No, this post isn't about asserting one's sexual freedom in a drunken manner in front of a Fox News camera. There's no star involved with this.
Sometimes I do suck at life...but at least I don't look like this:
I mean, seriously dude, you ride a Serotta and hang out with Lance Armstrong and have eight hundred billion dollars in ketchup funds. Get some spandex. They even have some technologically engineered spandex to make skinny middle-aged rich WASPs look sexy these days. At least he apparently stays pretty darn hydrated, though.
But, here, NO WAY. NO WAY. NO WAY. Come on, man, NO WAY. Toe straps and running shoes on a mountain bike...what is this, a cat. 4 cross race? And wheel reflectors?!? I highly doubt that the President has to worry much about getting hit by a car (not that wheel reflectors have ever played a role in preventing car-to-bike physical action in the history of mankind). Oh, and the saddle bag. What, is the Secret Service going to ditch the President in the middle of a ride if he gets a flat tire and cannot change it himself?
To be fair, though, our President does look pretty badass here. He looks like a big pedal masher, though, but I have a special affinity for pedal mashers:
Actually, it's pretty cool that such important people are (or at least fancy themselves to be) hardcore cyclists. It's one step ahead of me - I only fancy myself to be both important and hardcore.
So why do I suck at life? Well, sleeping through my alarm clock and missing half of a final exam this morning is probably good evidence supporting such an assertion. Sleeping approximately five hours this weekend may also count (or is it also evidence of hardcoreness - see, now I'm acting like the cynical history student who sees ambiguity in even the most obvious of things). I did that, though, so I could proceed in my effort to not fail out of school. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration...I like to get A's whenever possible at whatever physical cost.
At least this foray into scholarlyness has imposed rest time for me. I definitely have had some hardcore achilles tendonitis, as with two weeks of rest the tendon has that old familiar spongy/stringy feel indicative of the massively damaged/inflamed/pissed-off tissue repairing itself (I hope).
I still have a cold, and apparently some sort of ugly stomach ailment now, too. Ugh. Feels like runners' bowels.
Please allow me to now take out my frustration with myself on some sort of unsuspecting inanimate object...