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Showing posts from February, 2010

Poker Face

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I lived through the bad week I wrote about here.

Not surprisingly, the stress of the week allowed a little "wee-beasty" to take refuge in my nose/sinus and caused a nasty little cold.

I let the fever cook for a few days and I finally felt better yesterday. I have not worked out at all for 1 week.

Tomorrow's run is a 14 miler. I'll be running to granite bay and back again. I don't know why, but running to another town sounds so, uhm, impressive.

Sunday is a ride with the Tri group along part of the Auburn Tri course.

Yesterday Hubby wrecked bad on his bike commuting to work. I had to leave work and take him to emergency. His helmet is cracked in 3 places, but i'm grateful that he is basically ok. Broken thumb, along with a hemotoma the size of a grapefruit on his leg. His bike is pretty beat up. Karma ran over his dogma. I have pics, but I'm not sure I should post them. They are really really gross. Really. If I get enough requests, I might do it though.

I dec…

New Allegations in Floyd Landis Case

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02.22.2010 | 11:40 am
A Note from Fatty: A big thanks to Dug for helping me “research” many of the allegations in this news piece.
PARIS (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) - Floyd Landis, former Tour-de-France champion and longtime sporter of scruffy facial hair, has recently found himself facing a France-based arrest warrant for hacking into the French anti-doping agency AFLD.
Pierre Bordry, head of the AFLD, asserts that “Landis, under cover of the night, wearing black cycling tights and black long-sleeved cycling jersey, snuck into our lab, where — using the mad computer skills he developed in the Computer Hacking Class he took at the local Mennonite Technical College — he proceeded to download all of our most sensitive data, and uploaded all kinds of malware and trojan horses and tasteless, photoshopped images of Thomas Voeckler.”
“Quite clearly, this was Landis’ work,” continued Bordry. “As evidenced by the way he wrote “Floyd wuz here” and “Metallica ROOLZ” on a whiteboard near the c…

Things that make you go "HMMMmmm"

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This post will have quite a few bad words, explatives, and me pondering the ontological mystery that is "LIFE". This post may be considered a "bitchfest". Consider yourself warned.

The last few days have been a shitstorm of crap.
Last week went well. Did all my workouts--didn't even skip one. Was good on my paces for speed work. After what seemed like a million weekends of rainy weather, the NWS promised blue skies and sunny 70-degree weather--and it was a 3-day weekend! All should have been well.

But--oh, it was about to get bad.

I started saturday with a ride with my tri group. Ride was supposed to be 40-50 miles and cover the first 1/3 of the Auburn Triathlon course. Perfect. Just what I have been wanting to do.

I got to the starting point, unloaded the bike, got geared up and said the usual pleasantries to the other group members. All was awesome. Perhaps bulleted points might be the best way to describe the events of the next hour.


Realized that although I l…

Friday Five Ten

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Friday Five Ten


Decided to forgo the Super Bowl run in order to ride 60 miles on my bike. Sunday was the only sunny day available to ride in more than a week so I had to RIDE. Running was optional so I blew off the race. Not a good start to the 2010 race season but the weather has been so bad, I have to take the riding days when I can.

Apparently I was moved from the “A group” (aka slowest) to the “B Group” in my FIT training weeks ago. I just never got the email from my trainer. I was feeling really good about “blowing away” the 76 year old man and the 55 year old woman in the A group during our intervals. B group is full of 30-something women who are ass kickers in their age group. The kind of women who yell, “Go Girl GO!” as they pass you sprinting around the track. Now, I’m scared.

I watched “The Soloist” last night on HBO and it made me cry. Such a good story, but also so very very sad. I tried hard to hold back the tears but it was no use. Then hubby came into the bedroom with his …

Seeds of Triathlon

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When I was a kid, my parents would whisk the whole family off for summer vacations to their ancestral homeland—India. The culture shock of going from Northern California –McDonald’s, Datsun pickups, stoplights and lane lines to India—land of home-cooked meals, Fiats, and no discernable traffic laws boggled my mind.

Every two years my parents packed us up and we headed on the whirl-wind trip through Japan, Thailand and onto New Delhi. From New Delhi, we usually took a 13 hour drive by taxi to my grandparent’s house. We alternated between one set of grandparents and the other every couple of weeks. We went to the Bazaar by a bicycle-pulled rickshaw. The Rickshaw ‘driver’ (I don’t’ know why he was called a driver, as he was usually pulling 6 people—not driving) was often a skinny guy with tiny ankles straining to pull us up a hill toward the bazaar. We, as the landed gentry sat back and spoke haughtily about how much we spent on this-or-that, while gazing downward at all the proletariat…