Why We Blog, part 2

Back in January, my first post - like everyone else's - outlined some expectations for the blog. Join me in the wayback machine as I evaluate my progres...

I wrote:
"The plan for this blog is for a wide breadth of posts [I'll say "check"]. Some will, of course, be about bike racing [definitely check], but I'll try to limit those [sure, why not... check] . Others will cover experiments that I wish I could run [not so much anymore, but check], observations about everyday stuff [check], and perhaps some making fun of Mark [check plus] "


So, on the surface, I seem to have met my goals. Clearly I neglected to warn you that I'd be writing about my Karaoke-related exploits on a weekly basis, but this staple in my life has become a staple of the blog. Cycling has been somewhat pervasive, but who're we kidding? If anything, I've been pretty good about keeping a lid on it! Regrettably few posts have been about kittycats.

This process of review has inspired a meta-blog of sorts, an exploration of what it is that keeps me blogging.

I like to write. So sue me, I like to occasionally get the creative juices flowing. My research pretty much locks me into the concrete and pragmatic, and it's nice to escape once a day. This blog is the Title IX in my Left-vs-Right Brain battle.

I am awesome, and you need to realize that. If you were as awesome as I am, you would want to share that awesomeness with everyone. Short of taking my one-man play, entitled "NinjaDon is Totally Sweet; A Play in 3 Acts", on a nation-wide tour (which would never work, logistically speaking), this blog is the best way to spread the wealth. I guess what I'm saying is that it feels good to have people read what you've created, and why not do what feels good?

I am forgetful. A few years ago, when my grandfather wrote his memoirs, I immediately decided that my life thus far had been boring, too boring for memoirs. While I'm still not planning on writing memoirs, I'm realizing more and more that interesting things have happened to me... I've just forgotten about them. This blog has helped with that. For example, the story of the UVM urine, the karaoke world championships, and of course everything that happened in Mexico are all pretty good stories that get lost in the grand scheme, like "there was a race at Rutgers", "I used to go to Karaoke", or "I went to Mexico". (NB: each of the words in the Mexico clause are different links). The blog is like a diary, only it's not a "here's what I did today", it's a "here's what 24 year old Don does, thinks, and believes" in short chapters. It's Encyclopaedia Dontannica.

Going back to that first post, notice that I mentioned that I'd tested the waters of blogging by writing Notes in Facebook. I wrote, "It would seem that my ramblings were palatable to most of the people who read them, or at least that nobody was so bored or offended as to complain to me." So far, I think I've maintained that level of excellence, and I daresay that I've got the skillz to stay here in the hypernetoblogospherotubes for a little while longer.

Why We Blog, part 1

Everybody has a first post. Every first post is the same. "Well, I guess I have a blog now. I'm going to write about bicycles and politics and things that amuse me... maybe kittycats. I hope you like it."

We set out with such noble goals, but do we meet them? I suppose nobody's strayed so far from their first post that they aren't writing about training and elections and kittycats. Still, within each blog there is a subtle, traceable change over time. If you read carefully, if you really invest in that blog, you notice that trend. It's safe to say that most people don't invest that much in any blog but their own, and that's okay.

So, having written that first post just like everyone else, I'll dedicate the next post, the 159th post here at theninjadon, to trying to figure out where this blog has wound up.

That may have come across with an air of finality. Don't worry. You can't get rid of me that easily.

For now, my friends, it is time for sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll be waking up early to ride my bike. While I'd love to continue this train of thought while it's fresh, the priorities have not changed, and the blogging is still secondary to the bicycling.

Book Report

Yesterday was another one of those "I'm spending so much time with Will that if he was anybody else we'd probably stop speaking to each other" days. Along with Jenks, we rode easy to Princeton and drank coffee on Nassau St.

We debated the merits of the various Rocky movies in the afternoon... you'll be pleased to know that Rocky V was never mentioned in this conversation.

Last night, Will and I went to Barnes and Noble to get books and coffee. He got a book titled "Why God is Wrong" or "Religion is teh Sux0rz" or something blatant like that.

I had more trouble finding a book. It seems like renting a movie is easy, because you know what's out there... you watch commercials, you hear about blockbusters on the news, your friends talk about what's good and what's not. Books, on the other hand, can't be so easily parsed through. Unless you go in with a plan - which I didn't - you're basically reduced to judging a book by its cover.

Everything that caught my eye seemed to be written from a "woman coming to terms with sexuality/divorce/friendship/feminism" perspective. Which doesn't exactly speak to me. I'm sure I would've been entertained, but I wanted to read something written for me - I wasn't even sure a book like that exists, but damnit I feel entitled to literature that elicits a response of familiarity from me.

Then I found it. The Average American Male. I read it cover to cover last night.

Imagine a diary (or blog, I suppose) written by a guy who doesn't restrict his language and subject matter, a guy who is brutally honest about the thoughts running through his head, about sex and relationships and the frequency with which he thinks about them... but whose honesty is restricted to the diary/blog and makes no appearance in his interpersonal interactions. Imagine a guy who is spineless and lazy, whose decisions and discourse are guided by two questions, "what is the path of least resistance?" and "will this get me laid?"

I can't speak to whether this guy is Average or not. I won't speak to the extent to which I associated with him. I will only say that if you don't mind a little (okay, a lot of) NC-17 language and content, you should read this book.

It has a webpage.

I don't even like Harry Potter

but I totally stole this video from Cara. In general, I believe that posting a video is a cheap copout of a blog post - it affords no opportunities for cleverness, it shows no ingenuity, it basically screams 'I have no ideas, but I have the ability to recognize humor!' (no offense Cara, or anyone but Will)- but this one is funny. I recognized its humor.

Charlie's Crazyass New 'Cross Loop

I put a scouting report up on the Rutgers Cycling page. You should read it, because it took a lot of work.

It's not finalized yet, though, because Charlie and I disagree about the finale of the route. Charlie's finish would climb a long, not-too-steep hill, with a big-ring sprint at the top (and it would take us through a stop sign). Mine climbs the same hill parallel to Charlie's route, about a half a mile east, and it finishes on a rolling stretch of road with no stop signs.

I like the idea of having to push hard on flat/rolling roads after climbing... there aren't enough roads like that around here. Chaz and I will figure that out later.

The moral of this story is that Charlie came up with this great loop. Perhaps you don't realize how much creativity goes into something like this. I know that I usually take it for granted. But my friend Charlie has been coming up with hill loops like this for years. And I'm a faster rider because of it.

How can I describe Chaz? I suppose you could think of him as the mutant offspring of a mountain bike and a GPS system. Or of a Sherpa and a pickup truck. It is as easy to picture Charlie living as Magellan in a past life as it is to picture him as the Marquis de Sade.

Riding with Charlie makes you dig deep.

This is going to be a good cyclocross season.

Ohm me, oh my

I went to yoga tonight. It hurts to walk now. God, I love yoga. I was one of 5 guys in a class of 30. There was a hot girl in front of me, a hot girl behind me, a hot girl to my left, and a septuagenarian to my right... but to her right was a hot girl.

Also, every muscle from my eyebrows to my toenail-flexors got a good stretch, which I sorely needed. The core workout was really good, too. In summary, this was quite the training session.

The downside, along with seeing the old lady doing downward-facing dog, was hearing the granola-worshipping, overspiritualized hippie mumbo-jumbo that inevitably accompanies an otherwise awesome yoga session...

• Direct your breaths to your tension
• Put your heart-print on the ceiling
• Let the backs of the knees shine through
• There is no ego in yoga

The last one at least makes sense, even if it's totally false. The instructor, who I've known for years, said "if you're comfortable, you can try X"... and no matter what, I would try X... at which point she would suggest Y, and subsequently Z, and so on.

When we did headstands, I whipped out the scorpion.
This is not me. I am a dude
It's been a year since I last tried yoga, and I can still pull off the scorpion. Hell yes.

The strength to go slow

Repeat after me: "I trust my coach. I trust my coach. I trust my coach"

With 'cross season coming up this fall, it's definitely time for a rebuild period. I'm okay with that, I've read all the jibbajabba about periodization and rest and whatever. You know, the whole "you have to go slow to get fast" thing. It's just that I've never been able to get myself to actually follow a plan before... but now I've got a coach.

Last week was completely off the bike. I jogged (stupid), I swam (doublestupid), I even went for an obscenely long walk (words cannot describe how stupid that was).

Now I'm back to riding, but easy. There will be no sprinting in the month of August. August is a nancyboy month. This first week in particular is a way-too-easy nancyboy week. Tuesday's ride was textbook nancyboy, 90 minutes of flat riding with 30 minutes of "easy tempo" somewhere in the middle.

When the group met up in the park to do their "Man School" hill ride, it seemed like I could try hiding from the wind and get the best of both world... the recovery of a slow solo ride plus the socialization of a big group.

When the speedometer showed 28mph halfway down River Rd, it was clear that this would not be the case. In spite of everything - the friends, the competition, the safety - I had to leave the group.

There is absolutely nothing blogworthy about the ensuing 80 minutes.

Deep breath. A week ago I was starting to display the classic signs of burnout. The legs need August to be easy, the heart and lungs neeed August to be easy. By September, the body will be ready for some good ol'-fashioned suffering, and mind will be more than happy to oblige after a month of restraint.

Restraint. Discipline. Self-denial.

I trust my coach. I trust my coach. I trust my coach.

The Growing List of Wedding Cliches

I continue to be amazed by how uncomfortable I am during wedding ceremonies. Today's was only 30 minutes of ceremony, but I still fidgeted like there was embrocation oil in my boxers.

So nothing from any wedding ceremony has yet to move me, to reach down my throat and pluck my heart strings. However, the wedding I've attended have served as examples of what I want to avoid, and I'm storing this information in the back of my mind for some point in the distant future.

Today I learned that my wedding will not have the following things*:

• The wedding party walking the aisle with the accompaniment of Green Day's "Time of Your Life", as reproduced by a flute and an electric piano.
• Reading the traditional marriage contract out loud. It is in Aramaic. Aramaic is a dead language. Leave it alone.

Worst of all, every time my mind wandered (ie, 90% of the ceremony), it wound up reliving the split-second when I drifted left instead of right going into the last corner of this morning's race, boxing myself in and probably costing myself upgrade points, cash, and bragging rights. I'm happy with every other bit of the race, why do I keep focusing on that millisecond?




*scientists have determined that the probability that I will have any influence on what cliches do or do not occur during my wife's wedding is 0.02%

General NinjaDon S. Patton

Listen closely, soldiers, for battle is imminent. Look to the man on your left, then look to the man on your right. One of those men won't be coming home. But it is a small price to pay for victory!

I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his right to sing karaoke. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his right to sing karaoke.

First of all, you must know your foe. This the face of the enemy:

The Johnsonite is obnoxious, yes, but he is not without mercy. Prisoners can expect three square meals a day and regular visits from the Red Cross.

The Johnsonite army compensates for individual weakness by traveling in hordes. Indeed, in previous battles their foes have been overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the Johnsonites. I promise you, troops, we won't let that happen.


Here's the layout of the battlefield. Pay particular attention to the bullseye... It is the land once occupied by a proud and strong empire of Cyclists, now occupied by Johnsonites. The bullseye will be the site of our glorious victory.

First, we will storm the front entrance, driving the Johnsonites to the back of the bar. This is the red arrow.
Eventually, our surprise-based advantage will succumb to the Johnsonites' sheer numbers... but this is part of our plan. When our momentum fades, Sergeant AngryMark will sound his Cyclocross Cowbell, signaling the attack from our reinforcements. The undergrads, who had been upstairs lying in wait since dinnertime, when minors could still enter the bar, will swarm the enemy's rear flank. This is the blue arrow.

We can expect the Johnsonites to put up a brutal fight. It would be folly to guarantee victory, even after the Hidden Undergrad Gambit. This is why we have infiltrated a secret agent among their ranks. His (or her) identity is concealed in the following photograph, but know this: he (or she) is as ruthless as his (or her) hair is spiky.

Above all else, remember that we must succeed. If we can't keep America singing, then the terrorists have won.

A Modest, Poorly Thought Out Proposal

If you read this blog, odds are good that you've asked me my opinion on doping, or that you yourself have been asked. First of all, let me tell how how much I love hearing these questions when they're phrased along the lines of "What's wrong with your sport? Why are they all cheating?"

Heaven forbid I ask you about the doping scandals in baseball, football, soccer, tennis, or even golf. While we're at it, let's not talk about all the cheating in NASCAR.

So cycling is the most tested sport in the world. The penalties for being caught are steep, and the penalty for doping itself is sometimes death. And yet the cyclists keep doing it. Looking at this as a cost/benefit problem, it's clear that the cost is pretty high, but not high enough to prevent cheating.

My proposal: Remove the incentive from victory.

By putting a strict, below-the-poverty-line salary cap on the professionals, we could force them to get second jobs. Work in a bike shop. Sell insurance by phone. Beat hippies with a stick. Whatever.

The second job would provide the professionals with a means to survive... and this income would not be contingent on excelling at bike racing. The idea is that they would still race, because racing is awesome and they are naturally competitive people. However, doping, and the resultant winning, wouldn't result in any more cash-money. Prestige, yes, but no dollar-dollar-bill-y'all.

Sponsors would still get their names plastered all over newspapers and TV and interwebs, so they'd be happy. Racers would still race for a win, because it's in our nature... I've seen people crash each other to win plastic trophies in a cat 5 race.

Doping would still exist... hell, amateur triathletes have been known to dope! So you'd still need testing. However, the cost/benefit analysis would be shifted, not by increasing the cost (which has been pretty clearly shown to not work), but by decreasing the benefit. Ipso facto ergo and voila, much less doping.

In conclusion, this is the worst idea ever, and I just wasted 5 minutes of yours. And you can never get them back.