Now is the winter of our discontent
made glorious summer by this sun of York;
and all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
-Shakespeare, Richard III, Act I, Scene I
With those great words I thought I’d start my blog,
about the road that I do want to ride.
And try to rediscover my fast times
against which asthma’s grip does lie astride.
I thought that p’raps great Gloucester’s signal speech,
would sketch the map that I would use to find
a path to beat my past best record times
and maybe set some new ones; I won’t mind.
My year so far has been distinctly rough,
My only record yet a DNF.
It seemed that I would cough my lungs right out
and had to fight for ev’ry stupid breath.
But now the learnéd doctor did present
a clue to my long voyage into suck
and wrote me a receipt for things to take
so now I hope that I may change my luck.
This blog will chronicle my journey back
From crappy race performances I’ve had.
and I do hope and trust that from my sweat,
That I will ferment sweetness from the bad.
‘Tis fitting that I quote vain Richard’s speech
for like him I am sly and fey and bold.
With wit if not with face that’s made so fair
and yes, I’m also kind of an asshole.
Like him the injuries do seem to pile
upon my shoulders just like Glocester’s hump,
and frailty of health does tie my legs
until I’ve gainéd weight, to be a lump.
So now I’ll chronicle my journey to
Mt. Wash’ton’s peak, great Iowa’s brevets.
Perhaps some tri’s including the Hy-Vee
and also some PR’s on foot, hurray!
(and in case you’re wondering, no, the rest of the entries will NOT be in iambic pentameter).