This here is a shout out to my man Jeff Curran, which is not easy for me to do, seeing as he has spent the last 20 years breaking and spraining my bones and ankles with bizarre, unorthodox, aggressive moves on the lacrosse field and in the pub.
But Jeffy pulled off something sort of amazing on Sunday in his first Ironman triathlon. he finished the swim in 505th place, got on his bike and lost a little ground, starting the marathon in 515th place. Then this freak of nature proceeded to pass 307 other tough motherscratchers in the marathon, which he finished in 3:40.
In the midst of the madcap rewrite of the Wired scraping story, I made a weekend run to Maui to impersonate a guy with the kind of money to be able to stay at the Kapalua resort and charter a helicopter to surf the far side of Molokai, all by way of doing this story for Private Air magazine.
Sorry about the required sign-up, but it might be worth it: you'll get to see the bigger version of the picture above, my first on-wave photo, published or otherwise. If you look closely enough, you'll note the fresh Quiksilver boardshorts. [Tom Taylor - I'm waiting for my sponsor check...]. You'll also, unfortunately, be able to see my kooked-out, stiff-legged backside turning style.
This is not a tattoo. Not an ink-based one, anyway. Picked it up in the first quarter of yesterday's lacrosse game against the Olympic Club. Closeups available - click here to see more of it on flickr.