It's all happening. 
Like most races on the right hand coast in the spring, there's a race-before-the-race to see just how long you can hold out before actually signing up, make sure you don't get your pretty bike rained on and what not. And right now, I am tied for first in that category, a full day up on Catlett and as much as a week up on new fast guy around the shop, Drew Atkins.  Come get me. 

Of course, that's about the only race I stand a shot at winning.  And probably not even that, as soon I'll become too giddy to wait any longer, shimmy my credit card out of my thinning wallet, and put my money where my mouth most certainly isn't. 

Like most years, a race like OHill on a hill like OHill as early as OHill happens pretty much makes me a lock to cramp up and wail.  In years past, I had lofty goals for this thing, such as a podium finish, a top 10, etc, which, over time, have been scaled back year over year to a humble dream that, last year, I might just limp around the thing 3 times without cramping.  I failed.  So this year, I've made a real effort to set the bar at a healthy, low level, and I've put a goal in place that I feel I can manage:
Goal:  Use an excuse I've never used before. 
And, believe me, I've used some great ones to justify my mediocrity. 

In my training this week, I've been experimenting with a few that I'll try on for size here, see how it shakes out in the private publicity in this, the near-bottom of the Internet. 

#1:  Puke gummed up my rotors. 
This, I think, has probably been done before somewhere.  But not by me.  So I've been experimenting with anaerobic intervals and various food combinations this week to try to make this little dream a reality.  Meatloaf and 7-up.  PBR and Doritos.  You get the idea.  On paper, this looks easy, but I can assure you that the reality of such a thing is much harder to attain that you might think, not just self induced vomit, but self induced vomit of the sort of consistency that can jam a disc brake.  This is especially tough for someone as lazy and non-anaerobically inclined as myself.  So far, I'm batting .000.  But there's still time. 

#2:  Coach has us on a training program to peak for the Olympics mid summer. 
Not bad as far as excuses go.  But, at the start line when my chubby thighs starts leaking out from under my bibs, it will become grossly obvious that this excuse lacks various realities such as a Coach, a training program, a program of any sort for that matter, aspirations of Olympic grandeur, any sort of "us" relationship between me and my non-existent coach, and the notion of any peak besides Flattop mountain. 

Because you can never have too many pictures of Toph's luscious (yet remarkably firm) ass. 
#3 It's not that I was slow, but more than everyone else was really fast. 
Though technically an excuse I've used before, it's actually becoming a sort of reality.  Dudes are just plain fast these days.  But no, I am pretty slow. 

#4  It shocked me how steep the powerline was. 
A lame excuse, but possibly a lamer pun.  Next.

#5 I'm more of a road guy these days anyway. 
Decent, tried and true, but completely not accurate.  My road bike has more dust on it than Kansas.  But, for those in the masochistic know, Tuesday Worlds starts today, rolling at 6 PM from Earallysville in fine, 75 degree fashion. 

Anyway, I'll try to zero in on a proper excuse by Sunday, so that when passers-on-my-left ask if I'm OK, or if I need a tool, or why I'm pooping over there at a time like this, I'll have something that'll make them think "wow, that's unlucky" and forget about it quickly. 

Standing offer, however, for team members:  if you want to camp out Saturday night here at the Rancho Paranormarelaxo, you are welcome.  Facilities offered for such a camping trip:  Zero.  But you can grab yourself a Paranormal preview lap, and a quiet place to lay your head until Sunday, Sunday, Sunday. 

Ohill, gets four of em. 
Up, up, up.

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