Woo-Hoo! 70 degrees today, baby! Tri-Daughter #3 took Camden the Wonder Dog (CtWD) to the beach. Hopefully she's running his sorry doggy ass all over Lake Michigan's dunes and he'll sleep for a week. Speaking of CtWD, he's gettin' with my running program, too, whether he likes it or not. I'm increasing his mileage by 10% a week and he's stopped sniffing every mailbox and disgusting pile of roadkill cuz he's learned that a choke chain really hurts when yanked hard enough.
The pool is open though not yet heated...definitely manhood-shriveling, wetsuit-preferred territory. The hot tub is hot, clear and swirly. Perfect for a post-swim or post-run or post-bike or post-anything, manhood-restoring soak.
The local fish are jumping and evidently hungry, though you couldn't prove it by me. Someone recently asked me if I fished. I said, "Well, if you define fishing as actually catching fish, then no, I don't fish. If you define fishing as the set of activities involved in ATTEMPTING to catch fish, then yes, I do fish." Hah. Damn fish. They're as malignantly malevolent as, well, I better not say, but a few of you know who/what I'm talking about.
I've discovered a family of foxes inhabiting our stretch of woodsy lakefront. I love foxes. I hope they're decimating the rabbit population and wiping out a few small, yappy dogs along the way. Local folklore says there's also a cougar or two lurking about the Great Suburban Outback's sylvan byways. Dunno if the rumor's true, but I'm taking CtWD along on all backcountry runs; hopefully the mythical cat'll eat him first since I'm faster, meaner and way less tasty.
Tri-Brother just bought a new tri-bike, a Specialized S-Works carbon-fiber rocket with ALL the toys. What a little snot. He's fast enough on that fat-tired Schwinn 2-speed. I hate him.
iPod Shuffle: "Tomaas" by Miles Davis, from "Tutu." Late-career Miles. Still rockin.'
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