I've taken a huge step up here and decreased the time between posts to half a month instead of a full month. Baby steps, I guess.
The Olympics are going on right now, and I have concluded that they have an interesting effect on me. The biggest of these is that I root for people that I normally would never think about cheering for. First on the list is Jeremy Bloom. I despise Jeremy Bloom. I think he is a moron and a tool and I hate his hippie ass. And all that is just because he went to CU. Take all those emotions and multiply them by three because he played on the CU football team. I am just filled with rage toward him. Yet, when my roommate John asked if I would cheer for Bloom in the Olympics, I told him "yes" without even thinking about it. It's funny to see how quickly one's feelings change when a person changes teams. He plays for CU? I hate him. Wait, the same guy is skiing for my country? I love him and I hope he rages everyone.
The other people I don't normally cheer for are the snowboarders. I have never been a big snowboarding fan and I don't like the stereotypical snowboarder attitude and manner of speaking. "I totally nailed a wicked 1080 backy fronty grabby douche pick." I have no idea what they are saying. Yet, I was pulling hard for Shaun White to make the finals and dominate everyone in the half pipe last night. When he fell on the first run, my cheering just was that much louder the second run.
Lastly, the figure skaters. Worst "sport" ever. I'll admit that it is a hard thing to do, that figure skating. It takes skill and strength and conditioning. I just don't think you can classify it as a sport. You have to judge it. And it is lame. Completely lame. Yet, when Olympics time rolls around, I find myself glued to the TV, yelling at the East German judge, willing the Russian couple to fall on their heads, and cheering for the Americans. What a strange sporting event to make me love things I normally hate.
I went skiing again this weekend (this time with Kyle and Amy and Dunham). I've been up 9 or 10 times now, and I can feel and see the improvements in my skiing. The problem is that I am slowly getting more daring. More daring means more crashes. Twice this weekend, I came flying over a ridge to catch some air and I landed (going fairly fast) in a mogul field. Speed and moguls and Mike do not go together well. Twice, Kyle skied down to find me in the middle of a huge snow explosion. One time I kept everything with me. The other time, I had to climb back up the hill to collect both skis. Today, I am sore. On the positive side, I am feeling much more confident about moguls and jumps. I'm still not that good, though.
"1080 backy fronty grabby douche pick" sounds like some secret military code. As in "I've got a terrorist driving a white vehicle south on Bakalakadaka Street, license plate '1080 backy fronty grabby douche pick,' over."
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