Coffe poachers

Are you a coffee poacher?

You know what I’m talking about, the guy who snags the first cup of coffee out of a fresh brewed pot—the best cup of coffee—that he didn’t brew.  The guy that snags someone else’s first cup of coffee?  Is that you?  I hate that guy…  except when it’s me.

 

So, I just got the first fresh cup of coffee out of a pot I didn’t brew.  Yum.

 

For as much disdain as I have for coffee poachers (which really isn’t that much), I hate the guy who leaves coffee scraps even more.  You know, the thin layer of coffee at the bottom of the pot that only barely tastes like anything…  the coffee scraps…  that someone invariably believes will somehow, miraculously, feed an entire cup?  Yea, unless Jesus is pouring the coffee you should seriously have made a fresh pot, you stink face.

 

Anyway, yesterday’s ride was good.  Not great, but good.  I decided to take it easy and “only” go 17 miles at just under 17 mph.  I missed the mark by 7 stinking seconds.  I was pushing so hard at the end to get it all wrapped up in under an hour that I actually got cramps in my arms.  MY ARMS!!!  That’s what happens when you’re leveraging your whole body into something…  that’s intensity, baby.

Total mileage since the ribs have sealed up is 62.  I’m going to add maybe 20 tomorrow, time permitting, and then another 50 on Saturday.  By the end of the day tomorrow, time permitting, I will have already gone as many miles as I went in all of my training last year and I should easily double or possibly triple that mileage.  I feel very, very good about this year’s ride.

All the same, I promised the lovely and fetching Mrs. I Hate Running that if I feel the least bit unwell in La Grange that I’ll pull out.  I’m not a professional rider, I get no money for finishing, and I have to make it to work Monday (and take care of Mrs. I Hate Running and I Hate Running, Jr.).

 

I won’t be pulling out, though.