Well as explained in another 'recent thought', I was in a pretty lame car accident back in May. I was unable to do some "real" workout's (that were normal to me) for roughly three months. My doctors finally cleared me in early August, but I've been either out of town, or cycling like crazy since then. I've had a very minimal time actually inside the gym, and with ye olde rowing-machine. In the past few days, I've logged in a good few hours of erging (total). Feel drained everyday, but damn does it feel nice. Nothing like a little out-of-breath erg pieces to restore the athlete mind state.
One happy camper.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
So much erging, so little time.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
A Tribute to an old friend of mine.
If you know what it's like to grow up with a certain object in your life, then you know how I feel about my old car. But to me, it's more than a car.
When I was a little kid, I'd rush to the garage door whenver I heard it open. I'd watch my dad back his shiny Red Peugeot into our small two-car garage. I never missed a chance to see, or hear the Peugeot. It symbolized being grown-up, it symbolized class.
Though it may now be far from what the general public would call "classy", it's still got plenty of class in my eyes.
Aside from what it symbolizes to me, this car is like part of the family to me. My dad was the original owner, who bought it back in the July of 1983, in sunny Burlingame, California. Whenever I drive through downtown Burlingame, I picture where the now defunct Burlingame Peugeot once stood and picture my dad writing the check for a brand new Peugeot in the showroom floor.
Now without getting too nostalgic, let me talk about what else the car meant to me. Oddly, from a very young age (maybe three or four years old), began my infatuation with Peugeot automobiles. Seeing one on the road was always a nice treat, and I'd always ask to tag along with my dad to the Peugeot repair shop all the way across the bay, in the Peninsula. I'd always point and look at the other Peugeot's, hoping to catch my dad's attention.
Now fast forward to age of fourteen..or maybe thirteen. My father finally let me get behind the wheel. He would take me to the old abandoned naval base across town, overlooking the San Francisco Skyline, where he'd attempt to teach me how to drive stick. The first few times, I failed as expected. Then one day while my parents were out, I grabbed the keys from the living room credenza and dashed to the car. It was at moment that I had done it. I had "tamed the lion." Suddenly, I felt as if I were in my dad's shoes, and that I had earned the Peugeot.
Before I knew it, I'm sixteen years old, freshly passed the license test with flying colors, and I'm out driving my red Peugeot.
There are no words fit to describe the feeling of driving down Highway 880 over the Bay Bridge: Windows down, Sunroof back, period-correct eighties tracks, while shifting into fifth gear in my new to me red Peugeot.
Throughout high school, I had my share of good and bad experiences with the Peugeot.
First of all, the Peugeot never let me down. In some cases, I let it down. Around the beginning of my Junior year, I was driving home from crew practice in the rainy evening. Coming off the Fruitvale Bridge around a gentle curve, I got a bit too ambitious, forgetting about my bald tires. Spun the car a few times, and slammed the rear into a cement light-column. That was the first, and I had it fixed after shelling out $500 dollars. Then roughly two months later over the Presidents Week holiday, me and a few friends were hanging out at the abandoned naval base, and I was messing around, drifting in a patch of mud. Let's just say that didn't end too well. Aka, lost control with a leaky steering rack, and slammed into a curb. Result: Bent frame rail, steering components, and took a chunk out of a wheel. With a little help of my old bank account, the car was fixed again, but it sat under a tree for over a year while I enjoyed my new Bmw.
Now this leads me to this past May. Driving home from the last practice of my high school rowing career, I was stopped at a red light where from out of nowhere, a guy (who I now think was DUI), slammed into the rear of my freshly washed and waxed Peugeot. Result this time: A completely smashed rear end, a mild concussion, and severe whiplash. But none of that mattered to me - that guy just destroyed my car.
So within minutes, paramedics show up alongside a slew of police cars and my parents.
The guy who hit me kept reassuring me that he would "take care" of my car, and have it fixed. But that proved to be a lie.
His insurance completely bailed on me, offering me a mere $1200, when the original estimate for the repair was over $6000. Bullshit. So I finally gathered up the time to call the guy who hit me last week. We agreed to meet up (yesterday), and I even took it upon myself to find the meeting place. What happened? He completely catted on me. Didn't respond my e-mail, and ignored my voicemails, as well as my calls. Thanks a lot sir!
Now I stand here. With a disfigured friend, having nothing to do with but look at it at its all-time low, parked under a shady tree. Hopefully things will get better from here, and I'm confident that they will. I'm not giving up without a fight, hopefully justice will prevail, and my car will be back to the beautiful shape that it was, a minute before it was wrecked.
So here it is, a small tribute that barely sums up my respect for a symbol that I grew up with, and hope to hold on to for many decades to come. The French sure built one hell of an automobile. Even while totalled, it's still a beautiful car.
Vive la France
When I was a little kid, I'd rush to the garage door whenver I heard it open. I'd watch my dad back his shiny Red Peugeot into our small two-car garage. I never missed a chance to see, or hear the Peugeot. It symbolized being grown-up, it symbolized class.
Though it may now be far from what the general public would call "classy", it's still got plenty of class in my eyes.
Aside from what it symbolizes to me, this car is like part of the family to me. My dad was the original owner, who bought it back in the July of 1983, in sunny Burlingame, California. Whenever I drive through downtown Burlingame, I picture where the now defunct Burlingame Peugeot once stood and picture my dad writing the check for a brand new Peugeot in the showroom floor.
Now without getting too nostalgic, let me talk about what else the car meant to me. Oddly, from a very young age (maybe three or four years old), began my infatuation with Peugeot automobiles. Seeing one on the road was always a nice treat, and I'd always ask to tag along with my dad to the Peugeot repair shop all the way across the bay, in the Peninsula. I'd always point and look at the other Peugeot's, hoping to catch my dad's attention.
Now fast forward to age of fourteen..or maybe thirteen. My father finally let me get behind the wheel. He would take me to the old abandoned naval base across town, overlooking the San Francisco Skyline, where he'd attempt to teach me how to drive stick. The first few times, I failed as expected. Then one day while my parents were out, I grabbed the keys from the living room credenza and dashed to the car. It was at moment that I had done it. I had "tamed the lion." Suddenly, I felt as if I were in my dad's shoes, and that I had earned the Peugeot.
Before I knew it, I'm sixteen years old, freshly passed the license test with flying colors, and I'm out driving my red Peugeot.
There are no words fit to describe the feeling of driving down Highway 880 over the Bay Bridge: Windows down, Sunroof back, period-correct eighties tracks, while shifting into fifth gear in my new to me red Peugeot.
Throughout high school, I had my share of good and bad experiences with the Peugeot.
First of all, the Peugeot never let me down. In some cases, I let it down. Around the beginning of my Junior year, I was driving home from crew practice in the rainy evening. Coming off the Fruitvale Bridge around a gentle curve, I got a bit too ambitious, forgetting about my bald tires. Spun the car a few times, and slammed the rear into a cement light-column. That was the first, and I had it fixed after shelling out $500 dollars. Then roughly two months later over the Presidents Week holiday, me and a few friends were hanging out at the abandoned naval base, and I was messing around, drifting in a patch of mud. Let's just say that didn't end too well. Aka, lost control with a leaky steering rack, and slammed into a curb. Result: Bent frame rail, steering components, and took a chunk out of a wheel. With a little help of my old bank account, the car was fixed again, but it sat under a tree for over a year while I enjoyed my new Bmw.
Now this leads me to this past May. Driving home from the last practice of my high school rowing career, I was stopped at a red light where from out of nowhere, a guy (who I now think was DUI), slammed into the rear of my freshly washed and waxed Peugeot. Result this time: A completely smashed rear end, a mild concussion, and severe whiplash. But none of that mattered to me - that guy just destroyed my car.
So within minutes, paramedics show up alongside a slew of police cars and my parents.
The guy who hit me kept reassuring me that he would "take care" of my car, and have it fixed. But that proved to be a lie.
His insurance completely bailed on me, offering me a mere $1200, when the original estimate for the repair was over $6000. Bullshit. So I finally gathered up the time to call the guy who hit me last week. We agreed to meet up (yesterday), and I even took it upon myself to find the meeting place. What happened? He completely catted on me. Didn't respond my e-mail, and ignored my voicemails, as well as my calls. Thanks a lot sir!
Now I stand here. With a disfigured friend, having nothing to do with but look at it at its all-time low, parked under a shady tree. Hopefully things will get better from here, and I'm confident that they will. I'm not giving up without a fight, hopefully justice will prevail, and my car will be back to the beautiful shape that it was, a minute before it was wrecked.
So here it is, a small tribute that barely sums up my respect for a symbol that I grew up with, and hope to hold on to for many decades to come. The French sure built one hell of an automobile. Even while totalled, it's still a beautiful car.
Vive la France
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Who do you aspire to be?
Well this is that age-old, cliche question, that everyone is asked at a young age.
"Who do you want to be when you grow up?" To me - this question was always quickly answered by my dad. Well not literally, but through his influence. He always told me (and still does) that I should aspire to be a Business man of some sorts. For my sister, it's "She's going to be a doctor or a vet."
I personally do not have any problem with my parental figures trying to influence my future-self. I think it's nice, and at the least, thoughtful, since in the end, they want us to be "better" people than they ever were. Well before I spiral into my conception of the phrase "better person", I think I'll get back to my main point.
I never thought that I would ever be able to come to such an easy, or concrete conclusion, but I think that I have stumbled upon my own desire of self-accomplishment.
This desire is based on my own observations of my role models throughout society, as well my own interests.
While I may be able to discuss this desire, I know that it shall remain open-ended, and constantly evolving according to my life's encounters and experiences.
So in a nutshell, I simply desire to be a person who is able to blend his every interests into one.
Now as I write this, I less than two weeks away from starting college - a journey which I am both eager, and naturally hesitant to begin. I know that it is going to be tough, but at the same time I know that it will offer many rewards.
Be they educationally credentialing, or just momentarily pleasing - I am ready.
So time to [willingly] start over again, for another four years of societal tradition.
And for letting this new chapter begin, I thank my parents, most importantly, and my many family and friends who encouraged and inspired me up to this point.
"Who do you want to be when you grow up?" To me - this question was always quickly answered by my dad. Well not literally, but through his influence. He always told me (and still does) that I should aspire to be a Business man of some sorts. For my sister, it's "She's going to be a doctor or a vet."
I personally do not have any problem with my parental figures trying to influence my future-self. I think it's nice, and at the least, thoughtful, since in the end, they want us to be "better" people than they ever were. Well before I spiral into my conception of the phrase "better person", I think I'll get back to my main point.
I never thought that I would ever be able to come to such an easy, or concrete conclusion, but I think that I have stumbled upon my own desire of self-accomplishment.
This desire is based on my own observations of my role models throughout society, as well my own interests.
While I may be able to discuss this desire, I know that it shall remain open-ended, and constantly evolving according to my life's encounters and experiences.
So in a nutshell, I simply desire to be a person who is able to blend his every interests into one.
Now as I write this, I less than two weeks away from starting college - a journey which I am both eager, and naturally hesitant to begin. I know that it is going to be tough, but at the same time I know that it will offer many rewards.
Be they educationally credentialing, or just momentarily pleasing - I am ready.
So time to [willingly] start over again, for another four years of societal tradition.
And for letting this new chapter begin, I thank my parents, most importantly, and my many family and friends who encouraged and inspired me up to this point.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
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