At least not overtrained

With the Paranormal looming, might as well crank this one up again real loud; 'Tis the season.

 If YouTube were a cassette player, it would have eaten my Macklemore tape from overuse long, long ago.


I'm pretty psyched.  Costume ideas galore.

Get your ass registered.

Before the Paranormal though, there's a wee 100 mile bike race over in Stokesville to attend, make merry, and potentially vomit amid.  Big John in Richmond opted to withdraw from said vomiting, so I picked his entry up off waivers, and let me tell you I am ecstatic to go leave my mark on the hundo - that mark being a significant amount of exercise-induced diarrhea at the top of Mt. Hank.  In exchange for his entry, which he waived my way for free, I promised him I would get around that loop in either sub 9 hours, or 13 plus.  Nothing in between.  Good friends are hard to find.

In terms of cram training, I've been relying on the C-ham school of thought which places very little emphasis on rest or overall health and simply crams as many miles into a month as possible.  It might not be what your coach would prescribe, but at least I'll get to enjoy an awesomely long Sunday jaunt this weekend instead of tapering, whatever that is.  Ditto that for tonight's full moon night ride, to commence roundabout 6 PM.  Could get ugly.

I do have to hearken back, for a moment, to some of my past endeavors in this area.
It might occur to the run-of-the-mill mathematically conscious person: a hundred miles is a long, long way when you're lying on your handlebars, crawling along at 0.5 mph.  But that's September Dave's problem, not mine.  And what do I care about that guy anyway.  He sucks, and he whines a lot.

You know what I like?  Guys who do a big race off-form and say they're using it as training for their next big race.  I'd use that as an excuse for my gigantic upcoming SM100 bonk, but then when I still bonk at the Paranormal, 7 or so weeks later, it would be obvious that I just plain suck.  So I'll go with that.

This message will self-destruct in 60 miles.
Get in the holes, fellow crampers, and arm yourselves to the very teeth.

Wait for my signal.

Up, up, up.