Back to my roots

Well, after that foray into the world of imparting useful information for the greater good, I’m pleased to report that I am returning back to my roots, to that for which I’m known and renowned the world over (hello, alert reader in Saudi Arabia!). Yes, the hard-hitting triathlon and general fitness wisdom that people have come to expect from me. Not just expect, but anticipate with fervor, and wait for impatiently. I feel confident in saying that with today’s blog post, you will not be disappointed.

So I contacted Dougger, the captain of my erstwhile hockey team The Chiefs, and told him that I had been struck with the most brilliant of ideas: that I wanted to change the name on one of my jerseys to THE RACK. The question was, should I change WHO OWNS, or BNCRUSHER? WHO OWNS I liked because it prompted a lot of confusion and puzzlement, and separated the wheat from the chaff, in that I could judge intelligence and hockey knowledge by seeing who’d figure out the whole “Who OWNS the Chiefs?” schtick from the movie Slapshot…..and who didn’t. Call it my own more relevant version of those eHarmony quizzes that try to determine who you’re compatible with.

But BNCRUSHER, well, that speaks for itself, and has been great for striking fear into the hearts of the guys I play against. Sure, they’d look at the lipstick and the ponytail and think puh, what the hell is this? But then they’d see the name and suddenly everything would be different and….okay, that’s a lie. I mean, it’s true they’d underestimate me, but it wasn’t the name but rather the fact that I’d take my stick and cross-check them without hesitation, or there were the couple of times I threatened guys with bodily harm – deservedly so! – that might have sealed my reputation. So the name was kind of redundant. Plus, Doug *did* point out that to go with the new look, I might as well embrace a new persona too – so, goodbye BNCRUSHER, hello THE RACK. I can hardly wait. Am I the only one who sees a hell of a lot of opportunity for fun with this? Sure, my team and a lot of the guys I know at Johnny’s will get the inside joke, but woe to those who assume I’m just some fake-boobaged bimbo trying to snare guys with a provocative name. I mean really, bimbo indeed.