Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Running is horrible, Pancakes are Wonderful

As I mentioned yesterday, I’m off the bike for a week, on a “no bike vacation”. M and I are down in St. Martin with her family doing some hardcore chilling out. We had planned to rent bicycles (Trek 7.1 FXs) but upon arriving on the island we realized that this was not a brilliant idea. The hill leading up to the house we’re staying in is RIDICULOUS, I mean it is hard to walk down without slipping and falling on your ass- and it’s paved. When driving a car up it you peel out around every corner like the follow cars during the mountain stages of The Vuelta A Espana. You actually have this awful sensation that the van is going to stall out and begin rolling backwards, out of control. By the time you reach the top the car smells like burning.

Run to The Hills

The roads are also so narrow that two cars can barely pass each other (which is an improvement over some of the roads in Cambridge and Somerville – the “One way two way” streets where you actually have to pull off to let an oncoming car by) so we opted out of bike rentals in favor of the abhorrent and miserable act of running.

Yesterday morning we scaled our way down to the bottom of the hill and ran/walked back up. It was an intense workout, very pure and apparently the fact that we were doing this was enough of an anomaly to stop locals in their tracks and cause them to stare and cheer. I’m not sure how this will translate into cycling fitness but at the very least it will help keep me from packing on several pounds of beer weight.

Koko. That chimp's alright. High-five

Alright, I have to go show off my mottled and bizarre sunburn down at Dawn Beach. Yesterday I was walking through the bar area down there, all these people were staring at me, I was all “Ya, they’re checking out my amazing cyclist’s physique” (push ups don’t put any bulk on this guy’s arms…the video is forthcoming Solo). Then I get into the restroom and take a gander at my chest in the mirror. I looked like an abstract painting done in reds and whites straight from the tube by a baby Gorilla. Cartoonish hand prints on my shoulders and arms, strange geometric patterns continuing down my legs. My future Brother-in-law (who’s background is in medicine) described the burns as “Angry” . They felt angry that night as I attempted to sleep, I felt like I had touched my right elbow, my knee, and my shoulder to a hot stove in some freak pancake-making accident.

Pancakes…time for breakfast.

Scrabble is not a drinking game


Alex said...

how 'bout "RETARDER" for that top word. As in, the guy who is doing the retarding (of something. Like, "retard the flames!" "no, he retarded the flames, he's the retarder!" or something.)

jeff said...

run! run thom run!

rick is! said...

ha ha! I thought people grew out of that type of burn when they turned 25...

this happening to you reminds me of the police academy "dork" scene