i got tired of winning...
...so i let someone else take the glory in saturday's sprint du in jersey. i probably shouldn't have raced at all on these tired legs of mine, but i saw on the pre-reg list the woman who won the sprint du in philly last weekend, and i wanted to see how we'd stack up.
well, i learned! she beat me by 2min, which in sprint language is roughly a week. she bolted through the first 2-mile run 30sec faster than me. no prob; i know she's a better runner than me; i'll just make up time on the bike. good in theory, but my legs were not about theory. they were about – what the fuck are you doing you big stupid wombat, didn't you understand when we told you yesterday that we need more TIME to RECOVER from that LONG COURSE race you didn't even TRAIN for? fuck YOU.
so, the bike kinda blew. i could turn the pedals, but i couldn't turn 'em in anger, to employ a classic liggettism. the 3rd place woman whom i beat handily last week caught and passed me, and i thought about pulling out of the race right then & there. i've won my last 6 races. i cannot be THIRD in a local duathlon. see?? -don't let my charming exterior fool you; deep down i'm a real cunt.
i felt even more crappy when my feet hit the pavement, but i ran myself into 2nd place on the second run, and the lead woman was far enough ahead that i wasn't tempted to blow out a hamstring trying to catch her. thank god for that, and finish lines, and podium finishes on days when you should have just slept in.
second place netted me a noice trophy and $75 – sweet, eh? on the way home i blew half my winnings on a jersey fruit & vegetable stand. very vicey, i know. but you should have seen the melons and peaches and corn oh my! F calls me his little Fruit Bat. i call him my Westernised Whore.
my condolences, adam, for your countrymen mick, robbie and stewie. what a gloomy day in oz yesterday. let's hope cadel takes up the charge.
7 comments:
Sorry to see the win streak end, I suppose it always has to happen.
Mighty impressive that you made the podium, congrats.
Funny, I was in Joisey over the weekend also. I'm embarassed to admit I picked a bum melon, had to pitch the whole thing, not good.
Gotta love this time of year for peaches and berries and whatnot.
-Kath
millions of peaches
the stand i patronised had big buckets of peaches advertised as "ready to eat" (read: ripe to bursting) for $2.50. unable to do anything in moderation, i bought 2 buckets (i was flush with cash!!) and knocked off 4 peaches before i hit the De Mem Bridge. sooo good & juicy. i had to throw my white tee in the wash as soon as i got home.
peaches for me
i haven't gotten the knack of picking the right melon either. i thought it was one of those abilities conferred upon you when you become a mom, but i guess not.
Second strikes me as very good considering what you've been putting the body through of late. God Finn, seriously, I keep looking at that elevation map of yours and muttering in fear.
you keep nattering about that Map fatcat and one of these days days i may look at it myself. it will be straight to the toidy then i'm sure.
my mum has reported the course is rather like a city criterium, with lots of twisty turnies. (i was a terrible crit rider.) i think i shall keep my head in the sand for a while longer.
fingers X'd that the ankle heals quickly.
Aw, everyone gets tired out. Still, you came in second, and that's great considering the non-stop challenges for your body the past couple of weeks.
And yes, as a fruit bat myself (I bought a bag of pears and grapefruits this morning) I wholeheartedly pimp peaches.
peaches! huh. long time since I saw a good peach, all our best ones go o'seas. fish, the same. saw fish in a ... err ... fish shop from Myanmar, India, Vietnam ... the best of ours goes to Japan.
but finn you done good after the previous effort.
all Aussies in mourning, slashing of wrists widely reported.
i am reminded of a favorite saying of an ex-BF's grandmother:
you want a peach? here, here's my ass, it's a peach, CACKLECACKLECACKLE.
i miss her. not the BF so much, but her, yes.
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