One Seventeen

Morning weigh-in (Wednesday): 164.5%, 7.5% BF

Morning weigh-in (Thursday): 166.5#, 9.5% BF

Morning weigh-in (Friday): 165.5#, 9.5% BF

 

So, uh...

 

Rode the benchmark ride last night, did it in 1:17 for an 18.7 mph average -- that included city traffic and a long stretch of major road construction on Bushkill drive. I didn't feel particularly good, but going fast felt easy... Why the fuck couldn't I have been riding like that last Saturday? (One reason: last Saturday my strategy was to attack the hills, figuring that a slight speed gain at low speeds would chip away the most time -- I still think this is true, at least in terms of math and theory, but in practice I think I might have worn myself down too early in the race, leaving me vulnerable in the later, also-time-eating singletrack sections. The big test on "the benchmark" is Upper Mud Run Road, and I went up that no faster than usual.)

 

Other than that, lets see: rode Tuesday, a nice easy road ride, maybe 20 miles or so. I stopped in at Brian's house, found him watching TV on a perfectly nice day -- turns out he'd had another heart operation and was required to take it easy for a while. Hopefully this one -- sort of like cauterizing aberrant cells to get his heart beating normally again -- will be the procedure that works.

 

Wednesday was yoga with Carmen, and I totally felt my recent lack of practice. That's bad, because the "old Carmen" is back, and her classes are starting to get tough again.

 

Last night after the ride (and after a little cleaning/laundry) I went down to Porters, which was this week's Christian's Spring Hotel: me, Anne, Joe & Sally, Judy, Lee, Mike, and Larry & K-Jo, we had a big table in the back room. That Sally had some hilarious stories... Most everyone else left early, but Anne and I stuck around to catch some of the open mic show.

 

Maria was singing, and I pointed out how she sometimes would get this very serious, daggers-shooting-from-her-eyes look; this morphed into a story about seeing Laurie Anderson a few years ago, where she told a story about her dog, which in turn morphed into a story about 9-11, and she didn't say it, but her eyes were daggers by the end, as if to say "this happened to me and my friends, fuck you for trying to co-opt it into your little games."

 

Tonight is the towpath, maybe the Delaware one if it's been fixed enough to ride, followed by sushi downtown.