exit17

Victory.

Thank you, Kerry Litka, for your domestic advice in my massive war with fruit flies who infested my drain. After a pound of baking soda and some vinegar, I think they’re gone. But, sadly, it wasn’t as cool as killing them with a makeshift Lysol and lighter flamethrower. Nor was it as cool as what my next plan was going to be – pouring gasoline down the drain and lighting it on fire.

Sure, I would have burned down the building, but I would have taken the damn flies with me.

Anyway, now that that problem is solved, I’m staring down the face of the last week of classes, and with that the necessary projects/papers/etc that is all due. Which is fun.

Although every day that passes is a day closer to cross nationals. I’m excited to go – not necessarily for the race. Because looking at the start list…there’s Jamey Driscol! And Toby Marzot! Yay! Two riders who are approximately 15,000 percent better than I am on the bike. Not to mention the other freaks from Colorado that’ll be racing.

So we’ve got about 20-30 guys that are crazyfriggin good, who will totally and utterly slay me. My legs are going to feel like they’ve been firebombed after that race. THEN there’s the guys that are better than me, but in a reasonable sense. Like Rudy and other riders of his strength. If he crashes, has a bad start, or drops a chain (a few times), I may be able to beat him.

But with Jamey and Toby, they could stop racing and play a game of Monopoly with their grandparents, get back on the bike, and still lap me three times. I’m half expecting them to ride by me while eating a meatball sub, no handed, on the off camber sections while I’m vomiting up my respiratory system.

Yay.

But what I am excited for is the marching band. And the cheering. And the antics – the suits, the interviews of pros, and the inevitable eating of a jar of chocolate frosting and fried chicken on the way back.

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