George the Animal is AWESOME!

Team Angry has, for the most part, taken the winter off.

T & I are trying to keep in shape, skiing Gunstock regularly.

K, Uncle T, and the rest of the kids are doing other sports, and doing well.

George however, is doing fantastic!

42.6 pounds, 7 years old. He took up wrestling. And, boy oh boy, is he good.

Timmy and I went to see him for the first time at the NH State championships. Three rounds later, we have a State Champ in the family.


Two weeks later, we went again, to some regional thing in Plymouth NH. Three rounds later, another gold.

Last weekend, he went to the Nationals Qualifying tournament. Three rounds later, another gold, and an invitation to the nationals. Pretty cool honor for a first grader.

The trip to Ohio is not on the books however, for many, many reasons. Prior commitments and the necessity to be in Ohio are the two biggest ones.

I now respect cops, flagmen, and race volunteers

Ok, it's time to get this one out.

I tried to forgive & forget, but can't do it.

The guy with the licence plate "Channel" is a complete douchebag. I told you this was coming.

Team Angry tried to help as volunteers for the half triathlon at Timberman this year. OMFG, it was probably the hardest job I have ever had.

We were at an intersection/turn, in the middle of nowhere, in Gilford. It was the slowest traffic street on the entire course. Team Angry, and one of Gilford's finest, Doug, had the duty.

Before the race started, the only traffic was literally little old ladies going off to church, and one young lady taking the drive of shame out of the trailer park. The local health club was closed that morning, specifically due to the thousands of bikes scheduled to go past that day. The one house within walking distance had the lawn chairs out, awaiting the excitement.

K, T, the cop and myself determined our jobs, and fooled around with our sweet orange flags for about 2 hours, waiting for it all to begin. We set up cones, got our coffees, and talked cop talk with our new cop friend. We were at a T intersection, with the bikes going to the left by us.

At 8:45, the first bikes started coming by. It was easy. "LEFT TURN AHEAD, GO LEFT OF THE CONES!" Keith then followed up with with some good cheering, and that was the last we saw of them.

I can handle this. A minute later, another bike, another yell, another cheer. Hey, this is fun.

It went on that way for about 5 minutes, until a car came from the cop's end. Straight into the bikes that are coming more frequently. Which I then had to stop, because they wanted to drive in the bike lane. With bikes coming.

I'll leave this part as I did it; badly.

Some of the drivers were pissed off that they had to wait. Because they apparently ignored the twelve foot, lighted signs, advising an alternate route, that had been out for two frigging weeks. As if a Sunday morning is so important at 9:30 fucking AM that they can't wait 4 minutes. Hey dick - God sees you, and it's more important to show signs of Buddha-like patience for strangers than it is to be there for the first two bars of Amazing Grace.

Actually, most people were very understanding. Almost all of them were, actually. A minivan full of New Jersyites seemed annoyed.

The locals were all pretty cool, because without Timberman, Gunstock, and a Walmart TV commercial featuring a driver from here in 2002, it wouldn't even be on the map. Gotta love and support the tourist dollars.

It was going pretty well, until the true thundering herd started coming by. After 10:15, it was almost non stop, with very short breaks in the bike crowd. We would then yell "GOGOGO!!!" to the drivers, who would peel out faster than the pit stop at Loudon.

Until this one complete asshole decided to leave the trailer park. Now, I don't know what he was doing there; if he lives there or wanders the park in a short skirt, if he wears dresses or leather pants, rides a Siobhan or not, is paid in dollars, crack, or Ramen chicken noodle soup. I refuse to speculate.

I will say his license plate say "Channel" I won't say what state. figure it out.

He sat in the driveway, and wanted to pull into the oncoming bikes, into their flow. It would have been much, much easier to take a right turn. Sure, it would have added a couple miles for the detour, but he was going to run into 2 more roadblocks either way he went. And with that license plate, I knew he was a local.

So, after about two minutes, he decides to ignore both me, and T, telling him to wait. He pulls straight across the road, and blocks the bikes. He created a funnel for one of the bikers, who had to slam on his breaks, and still caused the biker to hit him, and another car. Luckily, the biker wasn't hurt. Pissed, absolutely. At me, probably. It was my job to prevent that. I don't blame him.

Doug was too far away to do anything. We yelled at him to get out of the way. He decided that using the F-bomb was the right thing to do instead. He then started to open his door, but T ran over, and the coward slammed his door and put it into gear. He probably didn't want us to see his tutu.

Then he pulled onto the lawn, drove through two front lawns and took off.

I know one Marina that I will never get gas in at Lake Winnepesaukee. That's just a guess.

Then, K was waving at a Q-tip to stop, and she hit his arm and flag, and drove right past him, Doug, the cones, and followed Mr. D-bag Channel up the road.

I can see how she woould hit him, it's not like blaze orange two hundred sixty five pound Clydesdale is noticable on a sunny day.

Next year, if they let us, I hope to do something easier. Like quantum mechanics.

I Love Post Race Timberman

A). It’s over, and I feel great. Team Angry, Team Angry Jr, and Anger Management are all there. Hugs to my bro’s, sis, and family. Big gay hug to the BFF. Ice cold towel, fresh water, and a smile. We go over to the transition area, and just start to chill. The beer tent awaits. And now, the full effect of Team Angry hits me. We are 4 of the happiest bastards going right then.

2). My mom wants to get a picture of the team together. So we cluster together, and the strangest thing happens. 5 flashbulbs all go off at the same time. We have paparazzi. One guy comes over with a get well card for us to hold. It’s for one of his teammates who had something horrible happen to him last week, like a broken back, or skull. He’s getting picture cards from a bunch of the regulars, giving him a thumbs up. God, I hope he didn’t have a yeast infection. More people take our picture. Usually from behind. I have no clue why. Well….maybe I do.

Cow). The beer tent.
How much better does it get than to have a really good workout, followed by free beer, laughter, congratulations, and teams of nubile athlete women clamoring to get their pictures taken with Team Angry in full plumage?

Not very.

We ran into K’s BFF from the last race, who of course won the Clydesdale division this time. Great job yet again, Joe. I met a fromer NE Patriot who wants Team Angry to make a special appearance at another Tri in September. And we just hung out. I love this
$). Post race gear trading. Well, not exactly trading, since the owners are gone. There are seagullthletes swooping around transition area, which is almost empty, grabbing cool t-shirts before tomorrow's racers come in, and do the same thing. I think it’s a swimmer thing. There weren’t any CCCP sweats, or Bernal’s Gators towels, or Old Colony YMCA t-shirts out there, but I saw some happy thieves. (I’ll give you this Boston Marathon shirt for that Las Vegas triathlon – the size fits you better) Lost and Found, indeed.

Gears are not for always for pussies, at least not in the race…

The bike was great this year. Training in Flatsachusetts does not get me ready for the Timberman. I’ve already discussed this, ad nauseum, in prior posts.

I will say, it wasn’t so bad this year. I made it past the carnivorous guardrail, through the twists and turns in the course, and then, just as I started to get worked up, the rain came. A light, gentle, warm, life giving rain that totally rejuvenated me, and everyone else on the course. Except this one guy.

He left a lot of flesh & blood on the course this year. And still he beat the crap out of my time. I raise a drink to you, stranger in the transition area.

No stops, no wobbles, no near misses. My soundtrack kinda got stuck at “I Wanna Do Bad Thing To You” for about 2.5 miles, uphill, in the rain, but that’s another issue. I did indeed use my gears, finally, and there were a few downhills where I couldn’t even keep up with my peddles. I love going that fast, on wet pavement, passing people. I felt like a drunken Hermes.

The bike ended, and I started the run on legs that were still almost good. I made it all the way up to the street, past Anger Management, Jr, and friends, and most of a mile before I slowed to a walk. My favorite massage therapist’s advice came back to me. “I love the Run” started moving through my mind, with nothing to really latch on to.

Good try Pat, it ain’t happenin’.

After 2 or 3 sprint-run-sprint cycles, I noticed another guy, doing the same thing. So, my next time past, I slapped him on the shoulder and said something like “fug-git, we’re in the same boat, let’s get this bitch done.”

So I have a new BFF. Whose name I immediately forgot. I’m pretty sure it’s Wes, and if you ever check this, let me know, ok?

It worked out well. I had my best time, ever, by over 11 minutes. Each time I passed another Angry, I was running, which was cool. I also beat my goal by over a minute, and I didn’t collapse.

We were going to cross the finish line together, like a couple of g—s, but woman in a blue shirt like his cut between us, and I thought she was him, so I picked up the pace. And burned my BFF. Sorry Wes.

However, thank mighty Thor I did, because Nicki was only 3 steps behind me, a fact of which I was clueless, because when I passed her earlier, I still had half a mile on her.

Then it was on to the celebration..

Angry Kids Rock the Tri

The first annual Granite Kids Tri was today in Windham NH. Team Angry Junior was in attendance, with a first timer kicking butt.
Timmy, Molly, Jack, and George all were raring to go. I can attest that Timmy was up at 3:30 am, and dressed by 4 for the hour and a half ride up to NH.

The weather was spectacular! Low 60s, and driving wind and rain from Hurricane Danny passing offshore. The lake was about 10 degrees warmer than the air, and most of the parents and spectators were jealous that their wet clothes were colder than the kids. They did cancel the bike portion for safety reasons, but the rest was on. One thing about kids, there were no wetsuits in evidence anywhere. You all rocked, kids!

They ran it in 3 waves, and we had team members in all three, so the pictures are sporadic.

George, 6, was a monster, he came in sixth in his wave, and was the FIRST six year old to finish! WOW!

Timmy and Molly started their wave next, and really rocked. Molly finished third in her age group. Way to go Molly and Timmy.

Jack went in his wave, and he rocked his too.

Meme’ and Papa came down for the excitement, and it was great seeing them. They loved watching the show, even if Papa did have to park with everyone else, and not in the No Parking area like he thought he should be able to.

Let's get it done!

OK, time to go through the checklist.

Speedo on? Check.

Time chip secure on my ankle? Check.

Bike on rack, not blocked by the cooler, bag, and K's lounge chair? Check.

Team Angry, ready to go? CHECK CHECK CHECK and CHECK! lets hit the beach!

We walk over, cross the river to the starting area, and mingle in the crowd. It's an ocean of wetsuits. Needless to say, Team Angry's official uniform makes an impression, as always. Complete strangers come over, as we say hi and chat. Family and friends take pictures. Stranger's family and friends take pictures. Joe, the Clydesdale favorite, comes over to wish us well. Damn, I love the Timberman.

There are two kinds of competitors. Those loving this and hiding any nervousness, and those who are focused and obviously nervous. Mostly about the swim. Which really surprises me. It's not even a half mile, and the deepest point is not even five feet. Oh well.

The Clydesdales are second wave, going off at 7:06 a.m. Nicki is 18 minutes later. We jump in the water, and it is gorgeous. Feels like about 76 degrees to me. Wetsuits are allowed. Ha! Wetsuits are for pussies. Which is actually 99.96% of the field. I see one non-Team Angry woman in a Speedo, and us. I retain my self satisfied sense of smugness as I watch all the body image cowards in their black rubber exposure suits.

The first wave has their countdown, and off they go! We walk through the timing gate, past the guy with the woman's wig, and into the water. Keith and I drift over to the left corner, to avoid the crowd. With a last round of fist bumps, and a see you at the finish line, we get set. Our countdown comes, the horn blows, and off we go.

The swim was without incident. I felt good, didn't swim over anyone, and only kicked two people in the teeth when I switched to breaststroke. My split says it was slower than last year, but my ranking went up, and it felt great. I suspect it was slightly longer than last year. people were walking in from 75 yards out. I swam till I almost ran out of water, and finished with 4 butterfly strokes, to stretch out. I hit the beach running harder than any other year, sprinted past all the people being helped out of their wetsuits, high fived the family on my way by, and got on my shoes, grabbed the bike, and zoom! Right back out, onto the bike course.

Here is Team Angry Junior Varsity! They should be racing this weekend, as long as the newest hurricane passes NH.

Where do I start? How about the beginning.

The weather could not have been better. The walk down was typical, temps in the 70's at dawn. I usually walk down to transition alone these days.

I enjoy the view, get my head straight, and try not to puke. I was sure I was going to have a picture this year of the place I didn't puke up my breakfast.

No such luck.

I love Timberman. Once I was empty of my nervous energy, and Carnation instant breakfast, I walked down the last road, got my number, age, and C marked on my body, and headed into the transition area. Team Angry were all in a row, and in a sweet rack area. Kind of unusual, we are typically separated all over the place.

Yeah, that's us all, almost ready to start.

This year, the Clydesdales are in the 2nd wave, at 7:06 am. Nicki is in the 5th wave, 18 minutes later. We made a quick call home to let them know to get their asses down there, now, for the start, listened

to the murmur of announcements, and penalties, which is a lot clearer now, and feigned interest in Oh, Canadia. I tried, I really did. We have a strong Canadian heritage, going back to the 17th century, from an island, off an island, off of Cape Breton. Great Uncle Napoleon loved it last time I tried to sing it, even if it was horribly, horribly inappropriate at the time. Thanks for the rum, uncle Nap.

Then we showed true enthusiasm for our own Anthem, forgot my watch, and headed down to the water.

Let's go get angry. Or not.