Cycle4Life -- please sponsor me!

Hello, all readers of this blog, who may very well be only Mama!

I've decided to enter a charity cycling event on 19 May 2012. Please click here to visit my donations page, and make a donation to help sponsor my trek! All the details of the charity it's for can be found there.

The minimum donation is only 2 euro, and my goal is the 80 euro event fee. I technically have until 30 April to raise the fee, upon which time I have to supply the rest of it myself--but you can donate to the cause even up to a month after the event, according to the mycharity.ie website. There's no excuse for procrastination, however! ;P

Any and all who make a donation, if you email me your address (jamie.e.blair at what else but gmail) I will send you a postcard from Ireland!

I greatly appreciate the help. The course I'm taking will be ~70 km, or ~44 miles. I've comfortably done 40 km journeys before, so I know I'll be ready for this by the time it rolls around. I'll be wearing my club jersey for the event as well (leisurecycling.ie).

My knees aren't perfect yet, but I have a new bike that actually fits me. Rothar (pronounced ruh-hur) was way too big--so hello, Bike (pronounced bee-kay)! My surly long haul trucker. She's beautiful ;_; I also have a professional bike fit on the 3rd of May, so I shouldn't be having any biomechanical problems anymore after that.

Don't... don't ask me how much I spent on her DX

so yeah, think of the childrens and send me some money for the Temple Street Children's hospital! It's kind of close to my heart since it's right in my neighbourhood here in Dublin.

peace.

good friday poem rough draft

by me

the streets seethe with raw-throated cries of
CRUCIFY HIM
pilate fears the crowd more than the wrath
of a god he doesn't know except for innocence.
their hate blisters in this air
of febrile
blasphemies
brown fawn's eyes beneath a crown of thorns but i
am in the crowd neither screaming nor crying
only dreaming of dinner, of sleep,
which need for the distraction to end.
blood steaming from the jagged whips but
he isn't mine so why
standing in the midst of all these stinking bodies pressed
together in the dust
the sun is coming down--
. . . when's lunch?

lukewarm, spat out upon this rotten stony ground
i watch the naked man upon the tree.
except, i don't
watch him at all. just pass and glance at him,
toss him a passing afterthought
and wonder why this jostled, moaning, angry crowd
doesn't have more important things to do