Erg races are wild. Everyone is screaming and cheering. You’ve got people all over the floor in various stages of death. Coaches and coxswains are carrying people away from the ergs so the next race can start. The concession stand sells cliff bars. There’s a giant guy literally cuddling a trash can. The race officials keep walking by to put the can back by the ergs, but none of them can bring themselves to take the trash can away from the poor guy. His cox keeps promising that he is in fact okay. There’s t-shirts for sale to commemorate the event. Everyone is high on pain/adrenaline/endorphins/shock bloks by the end of it. Good times man.
At least we didn’t have to send anyone to the hospital this year…
- Watching the sunrise on the lake in the morning
- The sound the oar locks make when you finally get the timing right and you all square your blades at the exact same moment
- Vomiting through your nose and your mouth at the same time because you went hard on an erg with a near empty stomach
my brain: i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die i wanna die omg look at that dog i wanna die i wann
(via lordmeowdemort)
(via spongebobssquarepants)
Showing off a hummingbird’s iridescent head
rotate the boy
(via kardashiansfuckyeah)