I read the rant and the retort. I have my own unique take on it. From old military days and mind/war games to bouncing and bodyguarding to now marketing in radio for 25 years, I've learned to recognize a reaction similar to the primal 'fight or flight'.
The male creature much more often than not responds to things they are ignorant or fearful of with faux anger, often laced with weak attempts at humor or irony. Stafko is a large, unfit man with a type of Napoleonic complex. He can't be you or beat you, so he'll attempt to berate you. Rather than admit ignorance and learn, his tact is to defer from him to you. He's the bully on the playground who's the frightened kid in reality. The frat boy who still calls a beer a "brewski" long after the last kegger, and he is in loathing of himself.
Suck it up buttercup, from one fat bald old guy to a younger fat boy, better to be a moving target than a bump on a log. Grow some stones rather than throwing them. Lace up a pair of sneakers, struggle through a 5K and finish dead damn last, but feel the honest rush of knowing you finished it and no one can take that away from you. Back away from the buffet big boy, you'll find a lot of athletes willing to share, teach, cajole and love you into being more than a bitter self hating asshat. Phew! Was that a B.A.R.? And as an aside, Fartleks still make me giggle.
~Adventure Geek Russ
The Adventure Geek DIY wind chime has been on our side project list for a while now and it seemed fitting to crank it out on fathers day.
The first step in this project was finding a suitable top or base or whatever it's called where all the other danglies hang from. We have a lot of bamboo lying around the garage that would have been perfect to create a base out of, but then I remembered the busted Epic kayak paddle I picked up off the road after leaving the last Santee Adventure Tri. I've been saving little piece of hardware for a project just as this.
After we sawed up the kayak paddle, we eyeballed were we wanted to hang the medals then got to drillen.
When I finished drilling the holes, Kristen jumped in to measure out ribbon lengths and then tied them through the paddle.
It took the two of us to figure out how to affix the middle clangy cog piece, and then we drilled a few more holes for the hanging wire.
Six races to earn six medals = $330.00
One Epic Kayaks Hybrid Touring Paddle = $279.00
Basic set of Ryobi power tools = $150
Making an Awesome Adventure Geek Wind Chime = Priceless!
SANTEE OFF-ROAD TRYASPIRIN
Once again I have been force fed an entire can of “Whupass”. For a guy doesn’t like the taste, it’s getting to be a regular part of my diet. A smart man would learn not to go where this is the only thing on the menu. A smart man would be drinking fine Scotch and smoking Cuban cigars. “Smart man” is not an accusation that is ever cast in my direction. For edification, the Urban Dictionary defines it as follows:
WHUPASS - a source of destructive power accessible to an aggressor; usually referred to as a quantity of whupass (as in a can of… or a bucket of)
To have my dogged mediocrity showcased in such a public spectacle should be enough to curb this nasty habit. Sadly, it will not. I own goats with better judgment. Instead of bipedal locomotion and an opposable thumb, I might just as well have horns growing from my head. At least then I wouldn’t be able to wear that ridiculous bike helmet.
It began even before the race. If my legs were a designer color they would be “catfish-belly” white. Two cute young co-eds had volunteered to help out. As I stood there freezing in my running shorts, a skinny, shrunken old man with taped ankles, I heard one girl say to the other, “Get a load of that one…he’s my favorite.” You know things are off to a bad start when you invite ridicule through your mere presence. Then the gun sounded; or siren. It is all kind of vague. Things began to deteriorate rapidly as I struggled to step carefully around the many buckets of Whupass.
After the run I looked out to see four or five boats on the water ahead of me. I harbored serious misgivings about competing in a boat I had never paddled. Then magical things began to happen. Halfway to the turnaround I actually passed all of the frat boys. The college punks were losing their minds. Grandpa was serving up his own mess of Whupass! Old age and treachery began demolishing youthful exuberance as the Geezerjock took first place by means of technological superiority. I had a better boat! Old men cheered. Children sang. Ladies wept. I got out of the boat and couldn’t walk.
For three miles I rode my little bike in a state of surreal bliss. It was as if I was the only one in the race. Nobody in sight, ahead or behind. Just me and my gigantic helmet that had to be skillfully maneuvered in any crosswind above five knots. Then that familiar taste filled my mouth as Junior came out of nowhere and passed me with his own ideas about the menu. Not sure if he had a better bike but there was no question about the motor. I wanted to say something clever and destroy him psychologically but I could only manage a croaking noise. As I emptied my tank in desperate pursuit he jettisoned whole canisters of Whupass.
There is always next year. I just realized the horizontal crossbar on my bike is hollow. It could probably hold a couple of pounds of solid chemical propellant. A good machine shop could turn out a small rocket nozzle. I saw something like this once in Popular Mechanics….
by Rick Carter aka The Crazy Old Guy from the Race who is now my hero.