Don't let the muscles intimidate you.
I came up to Michigan with the intention of riding my bike for the first time in 6 months, but then there was this bike rack fiasco, complete with some curse words, some kicking of the car, and a final spitting on unsuspecting passerbys to bring that plan to a screeching halt. Oh well, I packed my running clothes of off we went!
So this is about my tenth vacation this summer (not really, but it is starting to feel like that - more than my entire life combined - like making up for lost time). While everyone else was out riding on Saturday, I spent the day down by the lake.
This one's for Momo - That gaping wound on my toe is one of several horrendous blisters I obtained at the Cubs game. They look like gunshot wounds, especially the ones on the hidden foot. Thanks Kyle!
Then after like 20 hours in the sun I decided to do something productive and the run, which had been looming out there all day, was upon me. So I laced up the shoes,
Grabbed the IPod, and took off. All three miles of blazing glory. The back held up pretty good, though this morning was a tad tight. Oh, and by the way, here's a little note to the jag-offs in the blue convertible:
How was your ride, four little men in the blue convertible? Tell me, does it make you feel good to be hauling 60 miles/hour down a 25 mile/hour road, and screaming at the top of your lungs at an unsuspecting runner with her iPod on? See here's the thing: That whole polo-shirt-with-the-collar-up-and-flashing-the-rock-and-roll-finger-sign-cruising-local-spots-in vacation-places-with-your-frat-boys hanging-out the-back-pretending-like-your-20-but your-hairline-clearly-indicates-your 45-thing ya got going on is so over. Scream at me all you want, but in real life, we hot runner chicks will NEVER acknowledge your passing calls for blow jobs, run after your car, jump in the back seat, wonder how life ever existed without you, call you "Daddy" and let you tell us how great you are, while you pound shots of tequila and hi-five your frat boys behind our backs. So go drink your beers, act a fool, chase some tail, grab an ass or two, then go home, pass out and wake up surrounded by hookers and blow and wonder where all your "brah's" went. Cause in the light of day, no one gives a shit about what college you went to, who your dad is, and where else you vacation. You have nothing to offer us runner chicks, so stop fucking yelling as you plow by.
By the way, a blue convertible with four dudes just hanging around? Gay.
So anyway, the vacation went pretty well. We ended up coming home a bit early to even more beautiful weather here in the Chi. Hope everyone's Labor day weekend is great!