90 min come hell...or hell

isn't that how the saying goes? no, no. i think its come hell or high water, but since this particular day was pretty damn short on water, i think the above is the best version of the saying i can muster.

the morning started out with Mass at 8AM (its Lent, and along with giving up gum i have also made a promise to attend Mass every Sunday during the season) and luckily there are about 10 different Catholic churches within a 10 mile radius so i have my pick of the litter on this one. Mass was okay but nothing like the church out by BG's so my hunt is still on for the one i can call my own. i got home, had breakfast, got ready to ride and here is where the day became comical, at best. i sat in my riding kit for 30 minutes before deciding that i needed a 30 minute nap before i rode. the alarm went off and then i decided i needed a cup of coffee before i rode. i sat there with my coffee, looking out at my amazing view and literally laughed at the ridiculous amount of energy it was taking to fight with myself about getting off my lazy ass to ride my damn bike. i mean COME ON!

after a total of an hour and a half of lolly gagging around, i finally trudged down the stairs and out to the street to start my jaunt. i had originally planned on heading up to Solano Beach to ride, but decided that was way too much effort on this balmy Sunday morning so i'd be better off riding in sun shiny, high traffic cluster that OB tends to be - AKA cars in OB do NOT = good times in relation to cyclists in OB. so off i was, determined to ride 90 minutes whether i wanted to or not.

it started with me almost getting creamed by a red convertible mustang shooting off like a silver bullet on the hunt for Dracula's heart from a stop sign that he decided to "roll" through, my heart jumping into my throat, carousing my "oh-so-bad-idea" cup of coffee, me slamming the inside of my right tibia so hard into my cleat that it left an immediate baseball sized bruise, all ending in me finally making it to the other side of the rode reeling with fear of all cars, thankfulness that i wasn't dead and dread for the next 85 minutes to come.

i made it over to Fiesta Island without anymore major occurrences of "frogger ending badly", and started my first "easy" lap around the big circle and of course i immediately happen upon a middle aged woman hell bent on not letting me pass. i hadn't even really wanted to pass her - its not like i was out there to race or anything but she kept looking back at me, swerving all over the rode like a drunk person, acting as if i was there to chase her down so i could spit on her back tire as i rode past in over exemplified glory to the finish line, arms raised in victory, where i would collect my 10 million dollar prize and leave her and her dying grandma on the side of the road to wallow in the cardboard box they had been living in since the recession began in 1957. i mean i was clearly there to ruin her an her whole damn family's dreams! so what did i do? i did what any normal triathlete would do - i dropped into my big chain ring, grunted like Homer Simpson and burned right by her. it was all very masculine (well as masculine as a 5'3", 115 lb frame can be) and sort of devilish, but damn - she was begging for it.

a lot of good it did me because about 5 minutes down the road and a good 5 or 600 yards between the two of us i threw up in my mouth...a lot. it even spurted out just as a big truck drove by...you could actually see the red tinted smoothie leaving my lips to sprinkle the dust in a quite grotesque fashion - and as i finished the first lap, somehow talking myself into another, the middle aged lady comes riding up past me - smirking with pride and confidence. "well, good for her" i thought. "way to stick with it!" but there she was again, turning to look how far behind i was, swerving all over carnation - creating a hazard to herself and all of the other drivers/riders/runners on the island. so again - i dropped my gear and hammered past her, around the circle and off of that dadgum island for good. 36 minutes down, 54 to go...

i didn't really have a plan on where to go next so i decided to ride over to Morena and up to it's dead end where i stopped to throw up once along the way, bonked twice and was so happy to ride past side streets that had crazy inclines and happily laugh at the ludicrous thought of possibly attempting to climb them four times. i was more than happy to stay on my rolling path that seemed to kick my ass at every turn, with the insanely hot sun beating down on my back, taunting me in the worst ways to stop and call a cab, but oh no - push on i did, and when i finally got home after another "frogger ending badly" close call, i crawled to my freezer to extract the heavenly wonder of Dreyer's tart frozen yogurt and ate so much that i felt a little ill and finally, FINALLY passed out from the exhaustion of it all.

so 90 minutes, 25 something miles, 17 mph and the thrill of the season tickling my feet - good times, good times.