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!

cracks

"I saw you on Comm Ave last night," a friend said.
"I thought about opening my door on you. You know, just to make it a little more challenging."
As if this weather wasn't challenging enough. I feel like a Yeti on a tricycle these days - sans the training wheels [unfortunately].
Yeah, I know, I know; I knew what I was getting into by deciding to be a year-round commuter in Boston, so I shouldn't be complaining. I really wouldn't be whining so much if there weren't so many goddamn obstacles!
It's not even the insane drivers who, through their sheer douchery, will teach you how to stubbornly take the lane and stay there while they honk at you incessantly. It's the potholes.

Like my sanity due to being deprived of warmer weather, the streets are cracking under the pressure of snow, cold, and everything else. And of course, no one's really doing anything about it.
Okay, so maybe I should do something about it. But at this point it's almost like a masochistic little game. I want to see how long it'll take until the whole street is just one big hole. And then I want to see how long it'll take the city to notice it.

And of course, while this is all happening, I want to see if I can learn - through sheer necessity - how to do wheelies and bunny hops so I can climb out of any holes I get into.
Come next 'cross season, I'll probably be owning the races too. So, thanks, Boston!