The $102 Dollar Haircut, And Other Weekend Stories.

Health stuff first.  Round Two of the Adriamycin/Cytoxin Cocktail Hour Extravaganza took place this morning. Post-chemo retail therapy courtesy of Whole Foods.  My household is going to eat well tonight, if I don't manage to undercook or overcook something.

My weight is stable.  If anything, I've lost some weight in the last two weeks.  Probably a regular pooping thing.  My blood work was all excellent.  Some numbers were predictably down, but I'm well within normal levels of everything that they test for.   

Chemo itself was uneventful.  I went by myself and behaved. Passed the time by listening to the She & Him albums (if you like Camera Obscura, the Noisettes or alt country, I think you'd like this collaboration) and reading another chapter in Anti-Cancer. Next time I think I'll wear my new hat to make things interesting:

Thanks, Mel.  And yes, this cancer does make my ass look fat. Thanks for asking. 

Now the fun stuff. Winner of the previously unannounced best chemo text contest: My goat, Angela Jamison.  Angie has been encouraging me to turn all of this word making into a book and had this insightful comment:  

"I bet cancer would feel exploited if you used your relationship with it to get famous." 

I was driving when I finally read this text and almost had to pull over from laughing.  (Yes, I am aware playing with my Blackberry while behind the wheel is now against the law in Oregon.  However, I was on Highway 26 at a dead stop.  So you sanctimonious traffic safety nazis can go fuck yourselves.) 

Yes, I could become the cancer equivalent of the winner of that "Be Paris Hilton's Best Friend" reality show.  Or Nicole Richie.  Same difference.

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And speaking of sanctimonious traffic snobs...onto the story about the $102 haircut. I went to the Bishop's on NE 28th on Thursday afternoon to get rid of the hair. It was supposed to cost $12.

It was a refreshingly pain-free process.  It took three run-throughs with three different clippers.

No tears, no negative emotion.  Just a lot of relief, a wacky gay guy with clippers and some bad cheap beer.  And lots of inappropriate jokes:

I am now SO ready for the wind tunnel.  Watch out Lance, I'm going to KILL IT at the Tour time trials this year. In an old T-Mobile kit and on a recumbent tricycle with a flag and a Burley trailer  You will cry in embarrassment, then give me a six-figure deal to ride for the Shack next year.

When we got back to the car, I had a parking ticket.  A NINETY FUCKING DOLLAR PARKING TICKET.  And a snarky, mis-spelled, grammatically incorrect note from the owner of the driveway I was blocking by three inches.  I admit that it was a crap parking job, but I was so distracted when I parked that I didn't even notice.  And, truthfully, I am the type of person who re-parks.

Christy and I drove away quickly, and I'm glad we did.  It was the only event that ruined my zen last week and I really didn't need to make a scene in the middle of some bored, stupid person's porch.

Life has a ironic sense of humor.  Shaving my head was the most expensive haircut I have ever received. 
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I spent last weekend out enjoying the Cherry Blossom Cycling Classic.  Enjoying it because I wasn't fucking racing it.  The road courses on Friday and Saturday were short enough that I was able to ride them in the opposite direction and watch the racing from my bike.  I did 18 miles on Friday and 25 on Saturday.  The Saturday ride was what I like to refer to as a Grandpa's Tall Tale Ride:  either uphill or into a headwind the entire ride.  All it was missing was a blizzard and a plague of locusts.  But it was sunny, and,  dear jesus, I was ON MY BIKE.

My team had a great weekend.  The Mexican finished 6th in the Cat 4 race.  He's only been bike racing for six weeks and finished sixth in a stage race.  I am very impressed. (Yes, I am hanging out with the Mexican. Again.  Don't judge.  Next time you catch the cancer, shave your head, have a wonky boob and are covered in some sort of weird steroid acne breakout, you will understand how good it feels to have someone in your life that tells you that you are sexy, and acts like you are sexy, every time he sees you.  Even if that person is certifiably insane most of the time.  Turns out that it is all about regulating my own exposure to that crazy, sexy, irresistible insanity.)

But my girls?  My Cat 3 girls ROCKED it:

From left to right:  I won the 10-lap cancer patient crit (as the only entry) on a borrowed bike while wearing running shorts and wore a rad cowboy hat for the rest of the afternoon.  Everyone else here made it to the real podium.  Alice finished 5th in the General Classification for Cat 4s:  5th in the Crit, 5th in the TT and 6th and 7th in the Road Races.  She is now a Cat 3.  Mindy was second in the GC in a totally stacked Cat 3 field. Rock. Anna was second in the Stage 1 road race.  Amanda was second in the criterium.  The gal in the Veloce kit is Kelly McKean.  She finished second in the Stage 3 circuit race (also known as the "Hardest Circuit Course I've Ever Seen").  I am a climber, for sure, but Kelly is a climber on a whole different level.

The Cat 4's also did exceptional:  everyone finished and Mo pulled a Ninth Place GC finish out of her sarcastic, gluten-intolerant ass.  And didn't get dropped in the crit. Mo is awesome.

But, team business aside, I do have to say the highlight of the weekend was watching one of my favorite people, Anne Linton, win the Cat 3 crit.  Anne is older than dirt (which is something I tell her every time we race together), but is one awesome fast old lady.  She has been part of my lead-out for several PIR victories and I still owe her some return favors.  I was so excited to see her finish first that I almost missed my own teammate finishing second.

So proud of you, Anne.