The New Year awaits conquering

My day yesterday turned out well after braaing and cruising along the beach. So in the spirit of happiness and stuff, I thought I would entertain the masses with this highly intelligent, funny, well structured, master crafted piece on what the New Year holds.

Here at SLXS I don’t make any bullshit new years resolutions like saying I’m going to walk to the shops to prevent global warming, I’m going to give more to charity or I’m going to adopt a Malawian orphan. That stuff is too mainstream and common. I am unique. So I make real goals. And 2007 is going to be a cracker in terms of being a physically peaking performance machine. My Argus Cycle Tour entry is in. There are thoughts of doing the 55km Argus mountain bike ride the week before. The Two Oceans half marathon entries are being prepped and the team for the Xterra triathlon is being pep talked. One thing still bothers me. How the fuck will I run the half marathon?

I think I may have found the solution. This girl I know seems to be semi interested in running. However I’m going to be her trainer because I’m going to train her but in the end not run. I’m going to be sitting on the back of a cart which she will be towing. She will have a harness to strap this cart to her and I am going to sit on the back and take photos of the route for SLXS.

I will also have a small stove to cook food and the like. However I don’t want to be out there all day so I am going to have performance enhancing aids. One is going to be badger milk which will replace her normal USN Carbo- Fuel. Badger milk slides down the throat like small little pebbles you will find on the beach. It’s lumpy but once it hits your stomach, the body absorbs it and it gives you superhuman speed. Some side effects include growing three more hands and porcupine quills, but fuck it, it will be worth the glory of winning. I always say “Win at all costs”. Injections with fat needles and filled with steroids are going to be within my reach at all times. If the pace drops off a smidgen…BAM…one fat needle of steroids right in the ass! The pace slacks more…BOOM…another needle straight to the calf…maybe piercing the actual DNA because I throw so hard. The pace slacks off even more…BAM BOOM BIG EXPLOSION…one Molotov cocktail thrown at my runner will have her “hot” on the heels of the winners.

I will not allow her to wear sunscreen on the run. But I will take a bottle with me and a bottle of cooking oil. The cooking oil will be for me so I can bronze in the sun on the run (I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it) So when we receive our medals I will be dark like Mexican and be very photogenic. When she says “Can you pass the cream” I will reply “No, no my young one, if you weren’t so SLOW, you would not be burning! FASTER FASTER!”

Once again, my mind has conjured up an article, and a theory, so bizarre, so weird, so crazy and ultimately so fucked up that I think it just might work. People say “Man, you smoke ‘mo crack than Auntie Jan down at the church” But I say “Did people not think Richard Branson’s ideas were crazy?” They say “Yes they did think they were crazy” I then look at them, shake my head, spit out my three day old chewing gum, jump on my horse, kick him in his ass with my boots, light a cigar, take a photo of the sunset, write a poem for a loved one in my notebook, say a little prayer, take a sip of jolly juice and say, with the sun glinting in my Ray Bans “There you go. So I win.”