Cutting it Close

Drawing from US patent 775,134 (safety razor). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One of my most persistent childhood memories is watching my Dad shave.  I remember this in particular while we were camping, which we did a lot as kids.  We’d go into the restrooms, and while Dad shaved for real he would let us lather up with some shave cream and then use a toothpaste tube with a crimped end to scrape it off.  As far as I know he pretty much always shaved with a cartridge razor before switching to an electric.

When it was my turn my parents apparently didn’t want to trust me around exposed sharp objects so my first razor was an electric.  And my second.  And my third. . .  This worked, for the most part.  Most mornings facial hair was in fact removed.

Then something strange happened.  I was on the web researching leg shaving. . .no, that’s not the strange thing, actually, not in my world.  While looking for recommendations from cyclists I started seeing all these forums and product reviews with guy after guy extolling the virtues of shaving (their face, that is), “old school.”  You know, the old double-bladed safety razor, shaving soap, a badger brush, the whole deal.  It suddenly dawned on me: I’ve been having crappy shaves for my entire adult life.  Putting up with a less-than-close cut, the late-day re-growth, the skin irritation. . .all of which I’d just accepted as the normal price for getting through an unpleasant, unavoidable, daily task as quickly as possible.

(Sing it) R.E.S.O.L.V.E Why have you abandoned me?

I wanted the first post of the new year to kick the blog off on a positive note.

Then I decided that I wasn’t really ready to enter the realm of speculative fiction and that I would instead stick to talking about what is really going on in my training life.

It has been a long road back from the Ironman.  By which I mean that what I thought was the road back turned out to be a circuitous, twisty, rutted, disused fire track that dumped me out at the Lard-Ass bar here in Out-of-Shape junction where the only option is to eat Velveeta all day long and listen to non-stop Michael Jackson songs on Radio PEDO.

A Little Christmas Spirit

At the recent Potomac River Running Christmas celebration we met local DC blogger Monica Gray.  Every week she asks a question: “What is hard about ___?”  This week she asked “What’s Hard About Running?”.  And Mary and I were foolish enough to answer!  Fortunately, we only ended up as a couple of soundbites.  It’s a fun piece.  I hope you all get a kick out of it and that it inspires everyone to reflect on their accomplishments this year and their goals for the new one.

Yuletide Felicitations!

RIP The Year of the Cow

I’m back.

This week I actually made more than one workout.  This suggests–ironically as Winter arrives with all the subtlety of a TSA wanding–that my self-imposed (but longer than anticipated) training freeze might slowly be thawing.

I’m Off the Road Again

Nope, still no Ironman report.  The woman who is doing the leather-binding says that she’s having trouble finding enough gilt to do all the lettering on the cover.  Plus I’m still in negotiation about film rights and I want to get those locked down before I make a decision about international print distribution.

Mary and Tina are off with the rest of the Team racing Giant Acorn.  I opted for a quiet weekend.  Still feeling a little mentally overloaded by the rest of the year, I guess.  But quiet doesn’t mean sitting around.  Slept in a little–8am!  Woo hoo!–and then shoehorned the bike into the little car and headed down to Prince William Forest Park.  I’d put the mountain bike wheels back on the Cannondale and was pleased to discover that the Scorpions hadn’t perished out of sheer neglect; I hoped they wouldn’t decide to do so as soon as I hit the trails.