Dude, I need to score some buds.
Seriously, my ear buds are not fitting and I need some new ones. I find I'm spending the majority of my runs pressing the gently sliding sweat soaked ear buds back into my ear hole. I don't have this problem during winter. The Eskimo hat keeps 'em firmly in pace. Summer brings higher sweat viscosity and no hat. And lots of ear bud slippage.
It doesn't help that I have three genetic factors working against me:
1) Allergies. God love the trees, grass, and flowers. I love summer. But Nature and I don't get along. There's a continual battle taking place for control over my sinus cavities. If "nature" wasn't a large, omnipresent, undefinable presence, I'd choke the living shit out of it. When the allergies strike, the ear buds become that much more difficult to keep in place.
2) Abnormally small ear holes run in the Nitmos' family. It's true. My ear holes are maybe the size of a pencil eraser. It's like trying to cram a marshmallow into a straw. I've considered cosmetic surgery. Very embarrassing. Try growing up as "the kid with tiny era holes" and see how often you get beaten up. They don't make ear buds for people like me because most electronics companies are ear hole bigots.
3) Stupidity. Despite knowing the ear buds don't fit, I continue to try to use them. It's been two years now. A lesser dense person would have already given in and found a suitable alternative. Not this hombre. I press on pushing my finger into the side of my cranium every 20 seconds over countless miles. I'm sure my neighbors think I have Tourette's - something I don't discourage anyway as it keeps them at a safe distance. "Being neighborly" is about as repugnant to me as holding the door for a senior citizen.
Sunday, I finally gave up and pulled the buds out of my ear and tossed the mp3 back at home. I wasn't in the mood to fight with it. I had to suffer the sounds of a warm, breezy summer day. The annoying flaps of the butterfly wings. The soothing songs of the morning birds. And the gentle rustling of leaves skipping down the sidewalk. Ugh. My running soundtrack normally involves the tortured shrieks of an angst-ridden, anti-social rock band. I enjoy the hammering in my head which flows down into the angry pounding of the pavement through my legs. That's what running is supposed to be: anger management. Instead, Sunday, I was carried away on the soft billowy clouds of a majestic summer morn.
I needs my rock.
I needs some quality ear buds.
Who has a recommendation?
Sunday's ear budless 10 mile long run had 2 goals: Beat last week's time of 1:09:07 and run a negative half split (something I did not do last week).
First 5 = 34:30; Second 5 = 33:56.
5 x 800 (with 400m cool downs in between) on Tuesday. Then I need to pull back for a week or so on the pace. My old friend plantar fasciatis is starting to creep in again. He's about as welcome as Dick Cheney at a gun safety demonstration.