a vicious cycle

Everyone know the one dude in college [hopefully only in college] who took pride in being the laziest fucker around. Usually he was perpetually enveloped in a cloud of pot smoke, had some sort of reclining chair in his dorm room, and while he’ll travel any distance to score an 1/8th, he couldn’t be bothered to get up early enough to go to his 1pm class. He considered sleeping and smoking his primary jobs. If he bothered to do anything else, he felt entitled to some sort of extra credit from God.
Those types of dudes always fascinate me. And secretly, sometimes, I wish I could be like that. I wish I could kick back and forget about responsibilities and obligations and everything on the ever-growing “to do” list. I like to tell myself that I could get good at the whole slacking off thing. I could roll out of bed past noon, smoke a joint, and then piss away the rest of the day doing pretty much nothing. And I’d enjoy it.

Unfortunately, I have the unusual ability to place myself in exactly the sort of situations that I’m trying to blow off. Officially on spring break [perhaps my very, very last...of my life...eeppp!], I planned to spend most of the week on a particular couch, in front of a particular TV, forsaking a particular laptop and without a particular bike. I had extensive plans to be completely lazy.
Because while I usually revel in any opportunity to put in quality time on my bike, the past few weeks have delivered enough unnecessary school drama, last-minute meetings, and buttloads of work to transform otherwise relaxing bike time into yet another tedious activity that just had to get done. I managed to avoid the rollers in retaliation, but the guilt of doing so stressed me out even more. It was a vicious cycle [pun intended].

So when spring break rolled around last Friday, I had high hopes to be like That Lazy Dude in College. Those plans - predictably - went the way of Lazy Dude Resolutions To Go To Class. The hope was there, but the execution was slightly totally lacking. My plans essentially died yesterday when I ended up at a small table at The Smile, surrounded by a bunch of bicycle people who were talking, thinking, and writing about bicycles.
Last week, even the idea of sitting around discussing bicycles for about an hour would have had me screaming out of frantic stress and running away while ripping my hair out. Yesterday, though, I avoided the embarrassment and permanent label of “absolutely, completely, without a doubt, batshit crazy” [for the most part] by staying seated and civil. Maybe it was just the incredibly yummy granola with yogurt, or the densely dark Americano, but being enclosed in a small space with bicycle people engaged in bicycle talk wasn’t as terrifyingly stressful as I initially feared. In fact, it was almost kind of normal in a fun kind of way.
I’m far from finding that perfect balance [both literally and figuratively], but I have this hopeful feeling I might not spend the season swinging between two extremes when it comes to bikes. Now I just have to work on pedaling faster than 8mph...

tokyo time out

I am slightly embarrassed to say, that three years in, I have yet to find the perfect cure to a semester plus of law school. A day, a week, a few months, I can do. Any time on the rollers - from fifteen minutes to forever - can usually keep the insanity at bay. But a semester plus two years? It takes a lot of cycling to erase that kind of pain.
Take bikes away from the equation and I’m not sure what the normal law student is left with in terms of options as to how to resocialize. I have a feeling that it might involve a lot of sex. Or whatever the gastronomic equivalent is. On the other hand, that might just be my way of explaining the unnervingly large number of fat creepers which populate your typical law school. I like to think that it’s the inevitable result of too many hours scouring too many cases. You eventually end up fat and desperate.
In any case, left without my bicycles for the duration of 13 days, in another country no less, I’ve been at a complete loss. Roller-less, recovery is slow, and unsurprisingly involves staying far away from anything with a keyboard and a screen. And yes, that involves the internet.

I understand how that might sound. Like I’ve too easily turned my back on a best friend. Taken the proverbial shit on the guy who has always been there by my side. Kicked a fiance to the curb right as the limo to the wedding pulled up, so to speak. And the worst part? I’m sort of getting used to this.
Despite my mother’s fussing, I can get used to rolling out of bed and not really having much to do. Nothing about not putting on a bra until 3pm bothers me. It’s okay that the farthest I might travel in a day might be the distance from the kitchen to the bathroom, because it’s twice as far as the bathroom is from my desk back in Boston. And the fact that I’m riding shotgun in my mom’s car? Please. Since when was I an eco-freak that rode my bike around for environmental reasons?

So other than the invisible, ever-changing itinerary of “preparing for stuff we’re going to do just because tradition dictates that we should do it” which I’m told about approximately 5 minutes before we’re all supposed to leave the house, I’m flexing my lazy like The Situation tightens his abs in a club full of guidette hoochies. But like how nights at the same clubs [even on the Jersey Shore] can get old, I would be lying if I said that a part of me wasn’t itching to get back to my bicycles. Stuffing myself full of decidedly non-vegan goodies is pretty awesome, but I miss the messy, sweaty sessions on the track bike, or the freezing cold commutes on the Bianchi.

I’ve been missing the empty staring at blank Word documents as well. Who knew that laziness could be so...boring. But without bicycles, it seems a little silly to write about my life sans velos. Even if - and I’m being honest when I say this - the guilt of my silence is hovering over my shoulder like the stranger drafting behind you that you just can’t seem to shake off.
But just like that drafting stranger, there’s a new year [too] quickly approaching, and I’ll be back to bikes, Boston, blogs, and my boys before I know it. So let me savor this “doing nothing” thing for just a little bit longer. Because, come on, you know you’re doing the exact same thing, too.
Happy New Year, guys!

resting day

I am no stranger to working hard to be lazy.
I will stay ahead in my class readings so I won't have to work that hard over the weekend, cram my Ortlieb bag full of food so I'll only have to go on one grocery run a week, and run up five flights of stairs with a bike slung over my shoulder so I can savor an extra 3 minutes doing absolutely nothing before class.
Some might argue this takes the joy out of being lazy; that the sheer organization skills involved and constant planning makes life more hectic than languid. But I'm a creature of [rushed, busy] habit, and besides, that whole "everything should be done in moderation" argument falls apart faster than a Walmart bike when it comes from people who enjoy biking more than 200 miles a week.

But when you're an aspiring Cat 100 track racer with a couple finnicky IT bands, taking a day off the rollers [not the foam ones] is sometimes a good thing. And while I felt guilty enough to contemplate a sweat session after dinner, like my end-of-the-day reward of taking the elevator instead of portaging the bike down those stairs, I have to admit I sort of enjoyed it.
Hey, I said "sort of," for all of you bike jocks who are shaking your heads in disgust while averaging 100000000 watts on your warm ups. Keep in mind that I'm not even at junior varsity level yet...I'm the equivalent of an intramural club hopeful. And though I live, breathe, and write about bicycles every day, a small part of me is ever-so-slightly scared that this obsession can pour over into an overdose. Like the kind that requires hospitalization and detox.

So like the tiny bites I'll take of my Walnut and Date Kind Bar [they are so good] to make them last that much longer, I'm trying to nibble and savor every sweetly satisfying bite of my bicycles. And when it seems like my enthusiasm is waning to the point where it could become slightly nonexistent for several days, it's time to take a temporary leave of absence and allow myself just a small morsel of laziness.
And you know what? I woke up today and couldn't wait to get back on those damn rollers.

promises of portland

Like any good cyclist, I have dreams of Portland, OR.
Never mind that I've never been there, or that I hate rain, or that a city overflowing with cyclists is more than a little bit intimidating. It's the ultimate destination for anyone who is completely obsessed with cycling, even if, like me, they can barely stay on a bike.
I've been having doubts about the rain, though. Because lately, Boston feels like PDX.

There was a weekend and a day of sunshine, and now it's back to unusually low temperatures with accompanying rain. Which should mean more preparation to just get to work. But have I told you that I'm incredibly lazy? Because when it starts to drizzle, then rain, I'll foolishly choose to bike through it, even with a raincoat in my bag.
"It's not that bad," I kept telling myself. Then 4/5s of the way there, it finally dawned on me. It's fucking raining. Not like showers, or drizzle, but straight up motherfucking rain. And I was drenched.

Barely able to keep a decent grip on slippery brakes and hoods [gloves, like chamois shorts, are yet another item on the "to purchase" list that consistently gets deprioritized for bike parts], I attempted to wipe my hands on a damp t-shirt while sliding around the Public Garden. Goosebumps were running up and down my arms and water was dripping down from my elbows. Great.
I arrived at work, cold, wet, and already miserable. Coffee hit the spot and once again I was grateful to be changing into a long sleeved shirt. Sheltered for most of the day behind a desk, I headed out to the gym under suspiciously gray skies. And once again, emerged from an intensely sweaty run to a sky that had turned blue and clear, the weather dry but cool. Perfect bike riding weather, in fact, if my legs weren't already dead.

Maybe this is just a preview of a future in Portland. Maybe the powers that be are conditioning me for the rainy, seemingly schizophrenic weather way out west. One can only hope, I suppose.
In the meantime, it's July. Can we get to the part where the sun's shining and it's not pouring every other day?

lunchbox!

I have a slight obsession with tupperware.
It kind of goes well with my OCD and my need to at least have the opportunity to compartmentalize everything into its own discrete space. Even if that never really happens because I'm incredibly lazy.
And because I'm lazy, I'm going to steal an idea from Iban, who has blog that makes me not only want to lick my screen, but also press my face against it, while drool dribbles down my chin.
He rides and builds bikes, obviously, but he also bakes sourdough - and for the bread purist in me, that's enough to make me want to move to Barcelona.
So, "inspired" by Iban [although, let's admit it that I'm just copying him], here is my lunchbox:

Okay, it's just a turkey sandwich, a sliced apple, and peanut butter crackers to get me through the day. Not very exciting, I know. But the coolest part about my lunchbox is not so much the lunch itself, as the box:

It folds up flat when I'm done, which means that I have a couple inches of extra space in my bag at the end of the day.

Cool, right? It even has Hello Kitty on it! I know, this is going to drive every reader insane with jealousy!
And because, as I mentioned before, I'm lazy, I'd even consider giving it away. But only if you can find me a boy that rides bikes and bakes [good] sourdough, in Boston.