By: A Call to Mediocrity Jan 13, 10:20 AM |

The season is over and you know what that means: time to start pedaling excuses for the past season’s failure and drawing up grand plans for next year. My season was lackluster; I knew going into it that this year would be a tough one. I would be getting married mid-season, this alone would be enough to derail even the most devoted disciples training regime. You see this is the time for your favorite one to be all the princess that she can be and it is your job to make it happen. This is how it is, and when it happens it is happiness non plus ultra. The thing is I didn’t have the focus to direct all my attention at this one perfect woman, truthfully she didn’t needed it. My trite and commercial ideas of what would transpire on our day were no match for the myriad handlers she had at her disposal. Throughout the process I felt more like an aging physician with only rudimentary skills left to on call reserve, sent for to handle only the most basic operations, think lifting and moving objects.

While out to pasture I found time to focus on other points of manning to which I needed to attend. Portland winters are dark, long, and wet. To translate; Portland winters are all about becoming adept at drinking and like everything else in order to be good at something you need to train – no one wants to be the first shaved and tan-lined strong-man vomiting out in front of any pub, club, or bar. This of course draws attention to my definition of strong-man to which we will devote a future musing; some of the more sophisticated out there might already be developing a foggy idea. Suffice it to say, being the one outside of your local, showing all your cards would immediately disqualify any applicant. To be clear, I am by no means advocating the life of a drunk, drinking is as much about control as it is about anything else, let’s just say that this is just one of the many skills I value as part of the quiver.

Ah, but there is so much more to life than drinking, and the off-season affords plenty of opportunity to explore this wonderful thing we’ve got going. How you get along and what you do will vary and while we collectively master Halo and trim our Bonsai, race slot cars and revisit the classics, engage in push-up competitions and gorge ourselves on the holidays, in the back of our minds we are thinking of next year like a mad Rumplestiltskin still looking for his gold and the fulfillment of a promise, next year we think, it is time to collect.

I am not going tire your eyes and dull your mind with my training regime. Why would I? So you can develop the false notion that you might one day beat me, go power tap yourself to the max? It’s not going to help, your base miles can run to hell and back for all I care, lose yourself in a delusion. I have a feeling I am going to live forever, and forever always has a next year.