How Do I Know?
It's like extra-sensory perception, granted only to those who have truly devoted their lives to the art. This zen-like state took years to develop, allowing me to truly see things as they really are. Mere mortals are sometimes taken aback at my powers, but that's my cross to bear. With great power comes great responsibility.
How else would I know when the trainer towel has gone a few too many weeks between washing? I mean, there are the deep fjords the salt glaciers embedded in it carve across my forehead as I attempt to sop up the sweat. This is no ordinary sweat, as it is comprised of decades of bad choices, shame, and expensive electrolyte drinks. It would likely eat through the Storck's aluminum frame upon contact, but for my sopping skills with an overpriced camp towel from REI. I bought it during the Tour of Fairbanks a couple years back, when I realized I had forgotten one. I realized no big-box store towel was going to cut the mustard. I needed something excessively expensive, and that meant a trip to their new REI. To be fair, it does hold a lot of sweat, which makes it that much easier to forget that all of those bad choices/shame/liquid pork fat has to go somewhere. When this towel is funky, it could school Bootsy Collins. Luckily, my superpowers allow me to detect this state, and I drop it in a lead-lined box for a trip to the washing machine and the vaporize cycle.
As I donned my bio-hazard suit to transport the towel, I sensed something else wasn't quite right in the world. Actually, I tripped over the snot rag overflow from the trashcan. Maybe the pile reached out and grabbed my leg. Can't be 100% sure with the biologicals festering in there. In addition to generating a lot of sweat on the trainer, I also generate a lot of mucus. I don't have to have a cold. It doesn't even have to be cold. My nose just runs when my legs turn. Snot rockets are an effective tactical weapon when you want to create space for yourself in a pack, but somehow that doesn't translate to the stationary world. This means tissues, and a lot of them. Sometimes I'm sweating and snotting so much I can't tell the difference between them, not that I really care at the time. AT any rate, I'm going to see if I can stomp down the pile a bit so I can fit more in the can. Beats emptying it, because all of my energy is dedicated to generating big, meaningless numbers. You have to manage your resources when you're a talent-less bike-racer wannabe.
It's a good thing I'm blessed with these superpowers, or I'd have to waste even more energy paying attention.
How else would I know when the trainer towel has gone a few too many weeks between washing? I mean, there are the deep fjords the salt glaciers embedded in it carve across my forehead as I attempt to sop up the sweat. This is no ordinary sweat, as it is comprised of decades of bad choices, shame, and expensive electrolyte drinks. It would likely eat through the Storck's aluminum frame upon contact, but for my sopping skills with an overpriced camp towel from REI. I bought it during the Tour of Fairbanks a couple years back, when I realized I had forgotten one. I realized no big-box store towel was going to cut the mustard. I needed something excessively expensive, and that meant a trip to their new REI. To be fair, it does hold a lot of sweat, which makes it that much easier to forget that all of those bad choices/shame/liquid pork fat has to go somewhere. When this towel is funky, it could school Bootsy Collins. Luckily, my superpowers allow me to detect this state, and I drop it in a lead-lined box for a trip to the washing machine and the vaporize cycle.
As I donned my bio-hazard suit to transport the towel, I sensed something else wasn't quite right in the world. Actually, I tripped over the snot rag overflow from the trashcan. Maybe the pile reached out and grabbed my leg. Can't be 100% sure with the biologicals festering in there. In addition to generating a lot of sweat on the trainer, I also generate a lot of mucus. I don't have to have a cold. It doesn't even have to be cold. My nose just runs when my legs turn. Snot rockets are an effective tactical weapon when you want to create space for yourself in a pack, but somehow that doesn't translate to the stationary world. This means tissues, and a lot of them. Sometimes I'm sweating and snotting so much I can't tell the difference between them, not that I really care at the time. AT any rate, I'm going to see if I can stomp down the pile a bit so I can fit more in the can. Beats emptying it, because all of my energy is dedicated to generating big, meaningless numbers. You have to manage your resources when you're a talent-less bike-racer wannabe.
It's a good thing I'm blessed with these superpowers, or I'd have to waste even more energy paying attention.
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