Can you please retro these Nike? Maybe with soles that don't crack monthly?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Less than a dream
This winter I decided I was going to get semi-serious about racing mountain bikes. So much so that I decided to read Joe Friel's Mountain Bike Training Bible. So I hammered through it, and completely ignored the huge training grids he had created for the reader to fill out so that they would have an idea of the course of the upcoming season. The blanks to fill in consisted of things like ride lengths and intensities, weekly hours alotted to training, and races prioritized by letter grades.
Sorry, Mr. Friel, but I just don't roll like that. I work in a bike shop and those weeks you want me on the bike for 20 hours, I am going to be working 50. I know from previous experience that more than a couple of consecutive weeks of that will lead to burnout and/or illness, both of which I wanted terribly to avoid this summer. This is not to say that the book was a let down by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, one paragraph in particular set the tone for my entire season. At the beginning of 2008, a few weeks into a tobacco detox, I was all too happy to talk about my plans to destroy the expert field, but even I wasn't sure whether or not I was joking. I was confident in my potential but not my abilities. I did a couple of races and then flamed out, getting sick a month into the season and essentially shutting it down in early June. But I did a few cyclocross races in the fall and a late season MTB event that had me feeling good about my riding and reading this book feeling introspective when I came upon this:
It really struck me at this point, that I had never really been sure enough of my abilities (in either a positive or negative way) to try to set REASONABLE and ATTAINABLE racing goals. I would always think of where I could or should be in the standings, literally visualizing my name at the top of the expert results (often times while smoking cigarettes on my porch) without having any concept of how fast I would need to ride to win a race, let alone how long it would take me to get that fast. So my dreams remained dreams, and every race result was a relative success and failure. Until I took Friel's advice, and carefully set goals and put them in writing. The following is from an email dated Jan. 7 and was preceded by the paragraph I just quoted above:
Well, off the bat, forget about #3. I realized pretty quickly after 2 expert races that I was in no shape or position to race 2 Ontario Cup races within hours of each other. This was reinforced at Hardwood (where I planned to do it) when Peter Glassford, the only other guy to ever attempt the feat (and WAY fitter than myself) talked about puking his guts out when he attempted the double header in 2007. (as an aside, right after he related this story to me, I retorted with "Yeah, I know Glassford did both races a couple of years ago" to which he responded "I am Peter Glassford", causing some moderate embarassment to myself)
But let me break down #1, Crank the Shield here, because it is pretty freaky:
-Have a time faster than any SS solo competitor
Matt and I were 1m35s (over 12.5 hours) ahead of SS winner Jamie Davies at the end of CTS. He had some bike trouble day 1 that cost him time but I will take it!
-Have a time competitive with winner in 2-person under 80
Was an hour back competitive? I don't know, but we were in close range on day 3 so I will give us a conditional pass.
-Have a time within the top 10 solo male
There were precisely 9 solo men with a time faster than ours.
-All of the above equate to under a 20% time gap on the leaders, but I would be ecstatic with under 15%
We actually made it within 10%, but the level of competition, no offense to the winners, was not as fast as the previous year. That being said, I still think we would have been close to the 15% mark had the top guns showed up.
-Understand that either myself or my partner may WILL be a limiting factor for some or all of the race, and realize that racing within those constraints will probably be our greatest challenge/victory. Exploit the other's strengths and camouflage their weaknesses.
This one we played perfectly. We never lost patience with each other, always tried to keep the other calm, and knew when to work and when to rest, and managed to use a course over unknown terrain to our advantage. This race went exactly as scripted.
As for #2, the Ontario Cup season:
-I would like to attend 5 ocup races
I actually made it to 6!
-race both SS and expert in 2 of those races
Fail, but I already justified that one
-I will not upgrade to Elite unless forced
That wasn't hard
-I would like to receive at least 95 upgrade points at three Ocups (SS or Expert) that I finish, and over 90 at the rest
I never hit 95, but was over 90 at 4 of the 6 races, and I believe that even the expert race winner only broke 95 at 2 of the 7 races. Semi-pass.
-Without any races to drop I would like to end up with over 80 ocup points by the end of the season assuming 5 finishes
This is my favourite. With a drop (best 5/6) I had 97 points. Assuming I only had 5 races and omitting one of my two 2nd place results, I have 90 points. It would appear that I exceeded my goal. BUT, if you adjust for the 3 racers who upgraded mid-season (i.e. assume they would have beat me in expert class, because they would have) those 90 points turn to 79, and the 97 points turn into 83. Right on the money.
So what does it all mean? It means that because I was for once totally honest with myself about what I really wanted out of this race season in terms of results, I can look back and consider it a success, rather than wondering what could have been. And I have another 3 months before considering my goals for next season, when I'll be aiming my sights a little higher and hoping for a similar level of accuracy.
Sorry, Mr. Friel, but I just don't roll like that. I work in a bike shop and those weeks you want me on the bike for 20 hours, I am going to be working 50. I know from previous experience that more than a couple of consecutive weeks of that will lead to burnout and/or illness, both of which I wanted terribly to avoid this summer. This is not to say that the book was a let down by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, one paragraph in particular set the tone for my entire season. At the beginning of 2008, a few weeks into a tobacco detox, I was all too happy to talk about my plans to destroy the expert field, but even I wasn't sure whether or not I was joking. I was confident in my potential but not my abilities. I did a couple of races and then flamed out, getting sick a month into the season and essentially shutting it down in early June. But I did a few cyclocross races in the fall and a late season MTB event that had me feeling good about my riding and reading this book feeling introspective when I came upon this:
"It's good to think big at this stage, but don't confuse goals with dreams. Athletes often dream about what they want to accomplish-a win at nationals, turning pro or some other lofty vision. That's good for your future in the sport. Tall dreams keep us going and help give all the hours spent riding a greater meaning. Everyone needs dreams, and they can become realities given enough smart and hard training. But dreams aren't goals. Dreams are so big that they take longer than one season to accomplish. If it's far fetched to believe your wish can be achieved this season, it's not a goal but rather a dream." (pg 86)
It really struck me at this point, that I had never really been sure enough of my abilities (in either a positive or negative way) to try to set REASONABLE and ATTAINABLE racing goals. I would always think of where I could or should be in the standings, literally visualizing my name at the top of the expert results (often times while smoking cigarettes on my porch) without having any concept of how fast I would need to ride to win a race, let alone how long it would take me to get that fast. So my dreams remained dreams, and every race result was a relative success and failure. Until I took Friel's advice, and carefully set goals and put them in writing. The following is from an email dated Jan. 7 and was preceded by the paragraph I just quoted above:
Mr. Friel calls for a few major goals to be set according to the following principles:
1)The goal must be measurable
2)The goal must be under your control
3)The goal must stretch you
4)The goal should be stated in the positive
At this point I should probably set a few goals for you now, according to these principles, and in order of my biggest races, as the author suggests.
1) Crank the Sheild. If all goes to plan, and I race the Two Person category with Matt Prosser on a singlespeed my goals are as follows:
(Assuming a similar level of competition in 09 all the following statements should be true)
-Have a time faster than any SS solo competitor
-Have a time competitive with winner in 2-person under 80
-Have a time within the top 10 solo male
-All of the above equate to under a 20% time gap on the leaders, but I would be ecstatic with under 15%
-Understand that either myself or my partner WILL be a limiting factor for some or all of the race, and realize that racing within those constraints will probably be our greatest challenge/victory. Exploit the other's strengths and camouflage their weaknesses.
2) Ontario cup overall. Last season I had a serious truancy problem. I would like to rectify that, but especially after 2008 I feel like attending all 7 may be a stretch. So I would like to attend 5 ocup races, and (finally) race both SS and expert in 2 of those races. I will not upgrade to Elite unless forced. I would like to receive at least 95 upgrade points at three Ocups (SS or Expert) that I finish, and over 90 at the rest. Without any races to drop I would like to end up with >80 ocup points by the end of the season assuming 5 finishes.
3) There is not one race to me that stands out as an important third, not enough to set a goal, so I will choose the HH Canada Cup. I will commit NOW to racing SS and Expert at this specific event (and Buckwallow too, I guess, nothing else really makes sense). This race also provides a great opportunity as a "peak", to have myself race through the first two Ocups without expecting a top result, and seeing what effect this may have on my psyche/fitness. Hopefully my overall feeling/fatigue levels should give me an idea of how hard to go before CTS.
Well, off the bat, forget about #3. I realized pretty quickly after 2 expert races that I was in no shape or position to race 2 Ontario Cup races within hours of each other. This was reinforced at Hardwood (where I planned to do it) when Peter Glassford, the only other guy to ever attempt the feat (and WAY fitter than myself) talked about puking his guts out when he attempted the double header in 2007. (as an aside, right after he related this story to me, I retorted with "Yeah, I know Glassford did both races a couple of years ago" to which he responded "I am Peter Glassford", causing some moderate embarassment to myself)
But let me break down #1, Crank the Shield here, because it is pretty freaky:
-Have a time faster than any SS solo competitor
Matt and I were 1m35s (over 12.5 hours) ahead of SS winner Jamie Davies at the end of CTS. He had some bike trouble day 1 that cost him time but I will take it!
-Have a time competitive with winner in 2-person under 80
Was an hour back competitive? I don't know, but we were in close range on day 3 so I will give us a conditional pass.
-Have a time within the top 10 solo male
There were precisely 9 solo men with a time faster than ours.
-All of the above equate to under a 20% time gap on the leaders, but I would be ecstatic with under 15%
We actually made it within 10%, but the level of competition, no offense to the winners, was not as fast as the previous year. That being said, I still think we would have been close to the 15% mark had the top guns showed up.
-Understand that either myself or my partner may WILL be a limiting factor for some or all of the race, and realize that racing within those constraints will probably be our greatest challenge/victory. Exploit the other's strengths and camouflage their weaknesses.
This one we played perfectly. We never lost patience with each other, always tried to keep the other calm, and knew when to work and when to rest, and managed to use a course over unknown terrain to our advantage. This race went exactly as scripted.
As for #2, the Ontario Cup season:
-I would like to attend 5 ocup races
I actually made it to 6!
-race both SS and expert in 2 of those races
Fail, but I already justified that one
-I will not upgrade to Elite unless forced
That wasn't hard
-I would like to receive at least 95 upgrade points at three Ocups (SS or Expert) that I finish, and over 90 at the rest
I never hit 95, but was over 90 at 4 of the 6 races, and I believe that even the expert race winner only broke 95 at 2 of the 7 races. Semi-pass.
-Without any races to drop I would like to end up with over 80 ocup points by the end of the season assuming 5 finishes
This is my favourite. With a drop (best 5/6) I had 97 points. Assuming I only had 5 races and omitting one of my two 2nd place results, I have 90 points. It would appear that I exceeded my goal. BUT, if you adjust for the 3 racers who upgraded mid-season (i.e. assume they would have beat me in expert class, because they would have) those 90 points turn to 79, and the 97 points turn into 83. Right on the money.
So what does it all mean? It means that because I was for once totally honest with myself about what I really wanted out of this race season in terms of results, I can look back and consider it a success, rather than wondering what could have been. And I have another 3 months before considering my goals for next season, when I'll be aiming my sights a little higher and hoping for a similar level of accuracy.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A perfect storm
I have been putting a fair amount of effort into avoiding the news for the past few days. I was moderately interested in the facts emerging in the Sheppard case that I will henceforth refer to as "The Shitstorm". But halfway through the day on Tuesday, when a reporter called my work looking for my coworker who had written something on facebook to the effect of "RIP Al", I realized that the media circus was just that, and that nothing good was going to come of reading any articles whose contents were researched with only slightly more diligence than the ignorant reader comments that inevitably follow.
The courier was drunk.
Bryant is an asshole.
I couldn't really give a fuck.
God damn it, why couldn't it have been a 60 year-old commuter and a middle aged woman who killed him? You know, like that guy who was doored into traffic last year with little or no fanfare? Or a 15 year-old kid and an old chinese lady, like the woman killed by the sidewalk cyclist? Why couldn't both parties involved just be non-descript residents of the city of Toronto, so that The Shitstorm could remain in some way, shape or form about the events that transpired instead of sensationalized headlines to sell papers and polarize the community?
Could The Shitstorm be any more perfect, really? Rich, powerful, public figure driving a car vs. broke, marginalized, slave-wage-earner riding a bike, and for this reason we will forever more be arguing who the real victim was. This is not about cyclists and drivers. This is not about the proletariat and the bourgoisie. This is not about the celebrity and the anonymous. This is about the rules of engagement.
And unlike fight club, there is only one rule. There are no rules.
Urban cyclists, especially courier types (I include myself under this umbrella), seem to pride themselves on their ability to ride defensively and expect the unexpected, because cars do not behave in a predictable manner. However the last statement is not entirely accurate because cars do not behave in any manner at all, it is their human pilots that are unpredictable. And to think that a driver (or cyclist for that matter) will behave any more predictably or rationally when engaged in an argument is a dangerous proposition indeed.
Perhaps I have less sympathy for Sheppard than the average cyclist, having found myself being beaten by a group of five or so men two months ago, half a block from the spot where he was killed, as a result of my own need to escalate an argument with a jaywalking pedestrian. I fucked with the wrong guy, and I paid for it.
And I cannot help but think that Sheppard's last thought, having no idea who Michael Bryant was, the position of power he held, or the ease with which he will likely escape any consequence for his actions, was much the same: I fucked with the wrong guy.
So please, let's just not fuck with each other at all. It isn't worth it. That Michael Douglas Falling Down glamourized hollywood confrontation you have in your head where you show the motorist who's boss isn't going to happen (in real life fights are a lot less noisy and a lot more painful). And if it does, and ends in your favour, you are probably going to jail.
So let it go.
Please just let it go.
The courier was drunk.
Bryant is an asshole.
I couldn't really give a fuck.
God damn it, why couldn't it have been a 60 year-old commuter and a middle aged woman who killed him? You know, like that guy who was doored into traffic last year with little or no fanfare? Or a 15 year-old kid and an old chinese lady, like the woman killed by the sidewalk cyclist? Why couldn't both parties involved just be non-descript residents of the city of Toronto, so that The Shitstorm could remain in some way, shape or form about the events that transpired instead of sensationalized headlines to sell papers and polarize the community?
Could The Shitstorm be any more perfect, really? Rich, powerful, public figure driving a car vs. broke, marginalized, slave-wage-earner riding a bike, and for this reason we will forever more be arguing who the real victim was. This is not about cyclists and drivers. This is not about the proletariat and the bourgoisie. This is not about the celebrity and the anonymous. This is about the rules of engagement.
And unlike fight club, there is only one rule. There are no rules.
Urban cyclists, especially courier types (I include myself under this umbrella), seem to pride themselves on their ability to ride defensively and expect the unexpected, because cars do not behave in a predictable manner. However the last statement is not entirely accurate because cars do not behave in any manner at all, it is their human pilots that are unpredictable. And to think that a driver (or cyclist for that matter) will behave any more predictably or rationally when engaged in an argument is a dangerous proposition indeed.
Perhaps I have less sympathy for Sheppard than the average cyclist, having found myself being beaten by a group of five or so men two months ago, half a block from the spot where he was killed, as a result of my own need to escalate an argument with a jaywalking pedestrian. I fucked with the wrong guy, and I paid for it.
And I cannot help but think that Sheppard's last thought, having no idea who Michael Bryant was, the position of power he held, or the ease with which he will likely escape any consequence for his actions, was much the same: I fucked with the wrong guy.
So please, let's just not fuck with each other at all. It isn't worth it. That Michael Douglas Falling Down glamourized hollywood confrontation you have in your head where you show the motorist who's boss isn't going to happen (in real life fights are a lot less noisy and a lot more painful). And if it does, and ends in your favour, you are probably going to jail.
So let it go.
Please just let it go.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Bruno: feminine or feminist?
Sometime around 1994 a movie called Pulp Fiction came out. My friend told me all about it. His dad said it was one of the best films he'd ever seen, but yet would not let his son, my friend, see the movie. Now, I am not arguing that Pulp Fiction is appropriate for an 11 year old, what with all the violence and drug use. But oddly enough, I do remember this friend talking about watching and loving 'True Romance', which is arguably even more violent than Pulp Fiction. So what gives? After seeing the movie a year or so later, and pondering the double standard for the past 15 years, I am pretty sure that a certain scene involving a psycopathic, S&M loving antique store owner, a couple of ball-gags, and gay-rape was probably what swung the balance.
I reference this now, because we seem to have come a LONG way in those past 15 years, when it comes to accepting graphic images and ideas in mainstream media. And if you can't find anything shocking (which is still a constantly changing variable) on TV or in the movies, well, they are just a google search away. Which is why I was kind of surprised that I was genuinely shocked by what I saw Sacha Baron Cohen get away with on the big screen yesterday. I was not totally sure what to expect going in, as I had heard it mostly referred to as worse than Borat (which I wasn't a huge fan of), but far more explicit.....which I found hard to believe. (but which was proven very much correct within the opening minutes of the film) This is not supposed to be a conventional review, but I will say that I laughed quite a bit, was happily aghast when I wasn't laughing, but would not necessarily recommend anyone else go see this film, even though I didn't regret spending my $10 on it.
However, the most important thing that I took from the film was not the shock-value of the images, or the prevalence of homophobia in middle America, or its culture of celebrity worship; we didn't need Cohen to bring any of that to our attention. Instead, I think that Bruno bends gender roles in a very clever way, and I think it is as much a commentary of the treatment of women in the media and in general, than it is about homophobia or gay culture. I had an inkling of this before I even saw the movie, when discussing the gigantic Bruno billboard at Yonge and Davenport (gone now) with my girlfriend and sister. Michelle said it was disturbing, and while I think that's a strong word I kinda had to agree. When I saw it for the first time I did a bit of a double-take.....but why? Because it is so engrained in collective (media) consciousness by now that the person in that image, dressed, styled and airbrushed that way, should be a woman. I mean, if Bruno was a woman, could the image be considered shocking or provocative? Yeah, maybe. 50 years ago.
WARNING SPOILERS (not spoiling much)
I found that a similar vein did run through the movie, with a number of scenes seeming totally absurd, not because Bruno is a flaming homosexual, but because he is a man (not a woman). The self-defence class was an excellent example. Enrolling because it seemed a straight thing to do (be tough), it is immediately given a gay sexual context. "What happens if a man runs at me with a dildo? 2 dildos? 3 dildos?" And we watch on as this grey haired caucasian martial arts instructor disarms Bruno of his ridiculous array of sex toys, and laugh because it is so outlandish. But isn't the biggest, if not only, reason that women take self-defense classes to protect themselves from sexual predators? The concept seems perverse only because it is a male figure that is expecting or anticipating a sexual assault, an entirely normal risk for a woman.
As Bruno is accosted by a naked blond woman attempting to fuck him and whipping him violently with his belt at a swingers party, gender conventions are again tipped on their sides as he resists, "Can't we do this properly, I'll sit down and talk to your father?" before escaping through the window and running into the darkness. Again the situation seems ludicrous, even humorous, but if we were to reverse the male and female roles the behavior would be viewed as appalling and even criminal. And while there are other examples of this in the film, none bears mentioning moreso than the final cage match scene ending in a near naked gay make out session and a near riot. The true shock and emotion on the faces of the drunken redneck audience are priceless as the grappling male wrestlers suddenly kiss. Need I say more?
The other half of the equation is Bruno making hetero males uncomfortable using his own overbearing gay sexuality, and it is interesting that most of these scenes did not draw laughs, but produced totally awkward silences (on screen and in the theater). Here now we have not gay man as woman (funny), but straight man as woman, and neither the subjects in the film nor audience knew quite how to react to it. And I feel like this is sort of the root of it all, the ground zero of homophobia; if we as men can keep down gays, we will never have to worry like a woman worries. Even if that worry does not extend so far as rape or assault, even if it remains at the level of leers or catcalls from unwanted suitors, it is something that we are not equipped to deal with systemically, and I think that is why this movie has alienated much of its audience. It was a lot easier to deal with "the other" in Borat when the caricature was one of a far away land. It is a different story when the caricature could very well be one of the repressed sexuality of both the subjects in the film and its viewers.
I reference this now, because we seem to have come a LONG way in those past 15 years, when it comes to accepting graphic images and ideas in mainstream media. And if you can't find anything shocking (which is still a constantly changing variable) on TV or in the movies, well, they are just a google search away. Which is why I was kind of surprised that I was genuinely shocked by what I saw Sacha Baron Cohen get away with on the big screen yesterday. I was not totally sure what to expect going in, as I had heard it mostly referred to as worse than Borat (which I wasn't a huge fan of), but far more explicit.....which I found hard to believe. (but which was proven very much correct within the opening minutes of the film) This is not supposed to be a conventional review, but I will say that I laughed quite a bit, was happily aghast when I wasn't laughing, but would not necessarily recommend anyone else go see this film, even though I didn't regret spending my $10 on it.
However, the most important thing that I took from the film was not the shock-value of the images, or the prevalence of homophobia in middle America, or its culture of celebrity worship; we didn't need Cohen to bring any of that to our attention. Instead, I think that Bruno bends gender roles in a very clever way, and I think it is as much a commentary of the treatment of women in the media and in general, than it is about homophobia or gay culture. I had an inkling of this before I even saw the movie, when discussing the gigantic Bruno billboard at Yonge and Davenport (gone now) with my girlfriend and sister. Michelle said it was disturbing, and while I think that's a strong word I kinda had to agree. When I saw it for the first time I did a bit of a double-take.....but why? Because it is so engrained in collective (media) consciousness by now that the person in that image, dressed, styled and airbrushed that way, should be a woman. I mean, if Bruno was a woman, could the image be considered shocking or provocative? Yeah, maybe. 50 years ago.
WARNING SPOILERS (not spoiling much)
I found that a similar vein did run through the movie, with a number of scenes seeming totally absurd, not because Bruno is a flaming homosexual, but because he is a man (not a woman). The self-defence class was an excellent example. Enrolling because it seemed a straight thing to do (be tough), it is immediately given a gay sexual context. "What happens if a man runs at me with a dildo? 2 dildos? 3 dildos?" And we watch on as this grey haired caucasian martial arts instructor disarms Bruno of his ridiculous array of sex toys, and laugh because it is so outlandish. But isn't the biggest, if not only, reason that women take self-defense classes to protect themselves from sexual predators? The concept seems perverse only because it is a male figure that is expecting or anticipating a sexual assault, an entirely normal risk for a woman.
As Bruno is accosted by a naked blond woman attempting to fuck him and whipping him violently with his belt at a swingers party, gender conventions are again tipped on their sides as he resists, "Can't we do this properly, I'll sit down and talk to your father?" before escaping through the window and running into the darkness. Again the situation seems ludicrous, even humorous, but if we were to reverse the male and female roles the behavior would be viewed as appalling and even criminal. And while there are other examples of this in the film, none bears mentioning moreso than the final cage match scene ending in a near naked gay make out session and a near riot. The true shock and emotion on the faces of the drunken redneck audience are priceless as the grappling male wrestlers suddenly kiss. Need I say more?
The other half of the equation is Bruno making hetero males uncomfortable using his own overbearing gay sexuality, and it is interesting that most of these scenes did not draw laughs, but produced totally awkward silences (on screen and in the theater). Here now we have not gay man as woman (funny), but straight man as woman, and neither the subjects in the film nor audience knew quite how to react to it. And I feel like this is sort of the root of it all, the ground zero of homophobia; if we as men can keep down gays, we will never have to worry like a woman worries. Even if that worry does not extend so far as rape or assault, even if it remains at the level of leers or catcalls from unwanted suitors, it is something that we are not equipped to deal with systemically, and I think that is why this movie has alienated much of its audience. It was a lot easier to deal with "the other" in Borat when the caricature was one of a far away land. It is a different story when the caricature could very well be one of the repressed sexuality of both the subjects in the film and its viewers.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Why I smoked a cigarette last night
His name was Ian McLean. I have no idea what the infraction was anymore, as I was 10 years old at the time, but I was determined to fight him. The fact that he was a year older than me, and one of the larger kids at my elementary school didn't really seem to phase me at the time. When I told my dad about the plan, rather than trying to stop me explicitly, he simply stated the obvious: "Andrew, if you are going to get into a fight, you better be sure you are going to win. And if you aren't, be prepared to deal with the consequences."
Based on his sage advice, I never did fight Ian McLean. And though I am not usually full of machismo, the few times I had come close to any physical confrontation I have invoked his logic and come to the conclusion that it is probably not worth it. So it was with that mindset that I managed to go through almost 27 years on this planet without having the shit kicked out of me.
I didn't really expect it to happen the way it did. Michelle and I were riding home from a movie last night on Bloor by the ROM, when some guy stepped way out onto the road directly in my path. I passed by him pretty close, so close in fact that he chose to hit me in the face with the water gun he was holding. (For clarification, he did not squirt me with it, he hit me with the actual gun) I stopped, and he told me to watch where I was going, which I found slightly ludicrous given the scenario. Things get a little bit blurry at this point, but when I actually got off of my bike he bolted down an alleyway. I gave chase for a few steps. This was probably my first mistake, as it got my adrenaline pumping which led directly to mistake number two.
Mistake number two happened after realizing that I was probably not going to catch the guy as he ran down the alley. I did, however, have my heavy steel U-lock in my hand that I figured I could propel faster than my legs could propel my body. So I let it fly, and despite evasive tactics by the perpetrator, it hit him in the middle of the back. I was totally satisfied by my aim and arm at this point, but it was short lived as I realized that the group of 3 or 4 guys he was running by were his friends. And they were not impressed.
Mistake number three, was the assumption that when this guy's friends started walking/running toward me, it was because they wanted to discuss the matter. There was unfortunately no discussion, simply a unilateral decision by the group to take me down and start punching and kicking my face as my girlfriend attempted to separate us screaming and horrified. This was actually good, because I couldn't get a word in edgewise (what with all the face shots and everything), and she drew attention and witnesses to the scene which probably shortened the duration of my ordeal. Once the group realized there was a crowd watching they took off down the alleyway running, and I got up, swaying and wondering quite justifiably what the fuck just happened. The whole scenario, start to finish, probably didn't take more than 60 seconds.
One of the bystanders went into a restaurant to get me some ice, and despite my protestations that I was fine (undermined by the gigantic goose egg on my left orbital) Michelle made me lock up our bikes and we hopped into a cab and went to Mt. Sinai. I was still a little dazed, couldn't remember the date or the events that just transpired very clearly, but my memory started coming back pretty quickly leading me to believe this was minor compared to the last time I concussed myself 13 years ago. Called the police, called my parents, called some co-workers to let them know that I would be in the next morning. Talked to the police, who told me that I probably shouldn't file a report as I could be charged with assault for hurling my lock at the guy. Which was just as well, because I could not remember what any of them looked like anyway, and I was just happy to escape with the same number of teeth I went in with. Nonetheless the cops were helpful, and soon my poor parents showed up as well. [I wonder which phone call they preferred, this one "I'm at Sinai I just had the shit kicked out of me" or the previous concussion "I'm at Shaun's I don't know what happened but you should probably take me to a hospital")
So, we all hung out in the hospital for a couple of hours. The doctor came, basically told me I was fine, saw the scrapes on my knee and suggested a tetanus shot. Got my shot and the concussion info sheet and that was it. At a little after 3 in the morning, my parents drove us to our locked bikes, then followed us (Tour de France support car style) on our short ride to Mich's house. When we got back we were hungry, so we went to the 24 hr supermarket by her house to get some food. I also confided in her that I really wanted a cigarette. Well, I didn't really want it so much as I felt the situation warranted her understanding of my smoking a cigarette, and I wasn't sure how long it would be until another such situation would present itself (hopefully a very long time). So I managed to bum one off of the very drunk girl at Food Depot, and we commiserated for a moment (she had been accidentally locked out of her house), she called Michelle sweet for standing by me with a swollen face, and we soon hit the hay (at 4am) after I ate half a sandwich with much jaw pain.
When we were in the ER waiting room earlier I told Michelle that I was kind of relieved to have got that over with; I believe getting the shit kicked out of me was/is valuable life experience. I know it happened to my roommate a few years ago and it was definitely catalyst for changes in his own life. Mich sorta looked at me like I was a concussed idiot (which I was), but even now, the next day with a stiff jaw and headache I still see value in last night's events. I remember probably 10 years ago reading an interview in Strength magazine with skateboarder Stevie Williams who hailed from a rough area of Philadelphia, and they asked him what it meant to be tough. I am paraphrasing, but his answer was along the lines of "If you want to be tough you have to get beat the fuck up". I know random skateboard pros are not necessarily a fountain of wisdom, but I gave that statement a lot of weight. (Note that he did not say you have to FIGHT to be tough, rather you have to LOSE a fight to be tough) I was afraid that I would never be tough by Stevie's definition, and I still don't know that I am. But I know now what it is like, to feel pain and be powerless, at the mercy of the merciless. And I know that I only know it on a very small scale, that what I went through was probably a cakewalk compared to what happens to a lot of people systemically.
I have also now felt the consequences that my dad referred to 17-odd years ago. And the consequence of those consequences? I'll never be sure I can win a fight again.
Thanks Mom, Dad and Michelle for being with me last night.
Based on his sage advice, I never did fight Ian McLean. And though I am not usually full of machismo, the few times I had come close to any physical confrontation I have invoked his logic and come to the conclusion that it is probably not worth it. So it was with that mindset that I managed to go through almost 27 years on this planet without having the shit kicked out of me.
I didn't really expect it to happen the way it did. Michelle and I were riding home from a movie last night on Bloor by the ROM, when some guy stepped way out onto the road directly in my path. I passed by him pretty close, so close in fact that he chose to hit me in the face with the water gun he was holding. (For clarification, he did not squirt me with it, he hit me with the actual gun) I stopped, and he told me to watch where I was going, which I found slightly ludicrous given the scenario. Things get a little bit blurry at this point, but when I actually got off of my bike he bolted down an alleyway. I gave chase for a few steps. This was probably my first mistake, as it got my adrenaline pumping which led directly to mistake number two.
Mistake number two happened after realizing that I was probably not going to catch the guy as he ran down the alley. I did, however, have my heavy steel U-lock in my hand that I figured I could propel faster than my legs could propel my body. So I let it fly, and despite evasive tactics by the perpetrator, it hit him in the middle of the back. I was totally satisfied by my aim and arm at this point, but it was short lived as I realized that the group of 3 or 4 guys he was running by were his friends. And they were not impressed.
Mistake number three, was the assumption that when this guy's friends started walking/running toward me, it was because they wanted to discuss the matter. There was unfortunately no discussion, simply a unilateral decision by the group to take me down and start punching and kicking my face as my girlfriend attempted to separate us screaming and horrified. This was actually good, because I couldn't get a word in edgewise (what with all the face shots and everything), and she drew attention and witnesses to the scene which probably shortened the duration of my ordeal. Once the group realized there was a crowd watching they took off down the alleyway running, and I got up, swaying and wondering quite justifiably what the fuck just happened. The whole scenario, start to finish, probably didn't take more than 60 seconds.
One of the bystanders went into a restaurant to get me some ice, and despite my protestations that I was fine (undermined by the gigantic goose egg on my left orbital) Michelle made me lock up our bikes and we hopped into a cab and went to Mt. Sinai. I was still a little dazed, couldn't remember the date or the events that just transpired very clearly, but my memory started coming back pretty quickly leading me to believe this was minor compared to the last time I concussed myself 13 years ago. Called the police, called my parents, called some co-workers to let them know that I would be in the next morning. Talked to the police, who told me that I probably shouldn't file a report as I could be charged with assault for hurling my lock at the guy. Which was just as well, because I could not remember what any of them looked like anyway, and I was just happy to escape with the same number of teeth I went in with. Nonetheless the cops were helpful, and soon my poor parents showed up as well. [I wonder which phone call they preferred, this one "I'm at Sinai I just had the shit kicked out of me" or the previous concussion "I'm at Shaun's I don't know what happened but you should probably take me to a hospital")
So, we all hung out in the hospital for a couple of hours. The doctor came, basically told me I was fine, saw the scrapes on my knee and suggested a tetanus shot. Got my shot and the concussion info sheet and that was it. At a little after 3 in the morning, my parents drove us to our locked bikes, then followed us (Tour de France support car style) on our short ride to Mich's house. When we got back we were hungry, so we went to the 24 hr supermarket by her house to get some food. I also confided in her that I really wanted a cigarette. Well, I didn't really want it so much as I felt the situation warranted her understanding of my smoking a cigarette, and I wasn't sure how long it would be until another such situation would present itself (hopefully a very long time). So I managed to bum one off of the very drunk girl at Food Depot, and we commiserated for a moment (she had been accidentally locked out of her house), she called Michelle sweet for standing by me with a swollen face, and we soon hit the hay (at 4am) after I ate half a sandwich with much jaw pain.
When we were in the ER waiting room earlier I told Michelle that I was kind of relieved to have got that over with; I believe getting the shit kicked out of me was/is valuable life experience. I know it happened to my roommate a few years ago and it was definitely catalyst for changes in his own life. Mich sorta looked at me like I was a concussed idiot (which I was), but even now, the next day with a stiff jaw and headache I still see value in last night's events. I remember probably 10 years ago reading an interview in Strength magazine with skateboarder Stevie Williams who hailed from a rough area of Philadelphia, and they asked him what it meant to be tough. I am paraphrasing, but his answer was along the lines of "If you want to be tough you have to get beat the fuck up". I know random skateboard pros are not necessarily a fountain of wisdom, but I gave that statement a lot of weight. (Note that he did not say you have to FIGHT to be tough, rather you have to LOSE a fight to be tough) I was afraid that I would never be tough by Stevie's definition, and I still don't know that I am. But I know now what it is like, to feel pain and be powerless, at the mercy of the merciless. And I know that I only know it on a very small scale, that what I went through was probably a cakewalk compared to what happens to a lot of people systemically.
I have also now felt the consequences that my dad referred to 17-odd years ago. And the consequence of those consequences? I'll never be sure I can win a fight again.
Thanks Mom, Dad and Michelle for being with me last night.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Did that just happen?
When I was 17, my friend and I went to a concert. We were waiting in line, and may or may not have ingested hallucinogenic fungus earlier. Either way we felt kinda funny.
So anyway, we are waiting in line forever, because that is just how things go down at the Reverb, and we are feelin' kinda funny, and we hear this kinda crazy dull roar. We were BOTH hearing it, and we figured it was odd that we would both be hallucinating the same thing. So this dull roar gets a little louder, and suddenly a half dozen cop cars pull out of nowhere and shut down the intersection. WHOA! "WTF is going on?" we are asking ourselves/each other verbally/telepathically (in hindsight I cannot be quite sure which). Within minutes, a 'Take back the night' rally marches through, replete with women wielding megaphones dancing on the bed of a slow moving pick-up truck. Before we knew it the march was past us, the cop cars pulled away, and it was business as usual. We looked at each other, and whether or not we actually verbalized it, we definitely asked, "Did that just happen?"
I had another one of those experiences on Tuesday. I was going for a ride, but had to fuel up first so I hit my favourite spot on the way to the trails, a Timmy's walk up window at the Danforth/Coxwell Shoppers. I like it mostly because I don't have to lock or fret over my bike, nor do I have to walk around a "normal" establishment in spandex (not that it really bothers me, it is more for the consideration of others). Also, for whatever reason, consuming a single cinammon raisin bagel with butter seems to give me boundless energy, not bad for $1.05.
So I place my order with what must be "the new girl". I have to repeat what I want a bunch of times, and she still gets it wrong, and her co-workers are kinda snickering and enjoying the show. I didn't really mind, as I have gotten far worse service where the employee decides to complete several non-time-sensitive tasks before taking the 4 seconds required to pour my coffee. So I was calmly walking her through her own incompetence with a smile, when one of the senior staff there, a middle aged south-Asian lady, came up to the window and took a glance downward.
"Cute bike"
"Oh, thanks" It is good to know that even middle-aged female timmy's employees can appreciate the beauty of the singlespeed Superfly I was still straddling, although I probably would have called it more "stealth" or maybe "trick".
Then, with another long downward leer "Looks yummy" Ummmmmmmm, I can see how it might be cute, but I wouldn't consider it edible.......
"Very yummy"
HOLY FUCK THE TIMMY'S LADY IS BLATANTLY SEXUALLY HARASSING ME........AWESOME!
And just like that my bagel was ready and the next customer was being served incompetently.
I rode away with a huge grin and could not help but wonder, once again, "Did that just happen?"
So anyway, we are waiting in line forever, because that is just how things go down at the Reverb, and we are feelin' kinda funny, and we hear this kinda crazy dull roar. We were BOTH hearing it, and we figured it was odd that we would both be hallucinating the same thing. So this dull roar gets a little louder, and suddenly a half dozen cop cars pull out of nowhere and shut down the intersection. WHOA! "WTF is going on?" we are asking ourselves/each other verbally/telepathically (in hindsight I cannot be quite sure which). Within minutes, a 'Take back the night' rally marches through, replete with women wielding megaphones dancing on the bed of a slow moving pick-up truck. Before we knew it the march was past us, the cop cars pulled away, and it was business as usual. We looked at each other, and whether or not we actually verbalized it, we definitely asked, "Did that just happen?"
I had another one of those experiences on Tuesday. I was going for a ride, but had to fuel up first so I hit my favourite spot on the way to the trails, a Timmy's walk up window at the Danforth/Coxwell Shoppers. I like it mostly because I don't have to lock or fret over my bike, nor do I have to walk around a "normal" establishment in spandex (not that it really bothers me, it is more for the consideration of others). Also, for whatever reason, consuming a single cinammon raisin bagel with butter seems to give me boundless energy, not bad for $1.05.
So I place my order with what must be "the new girl". I have to repeat what I want a bunch of times, and she still gets it wrong, and her co-workers are kinda snickering and enjoying the show. I didn't really mind, as I have gotten far worse service where the employee decides to complete several non-time-sensitive tasks before taking the 4 seconds required to pour my coffee. So I was calmly walking her through her own incompetence with a smile, when one of the senior staff there, a middle aged south-Asian lady, came up to the window and took a glance downward.
"Cute bike"
"Oh, thanks" It is good to know that even middle-aged female timmy's employees can appreciate the beauty of the singlespeed Superfly I was still straddling, although I probably would have called it more "stealth" or maybe "trick".
Then, with another long downward leer "Looks yummy" Ummmmmmmm, I can see how it might be cute, but I wouldn't consider it edible.......
"Very yummy"
HOLY FUCK THE TIMMY'S LADY IS BLATANTLY SEXUALLY HARASSING ME........AWESOME!
And just like that my bagel was ready and the next customer was being served incompetently.
I rode away with a huge grin and could not help but wonder, once again, "Did that just happen?"
Sunday, May 24, 2009
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