Dear Mr. ITB,

I had thought that we had come to an understanding and that your constant flareups were history. I guess not. Apparently, you have come to grips with my running, but throwing cycling into the mix has really pissed you off. I know that you don't care, but I want you to know that it's somewhat depressing.

Thanks to you I'm back to RICE, although I'll probably just skip the Rest and do ICE only. You know me.

Just so you know, I just bought an ultra-dense foam roller, which I will use to torture you into submission. You'll probably recall that that is how I beat you before and just so we're clear I will win again. You will lose. The other thing is that I used a standard density foam roller last time. Well, you've really irritated me now. Ultra-density. I'm not sure you know what that means as you're only a tendon and don't really have the capability of doing anything other than causing me pain, but ultra-dense means ultra-pain, possibly even bruises. Deep bruises. I know, I know. I can feel your glare now. Your threat of completely buckling is one I take very seriously. Thank you again for doing that in the middle of the Boston Marathon. So kind.

You better watch it or one day, I'm just going to cut you off. Floppy knee?? I don't care. I just want you to suffer. I have a marathon to run and many triathlons to win.

Love,
Your One and Only Highly Skilled Endurance Athlete

Worse Than Birkenstocks

This is wrong on so many levels and yes, these are being worn by a man. The socks kill me. I only wish I had turned down the volume on my phone, as there was a loud snapshot sound as I captured this on BART today.

Much, much worse than my new cycling sunglasses that I tried wearing with normal clothes.

6000 Years Old???

I'll just leave it at that as I don't want to possibly cause a ruckus, but for this to be said, wait, I said I'd stop...

It's still in me, but I must desist. Must stop snark. Please willpower, stop me from the cynicism and ripping that must be freed. It MUST be freed!

Deep breath. I'm holding it in.

I used this experience to help fuel my 4:20am ride this morning. It's amazing what observed obtuseness and a non-response can do for one's cadence and speed. I was 4mph faster during this recollection. Maybe I should make a new friend. It'd do wonders for my cycling.

BART

BART, not the BART, or Bart, but I rode BART today or I BARTED in. It wasn't like this when I rode THE subway. I didn't subway in and I definitely never rode subway in. Very interesting, this Northern California place, which doesn't quite feel like home yet and doesn't really feel all that different from the blur of places that we have lived in so far. If you're counting, this is our sixth residence in seven years. It's not as bad as it sounds, as we lived in three places in our first year, but still, our nomadic existence continues. This place just has a weird hippy vibe to it. Maybe speaking of the mass transportation system as if it was a living thing has something to do with it. Or maybe the six trash cans I have. Or the fact that I found myself in lycra yesterday riding around on a bike. Has this place already begun demasculinizing me? Is that even a word? Did I just invent a word similar to how the NoCalites have invented a living thing that goes through tubes and takes you to the city (I refuse to capitalize city. There is only one City and that is NY.)?

Ok, on to the picture. Apparently, it is ok to sit on the ground on BART. I'm not sure how BART feels about this because you know, he's alive (oh, crap, what if BART is a female and my chauvinistic tendencies are creeping in assuming that BART is a he?? - I hope none of the NoCalites I know read this or I'm screwed. Wait, who am I kidding, I have Vinny Bag O' Donuts on my side. What are they going to do? Call the recycling police on me?) So yes, I've seen this behavior many times by people dressed casually and by those dressed professionally. It's weird I tell you. Now I'm assuming that the NoCalites are comfortable sitting on carpet and would likely not do this on THE subway. Let me tell you something, BART's carpet and cushions are nasty. It skeeves me out just sitting on the thing. I don't even want to think about what's been spilled or shot into those things. The carpet and cushions have got to be the originals. They are seriously brown.

Ok, next amusing BART story, but first a sidenote. I hadn't posted anything recently about my travels on the subway. Not because the subway became boring, but because anything that I'd see had become commonplace. Subway performers? I knew them all by name. Women getting punched? I could pick the guy out in a lineup. Women purse snatchers? Again, line 'em up Law and Order and I'll testify. The one thing that I thankfully didn't see was a guy dropping his drawyers and diarreahing all over the place. I've heard about it, but never witnessed it. If I ever see that on BART, I'll take a pic as I'm plugging my nose. Ok, so I thought that my BART rides would be considerably more tame than the subway and that my days of mass transit photography were over. I was wrong. Within the last 24 hours, I have the lovely pic above, as well as one of the funniest lines I've ever heard. No pics. Sorry.

I'm riding home last night and happen to sit next to a woman whose age I couldn't even approximate. Oldish, but not super old. I think. As soon as we're out of the tunnel that goes under the Bay (I'll capitalize this one.), she whips out her cell phone and begins conversing with someone that I assume is her daughter. Her daughter has problems. Can't handle the kids, can't handle her job, can't handle her boyfriend, her car is messed up, her house is a wreck, and to top it off, she wasn't able to go grocery shopping yesterday and has nothing to eat. This isn't just me snooping. The whole car knows what is going on. Wait, it gets better. The mother (remember, she's sitting right next to me) begins to go off on her. "You need to listen to me. All you do is complain and whine. You're never trying to solve your problems, just talk about them. Listen to me and I'll tell you what to do. Focus on the solution, not the problem." blah, blah, blah, blah. Now this wasn't done with a calm, soothing voice, but with a voice like sandpaper. I know where her daughter got that whine from. They just whined differently. It was painful and amusing at the same time. I received many a sympathy look. Ok, that's not the best part. This went on for fifteen minutes or so. Finally, one guy in the car couldn't stand it anymore and yelled, "Put a sock in it Dr. Phil." Oh, yes, it was sweet. Me and about half the car were rolling. The best part was that she just ignored us and kept on advising. Screech screech.

PUT A SOCK IN IT DR. PHIL!

"It's Chasing Me Around the Kitchen"

Break time from RFP writing. RFPs are only so exciting. Even when you have the Sweden-Paraguay game in the upper left hand corner of your screen. Time to talk about our washer.

You see, it was installed last Thursday. We didn't have the venting for the power cord for the dryer until Monday so we didn't use the washer until then because we didn't feel like hanging our clothes all over the house to dry them. Monday night, I go to Home Depot and buy the venting and the power cord, go home, and install them. Everything is now hooked up. Time to test these beauties out. I load the washer and Liz and I both pull up chairs to watch. It's beautiful. A proud moment in our family. No quarters. We watch for five minutes and then proceed about our business.

Thirty minutes later I hear an awful racket. I go upstairs and the washer is shaking violently and dancing across the floor. I shut it off and Liz and I get out the manuals to figure out what the deal is. The manuals tell us to get out a level and use the adjustable legs to make sure it is balanced. Move the washer, get out the level, adjust many legs, and sit back. The shimmying doesn't stop. Frustration begins to set in. Liz leaves a message with the guy who installed it, who agrees to come over.

He comes over the next day and levels the washer some more and leaves. Liz calls me about 30 minutes later and yells over the din that the washer is chasing her around the kitchen. She's determined to wash our clothes and has thrown her body on top of it in order to stop the thing. She quickly finds out that she needs to gain at least 200 more pounds before that tactic will work. She's frustrated. I'm frustrated. What's the deal?

This is where the magic of Google comes in. Vibrating, Frigidaire, washer, why? are all entered in. First entry: shipping bolts and plugs must be removed in order to balance the thing. I go home, turn the washer around and guess what?? The guys who installed the washer didn't follow the directions. The bolts and plugs are still there. I unscrew them, push the washer back into place, and put it on spin only. What a beautiful, quiet sound. I'm so excited that I call Liz, who happens to be out buying us a new phone (VTech phones are horrible by the way) and put the phone to the washer. We both squeal with delight. Happy times. No more rabid washers.

Things I Require Immediately

- Shelving for all of my books. Playing my PSP every day on BART is getting a little old. I need variety.

- A newspaper subscription. WSJ, NYT, or SFC? I'm leaning toward the WSJ.

- A tri-bike. I have a helmet, shoes, cleats, and shorts. Now I just need the bike. Hopefully Thursday works out.

- A new right index finger. This tiny mouse is just not working out.

- A new mouse.

- A BBQ.

- A 4 day, no make that 3 day, workweek.

- A place to stay at Yosemite the weekend of July 22. How can every cabin and every tent be sold out?

- An Xbox 360.

- A larger trash can, but just for two weeks. I need to get rid of all of this moving trash.

- For either Zane and his running stroller to lose about 70 pounds or for that hill up to Marchbanks to not be so steep.

- The ability to wake up at 4:15am. It's just not happening right now.

3043 in 62

That's with a 12 hour stop in Cheyenne. We had to stop to watch the Suns game. It was a sad series. The Suns lost three of those four games headed into the fourth quarter with a lead. Live by the jump shot, die by the jump shot and a big freaking German. With a 2005 Amare, it would have been a different story. Here's hoping that Amare's microfracture surgery has a different result than every other athlete who has had the surgery. Something tells me to expect the worst or at the least, only 80% of what we had.