After writing about writer’s block the other day, I did my usual. I cleaned my apartment (surprise, surprise), did laundry, responded to emails, hung out with Jon, and decided to “man up” and get over my dislike for riding in the city. I took off on my bike (Jon wanted to go for a run instead) and rode thirty miles up the Berkeley hills — to here.
View from Grizzly Peak
On the backside of the mountain, I saw these guys:
Looking at San Pablo Reservoir. California has happy cows!
And then on my run down by the water last night, I saw this:
Nature really does have it, folks.
My race results
This past Sunday, while the rest of America was still dreaming about the Super Bowl, I did a brick. Well, not a real brick. I rode my bike fourteen miles to a Superbowl Sunday 10K starting line, and, then, after the race was over, I rode home. I was pleased with myself. Despite the cool weather (it was overcast and in the low 40s), the ride was no problem, and I did the run in record time: 48:56, or about a 7:53-minute mile. The ride home was no problem, either — that is, until the turn-off. Continue reading
I wasn’t listening. Not because I didn’t want to. I couldn’t hear.
If I could just . . . Why can’t I ever . . . Damn you, Jess. I was frustrated. Another day gone and not enough accomplished. What was the matter with me?
I hated myself.
Three miles out and I couldn’t take it anymore. My headphones were too much. I wanted to throw them on the ground.
Instead, I yanked them off, and I was greeted by a sound. Continue reading