To explain the title - I always thought my lucky number was 7. Not because I gamble or “play the numbers” but everybody seems to think that the number 7 has some kind of magical vibe. Last September my bike wreck was on the seventh. I think the vibe I felt wasn’t luck after all. At any rate, I finally woke up for good on the eighth so that’s my new adopted lucky number. Let’s see how long this one lasts.
Last Wednesday, while riding the bike (out on Coats Grove Road for you locals), I met a new friend; a Pit Bull named Buddy. Well, I guess he actually wasn’t a friend and definitely not my Buddy, but I did meet him in the middle of the road. Sometimes when you see dogs coming from a yard, you kick it up a notch (a la Emeril Lagasse) and you can outrun them. One of the reasons I started riding alone is when you are slower than the bike up ahead, the first rider stirs up the dogs, and the rest of the riders have to stop because the dog is in the road licking its chops.
I could see Buddy and his master (you can’t really call him a “master” when Buddy’s calling the shots) coming up the other side of the road. Buddy had a leash on but it was dragging on the ground (I halfway expected to see a hand gripping the leash with a bloody stump where the elbow and the rest of the body used to be) so I knew I had no chance of out sprinting him. As soon as he saw me he made a beeline directly down the center of the road barking and snarling (Becky would call it “vocalizing his friendship” but it was snarling to me). I stopped and pulled out my pepper spray (I felt like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral) and Buddy stopped about 10 feet from me.
His “master” came up, grabbed his leash, apologized, and pulled Buddy away to the steps of the house about 40 feet from the side of the road. I could see Buddy really wanted to make friends as he was up on two legs, was lunging my direction, choking on the leash, with saliva spewing from his mouth and was barking constantly. I started up again and rode away all the while looking at Buddy. I imagined that, to a Pit Bull, I looked like a huge Milk Bone Dog Biscuit being delivered to him on a meal cart.
I was coerced into running on Saturday instead of Sunday this week for the “Spring Thaw Marathon Relay”. Micky (or is it Mikki, Mickie, Miki, or Mickey?) Hansen was going to run with Jean and Becky, and then canceled since she was going on a trip with her friend, so I was drafted. Within a couple of days I was booted back out because the trip was off and Micky was back in. She canceled on Thursday again since she had a cough so she was out and I was back in. Jean and Becky trained on Friday night for the race with Taylor’s Chablis and I was drinking Diet Vernors so I was elected to run first.
It was a shame the event had to be canceled due to the threat of nasty weather (common in Michigan these days). Since I was up anyway and in my running garb, I ran around Algonquin Lake alone to get my long run time in. The bad weather held off for a while so it was a nice run but there was a ton of traffic. By the way, today I saw four large snapping turtles crossing four different roads. This must be “egg laying day” or they were all just moving to higher ground. I love turtle soup but just can’t bring myself to kill a defenseless creature, no matter how ugly, so I settle for fake turtle soup. It’s probably chicken (is it chicken tastes like everything? or everything tastes like chicken?) with fake turtle flavoring (which makes me ask, where in the world would you find “fake turtle” flavoring?).
I was awakened at 3 this morning, as most of the last few mornings, by lightning and thunder. I slept poorly after that worrying about how I would get my 2-3 hour HR#3 ride in today. The weather looked threatening enough all morning that I decided to ride the trainer. I could only keep it at HR#3 for 1 1/2 hours steady. With a 10 minute warm-up and a 10 minute cool down I got to 1:50. Jean tells me that one hour on the trainer equals two hours on the road. But, then again, she told me my run after bike was HR#3 a couple of weeks ago and it was really HR#1 to 3 depending on how hard the bike was, so who can I believe?
As I sit here writing this I’m whipped, so I guess whatever I did was all I could do anyway. The rest of today I have to fight imaginary hunger driving me to the kitchen. I was just fine in Florida where there were no temptations. But here, there are candies, cookies, cakes, pies, chocolate, and everything else that is fat inducing. Two weeks to the closing on the cottage and I can control what snacks are around and maybe can get this last few pounds off for good (wishful thinking-the story of my life).
Signing off for another week.
Just (Can’t Control My Eating) Jack