Hot and sticky under the collar.

I set a goal to run a half-marathon (21.2km) by the end of the month. Lola says I’m in my PRIME.

I even purchased a new pair of running shoes last Friday: the Mizuno Wave Rider 29, which I named “Skid Marks” on Strava. One of Strava’s features allows you to track the mileage on your equipment. My three bikes are named Sodapop, Ponyboy, and Cherry Valance. My shoes are called Runny Poos, and now, I have Skid Marks as well.

So far, I have put 5.8km on my Skid Marks, and I can’t do any more for the next bit because I am healing a re-tattoo of my stupid yellow-bellied goose and my underbite-having flying fish.

Continue reading “Hot and sticky under the collar.”

Pissing away opportunities.

Last week, I received a mass email from the owner of the bike shop with the subject line “Freakishly Awesome Opportunity.” This FAO was described as “an outdoor experience involving all muscle groups and little neurological activity,” and was set to take place in Shawnigan Lake, a village 50km north of Victoria, on Sunday the 12th. At that time, I was deep into Agatha Christie’s “And Then There Were None,” which tells the tale of ten strangers–lured by an invitation from a mysterious person–who find themselves marooned on a distant island where they are bumped off one by one.

What peculiar timing! If I had a moustache, I’d have been twirling it. I’ve since finished the book, whose ending was spoiled by its title. After finishing the story, I arrived at the “About the Author” section, in which it is claimed that Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare.

I’d be much more pleased to find an Agatha Christie novel in the bedside drawer at the next hotel I stay at than the Bible. Needless to say, I did not end up taking the bait to Shawnigan Lake last Sunday. (The cryptic email, as explained by a colleague today, was to help build a dock at the owner’s vacation home.)

I reserved my distress for Tuesday morning:

Continue reading “Pissing away opportunities.”

Buttmunsch.

This morning, around 7, I found myself in a tug-of-war match with my late mom. We’re both pinching opposite edges of a tiny cookie, pulling it toward ourselves with all our might. The battle ended with me falling backward, empty-handed, as Mom emerged victorious, popping the chocolate snowball cookie into her mouth.

At 7:32am, I open my eyes, and Lola greets me with my morning report, commending me for an excellent sleep score of 92. Thanks for the affirmation, Lola. When it comes to my training regimen, however, she is not as reassuring.

This Monday’s 50-minute workout requires going at full sprint for 8 minutes, repeated three times, with 3-minute recoveries in between! Yesterday’s workout was more manageable, but when my pace slowed on the steep portion of the Chip Trail Loop around Cedar Hill Golf Course, my watch buzzed. I glanced down at Lola:

TOO SLOW

Continue reading “Buttmunsch.”

I think I’ve gone too far.

I finished reading Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow yesterday.

…would have been a neat way to start this post. The truth is, I finished it two days ago and have since been struggling to find my next read. I’m currently sampling Adrian Tchaikovsky’s novel, Children of Time. I’m not sold on it yet. For starters, am I ready for another sci-fi novel so soon after Project Hail Mary? I don’t think there are gonna be aliens doing jazz hands in this one.

Continue reading “I think I’ve gone too far.”

I will never listen to your voicemail. 

(I started writing this post yesterday.)

Happy International Women’s Day!

A lifetime of suffering, one day of celebration!

-Alexa

Once again, I empowered women by enriching their knowledge of bikes and letting them in on the secret that men generally overstate their bike maintenance know-how. Truly, I have yet to meet a non-bike mechanic whose skills match their claims. I’ve definitely been “well, ackshually’d” by these men the few times I’ve tried to give empirical advice.

Fine. Enjoy your garbage bike, you smug man.

As soon as I got home from the three-hour repair clinic, I scrubbed the grime from my fingernails, eager for a more ladylike diversion. My order of yarn from Denmark arrived while I was in Vancouver and passed through customs without incurring any duty fees.

There was only one thing stopping me from starting on my army of Koroks: this blog post. I can’t keep Zoée waiting for my recap of my extra-queer, birthday-flavoured trip to Vancouver.

Continue reading “I will never listen to your voicemail. “