motivation-AL

Al Reveals His Deepest Fears



Well, I'm coming along...slowly. I've been stretching, spinning, swimming, massaging, resting, icing, compressing, elevating, load bearing, and fucking grumbling...a lot. I'm improving, but, as I say, it is slow.

I'd love to get out for a long run. And I want to crank out a real road ride. I'm so gay from all this low res trainer shit that I'm thinking of getting a gel seat...and sissy bars with tassles...in pink.

Anyway, just thought I'd update you as the other two fags are incommunicado. Heywood may be dead, in fact. I can't remember the last time we got one of his riveting posts. ("Ma says the cows may have brucellosis. Susie says the Plymouth threw a rod. Johnny says he and Pa have to mend the fences out in the pasture. They're planning on growing alfalfa next year...")

bicoast-AL

The boys, "Doing It Wrong!"

"Take a look over head," Fred (Nostalgic-AL)

Fred don't know diddly. Al's got radioactive blood, yo.

eventu-AL

Wherein Al describes his misery.


Well, loyal readers, Al is unhappy. I am missing a tri this weekend due to this injury. There is one more in early October that I was hoping to make a miraculous comeback for, but instead I feel like a fat, stupid, bleach blonde, trailer-trash, bitch who can't dance and sure as shit can't sing.



Rehab has been slow and painful. I have been biking with little or no resistance on the trainer, swimming, and doing some stretching/light load bearing exercises religiously for the last 2-3 weeks. Today, I tried to walk on the treadmill at a faster than normal pace. I also tried run/trotting a little. I made it about 1/4 mile when I felt the calf tighten up. I immediately stopped and switched to the trainer. FUCK!!!!!

This is a slow business. I must remind myself that I've come back from worse, that I can't rush this, that eventually all will be well.

One positive note has been this stick massager I got. Really gets a deep tissue rub going. I like it! (And no, heywood and Fred, you can't borrow mine.) No worries, folks, I'll hang in there. Just wishing this would hurry up and heal.

Al Will Never Fuck Anybody Like A Bitch, Yo

Posters

No, G, this is a killer poster:

Ch...Ch....Ch....Ch.......

Dear Gawd, Friends!

Has anyone been attacked by CHIGGERS?

Oh, the humanity!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gettin Time To Rock Yo Muddy Shit, Yo

dismiss-AL

Wherein Al explains why he deleted Fred's brilliant post.

Fred's genius is, indeed, unparalleled in the blog universe. This much is clear. His latest (and perhaps greatest) achievement was the insertion of a "Fuck This Shit" button in our blog. Forget that this button appeared all over the net and blogdom latterly. What made it brilliant was Fred's deft placement in our stream of content and his witty commentary ("Al's Anthem") that accompanied the button. Unfortunately, the button opened Pandora's box and F'ed our nice little blog up. (Something in the code, I assume.) At any rate, after consulting with the boys on this, I deleted the post. However, I refuse to leave a vacuum (though I know you will all feel the absence, the emptiness anyway). In its place, I've tried to bring you something that might be a suitable replacement.





A Dick Joke:

A professor gives his physiology class a spot quiz. One question he asks is, "What part of the human anatomy expands to ten times its normal size during periods of intense emotion and excitement?" He picks a rather overdressed girl in the front row to answer it. "Miss Callahan!" The indicated girl, who heard the question, stammers with some embarrassment: "Professor, I'd rather not answer that question." The professor says, "That's all right, Miss Callahan, you don't need to answer it. Is there anyone present who can answer it?" He notes an interested face in the back of the classroom. "Mr. Hawkins!" Hawkins says, "Yes, Professor, it is the pupil of the eye that expands to ten times its normal size during periods of emotion and excitement." The professor says, "That is correct, Mr. Hawkins." Then he turns to Miss Callahan. He says, "Young lady, two things are obvious from your reaction to this question. One, you haven't studied this week's assignment; and Two, I'm afraid marriage is going to be a tremendous disappointment to you."

perpetu-FUCKING-AL

In which Al yells, "FUCK!"


Ok, enough of this shit. I am injured again.

It started with a minor calf muscle strain in my left leg about 10 days ago. This happened during a run of the mill 5 miler at a very comfy pace. It seems odd to me that it would happen during a non-challenging, recovery sort of workout, but maybe it was a while in the making. I felt a pull low down in the calf (thought it was the achilles first). I tried to coninue to run a bit more to see if it was a spasm that would sort itself. But it got worse. I stopped and hobbled home.



But I was thinking, then, that it was minor. No real swelling or discoloration, and only a modicum of pain. With some R.I.C.E., I was expecting to be good as new in 2 weeks. And that would not have put a crimp in my triathlon on 9/16 nor in my plans to start off the cross season guns ablazin' shortly thereafter. But then shit happened...

I was dealing with a "this fucking car!" moment on Wednesday of last week. The piece of shit car I commute in decided to quit on me, mid commute, so I had to push the pig off the road.



I stepped out of the fucker and was not even thinking about my leg. It had been feeling great. I was spinning with no resistance and swimming all week and it seemed to be responding. I started to push (not even thinking what I was doing). BANG! A lightening bolt shot up my leg and I hit the pavement with a loud, "FUCK!"

Here I am, 6 days later. I'm rehabbing but the leg is definitely going to be a much slower mend now. My end of season Tri is out. The 1/2 marathon for the end of September is fucked, and I don't know when I'll start cross work. FUCK!

I guess I must expect, as I close in on 40, that injury prevention must be much more a part of my routine. And I could use advice on this. (And fuck you Fred. I'm not coming to yoga with you.) I'm thinking that the calf area will need attention. More focus when I lift on calves. Much more attention to stretching before and after. I'm even thinking of getting one of those massage sticks. (No, Heywood, not like the one you jam in your ass to massage your kidneys.) Maybe this will help. I'm all ears endurance Gurus...

Gay Bars?

Moveitfred's wife just picked up about two dozen Luna Bars at the grocery store.

They were on sale.

Moveitfred loves Luna Bars.

They are his favorite.

Does that mean he's, uh, y'know?

Memories, pt 1

So Moveitfred has been playing over his vacation again and again in his mind as he gets back to the numbing business of normal life. Let Moveitfred replay now the first day of his vacation to the loyal reader of this blog.

Family fred scheduled a late-afternoon flight out of local rinky airport that was scheduled to get into Jablome Country in Cali late that night. What was supposed to be a mildly-inconvenient cross-country flight that evening turned into an all-night slog with a productive ending.

Problem was Baltimore (isn't it always?). Baltimore was the first quick leg of the fred's flight itinerary. Apparently on this night a storm of epic proportions leveled the DC/Baltimore area. No flights in or out. So for several hours the freds waited. They played games. They watched a movie. They fed quarters into the massage chairs. They spent way too much time looking at airport gift shop crap. Mrs. Moveitfred even approached official airline personnel and offered to come back the next day. The response was that we would be leaving shortly, and the guarantee was that the flight would go on as scheduled through the night into Jablome Country.

After another hour or so Family fred did leave and arrive in Baltimore. Next leg: Baltimore to LA-LA Land. This was the all-nighter leg that finally did arrive in LA at 3am. Final short leg: LA-Jablome.

However, a snag. Apparently the pilots' union was all over this delayed mess unfolding across the country and decided to put a stop to the flight in LA: pilots had been working too long and this flight was officially grounded.

There were about 30 people scheduled to travel on to Jablome Country on that flight, and they were cranky and piss-flippin' mad. Moveitfred's children were exposed to all 14 cuss words in the time it took to walk from the plane, down the breezeway and into the terminal.

Now here's a travel tip from Moveitfred: when you find yourself in this situation and everyone around you is blowing gaskets, you be the nice one. Think about it: the airline personnel are just as tired and cranky as you are and will do anything, ANYTHING to make you happy and get you out of their faces for the night.

So, the deal from the airline was this: since the terminal was officially closed, all 30 passengers needed to hike it out to the rigid, non-padded chairs by baggage claim for the night until the first flight out to Jablome Country at 8:30am. Nice...

But Moveitfred and the Mrs huddled up and called an audible. With exhausted kids asleep on top of their carry-ons, the freds decided enough and came up with a Plan B that worked to perfection. The freds sidled up to an airline official and calmly presented the terms: the freds wanted a hotel--a nice one--for the family to get a few hours sleep in a bed, a big breakfast, and a later flight. (Don't scream and say "you gotta do something about this YOU FUCKERS!" as others on the flight did--calmly tell them what you want and make it easy and impossible to say "no").

Done deal.

The freds were whisked past 26 other saps curled up on metal chairs and off to a 4-star LA airport hotel. There they all got about 6 hours sleep between 500 thread count sheets before going downstairs for a huge buffet breakfast on white linen tablecloths. Then they took a leisurely trip back to airport for a late-morning, uneventful flight to Jablome Country. Airline paid for it all. On top of all that the airline gave each of the freds a $200 voucher. Nice.

So upon arrival at Estate Jablome (think babbling Greek fountains, original artwork in each wing, acres of fruit orchards--fucking Tuscan villa) Heywood started jumping up in fred's grill and saying, "I'm gonna take you down for a swim at a shitty hole at the river...swimming at a shitty hole."

Now Moveitfred is thinking "What the fuck?" The freds just traveled all night across the country, suffered hours of delays, ended up staying in a lavish LA hotel that morning, just got in, and this Douche is taking us swimming down at a shitty hole? Where's the love? Where's the hospitality?

Well, turns out fred was being a bit too hard on Heywood.

What Heywood really said was "TITTY hole."

When Moveitfred, Heywood, and family arrived after a long dusty hike through the canyon they found a virtual titty parade basking alongside the river! Oh yeah, Heywood!!! (although Moveitfred wonders even now why Heywood would think this watery Norcal pit of evil would be appropriate for children, Moveitfred didn't think too much about it at the time).

Now THAT'S the way to start a vacation!

Back!

“Where is Woody” seems to be the theme of many posts and comments on this blog by both of the loyal readers (thanks Al and Fred for you obvious concern). Well he is right here, sitting in front of this fad called a computer for the first time in a month. During his absence, Wood has traveled to Glacier NP, Yellowstone NP, Grand Teton NP, Lake Tahoe and Southern California. While each of these magnificent places will leave a lasting impression in the tiny cranium of Heywood, he only chooses to bore you with the details of the time spent with Moveitfred.

As was mentioned in earlier post, Moveitfred was flying out to California with family in tow to visit Heywood and Company. The plan was for Wood and Fred to explore the roads and trails around Auburn and Lake Tahoe while atop a biciclete. Within a few hours of his arrival to Casa de Wood, the two headed out on the skinny tire bikes for a short 15 mile ride though some of the mountainous covered roads neighboring God’s Country. The blacktop was smooth and steep, temps were ideal, and the traffic was minimal. Not bad for day one in Cali. The days to follow can only get better.

Early next morning the whole family was awake bright and early. “Ready to hit some of the local trails Freddy?” asked Wood.
What Wood heard next was “Blah, blah, blah, my vagina is swollen, blah, blah, hurts too, blah, blah, can’t go for a ride, blah, blah, blah.”

Fred tends to complain about the topography in Long Island as well as the weather. It’s to flat, no good trails, it to humid, etc…. So now he flies across this vast country and finds himself next to some of the most excellent trails ever formed and he pulls the pussy-card out. Al, what have you New Yorkers done to my friend Fred? I want him back.

After camping in Lake Tahoe, the whole gang headed down to Southern California to enjoy the babes, beer and sand.

As long as Jablome has been friends with Fred, Fred has always been very mild tempered and level headed. He has never shown much aggression towards anyone. This was about to change.

Fred and Wood found themselves waiting at a stoplight on PCH with a few other cyclists, two of which were riding those Tri/Fag bikes that Al rides. With an elitist attitude, these two wannabe triathletes looked back at Fred and Wood and scoffed at there meager existence and spectacle of traditional road bikes. When the light turned green, the tri/fag/letes clipped in, put their heads down, and proceeded to ride away from the bicoastal boys as they leisurely clipped in to their pedals. The mere sight of these tri/fags leaving the boys behind must have causes some synapse in Fred’s brain to misfire. With no hesitation, Fred put the HAMMER DOWN! As the boys pulled along side them at 25 mph, the fag’s tongues were hanging out while gasping for air. When the boys started to pass them at 27 mph, the fags were being put in to serious difficulty. And while blowing them away at 29 mph, the fag’s only option was to pull over, tuck their dicks between there legs, and bang their fist on the ground. For whatever reason, Fred unleashed a beast inside that Wood never knew he possessed. Fred had a smile from ear to ear for the rest of the ride.

So yes, this past month has been great with all the vacations. But the best part was just visiting with Fred and Family for a couple of weeks.

arous-AL

Heywood's Absence Has Aroused the Interest of His Friends

Heywood: We're worried. Are you still with us? We all want to know.

Teaser

Moveitfred has just returned from an extended vacation in Cali with the venerable Heywood Jablome, and, oh, the things to report. But Moveitfred is just too sleepy right now to contribute even the slightest creative mirth, but he does have the energy to post one classic shot of the predatory Woodrow bearing down on some poor, unaware Cali hottie who was hoping to simply spend a leisurely afternoon cruising the coastline with her legs wrapped around a beach cruiser. But the powers of Jablome were too strong. Heywood had the freakin' Star Wars tractor beam dialed to full power. Hottie had no chance...

Moveitfred just has to say: it gets so fucking tiresome riding with Heywood Jablome when he continually calls out his name over and over and over again along the coast, always within earshot of some hot female ass. It's like an unending Tourettes outburst. Sheesh.

And by the way, who the FUCK wears Von Zipper chick glasses on a bike ride anyway?

Oh, and Al--what the hell with the gay freeride vid? 'Tis the season, holmes. Word on some cross crashes and clown music.

Cyc-AL

Well, it was back to the Salt Mines for Fred and Al today. Fred and Al have committed themselves to much Sound and Fury signifying nothing this year. The goal is to appear busy / productive while slipping out for epic rides. On this front, Fred is scoping out a new cross course on the back 40 of the mine property, and Al has committed to building PVC barriers for Fred's new cross course.

Fred-O traveled to work on his Zancanoodle today, giving Al his first up close and personal with the custom rig...sweet ride, Fred-o. All this makes Al yearn for the upcoming cross season and the MTB fun that will follow in short order. But first...one more tri to do. A sprint on 9/16. Fun, fun , fun.

BTW, who the fuck is Heywood?

mich-AeL

Another installment in AL's sport gone wrong series...plus a little something for you cooking enthusiasts.

Here's a great column by Dan Wetzel on a bird that ain't gonna be flying for quite some time.



And since we're on the topic of birds that don't fly...

post-AL

Everyone is so fucking sensitive. I mean, you get a little fired up during a ball game, hit a couple motherfuckers with a bat, and BOOM! You're off to jail.

Jose Offerman, of the L.I. Ducks these days, put a bat upside a few opponents heads after getting plunked. Seems fair to me. I mean, you hit me with a ball, I take a bat to yo' ass. (Remember Sean Connery's character in the Untouchables? "...Capone's guys put one of your men in the hospital. You put one of his in the morgue!") What's the problem?




What happened to the good old days? 8/22/1965: Juan Marichal clubs John Rosenboro upside the motherfucking head in a Giants/Dodgers game at Candlestick...

Juan Marichal getss suspended for nine days and fined $1,750.

mediev-AL

This was just too good to pass up. Ving Rhames' dogs got a little medieval on a brother's ass...






Man Fatally Mauled By Dogs At Ving Rhames' House

(CBS) LOS ANGELES Police say a man has been fatally mauled at the Brentwood home of actor Ving Rhames.

The man, an employee of the 48-year-old actor's, apparently was hired to take care of Rhames' property and his four bull mastiffs.

It is unclear how many of the dogs were involved in the mauling but all four have been taken into custory by Animal Control.

TMZ.com is reporting that Animal Control was called to the property at 7:15 a.m. and found a black male, 40, deceased, on the front lawn.

They also reported that Rhames, a 2-time Golden Globe winner, is out of town.

dors-AL

A l'il somthing for Solo

This post should be filed under "Nothing to do with anything 'cept ass." Solo was pissing about the fat guy pics. Don't say I never did anything for you, Solobreak.