In my line of work, I get to meet lots of people every day--usually something like 250 folks. Yesterday, I noticed one of these 250 and felt a strange sort of cosmic connection with him. He was a wiry sort with a partially-kempt mustache and devilish soul patch, but it was his eyes that I recognized. I'd seen those enthusiastic rapid movements with a hint of crazy somewhere before.
About once a week, I'll have someone recognize my wheel-and-flag USA Cycling lapel pin and talk to me about cycling. So after the tour, this gaunt fellow approached me with his female companion. She asked me something relevant to the tour, and then with a bit of a huff, introduced crazy eyes to me: "and he's got a question that's not relevant to anything."
Perfect, those are my favorite.
"So I see your pin. Do you race?"
Whoa, actually those are my favorite questions. "Yeah, just finished my road season and I'm getting ready for cross. Do you?"
"Yeah, I race cross."
So that's where I've seen that crazy before. Cross races.
Dammit, I'm excited for September 20 at Charm City. Who gives a what about the shape my legs are in right now and how I'm about 28 lbs over racing weight? Cross races are fun. Always. Until the temp dips below 20F. Then they're fun when you finish top 10, which I'm not really into.
Listening to an acoustic version of She Moves in Her Own Way by the Kooks.
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