A couple weekends ago, Jason, his dad and I drove to Wenatchee to do a long ride through the hot and formidable canyons. We only managed to do about 50-60 before succumbing to the suckiness that is triple-digit heat waves. You suck, Wenatchee. Shove your applets and cotlets up your searingly hot ass. We parked at a lot near a 76 station and assembled all of our riding stuff. In the five minutes it took for me to get slathered up with sunscreen, prepare my bento box, put on my helmet and sunglasses, and grab my bottles, my bike seat had already gotten taint-meltingly hot. This ride was going to...

The Tour de France brings out the obsessed and somewhat eccentric cycling fans in droves. Maybe they’re cyclists themselves, or perhaps they just have a fondness for unflattering spandex. Whatever the reason, each year at least one Tour photo surfaces that captures a spectator looking gloriously awesome. Case in point, this dude. Much like Elaine’s boyfriend Puddy from Seinfeld, I picture this guy running around going, “We’re the devils! Eeeeehhhhh!” If I saw dudes dressed like this cheering me on at races, I would race all the freaking time.

A week after the huge steaming dump known as Ironman Boise, Jas and I embarked to Mt. St. Helens for a “redemption ride,” as we affectionately referred to it. We signed up for the Tour de Blast, an 82 mile ride that consisted of climbing 41 miles up Mt. St. Helens and then turning around to fly back down it. We were all gung ho about making this ride our beeyotch after Boise’s wind gusts slapped us around. Unfortunately, for the second weekend in a row, things didn’t go according to plan. I reluctantly yanked my groggy ass out of bed at 5 am to get ready for the long trek to...

Last week I spent four nights in New York City, came home for a day, went to Penticton over Memorial Day weekend to train, came home for less than 24 hours, and flew to Denver (where I am right now) for work. Despite all of the jet setting, I managed to get in a decent training weekend. I have tasted Ironman Canada, and it tastes hilly and challenging. Jas and I drove to his parents’ house to carpool up to Penticton. On the way we stopped at REI so I could pick up some leg warmers because I realized it’d likely be ass cold over the weekend and I had forgotten to pack tights. We arrived at...

My friend Colleen sent me this video of a triathlon trainer talking about the negative experience he and some of his athletes had while practicing the course in Lake Placid: Dude, if someone threw a tray of mustard at me while I was riding, I would freak the eff out and go apeshit on him. Then again, I can’t stand mustard, but still, that’s so not...