I Hate Winter

The temperature outside my window at 6:50 AM this morning — yet another canceled long run.

That's bad news on the day we Americans hop into our Hummers and head to various obnoxiously large-screen bearing venues to celebrate our addiction to over-consumption with gusto: "Hey rest of world: Think Americans are fat, shallow, and lazy? Well you ain't seen nothing til you've seen Super Bowl Sunday. After seven pounds of cheese, eight (light) beers, and a vat of fudge, tomorrow's a sick day for sure! How do you like me now? Pass the Tums."

Anyway, it has been a crappy week of stealing kisses to get in various workouts via treadmills, indoor tracks, weight rooms, spinning classes, and trainer rides (though it was nice to see Zoolander and American Beauty again). The romance of changing seasons is way overrated.

One day my bike and I will live in a magical place where it is pleasantly warm year-round and where cheery little elves and/or unemployed models who are certified both as massage therapists and gourmet chefs will wax my surfboard, re-stock my GU and Gatorade supplies, and wash my bike and workout gear while I sleep.

Speaking of beautiful warm-weather freaks: Venice, California, beach cam. I wonder if that one guy still juggles chainsaws? Wish I was there.