tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269455562024-03-13T18:10:54.551-04:00Feet Meet Street...and the rubber rubs the road. Running and other random thoughts...Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.comBlogger564125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-91135727537756284122016-02-05T09:20:00.000-05:002016-02-05T09:22:51.977-05:00Product Review: Great! (As far as backpacks go...)<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The </span><a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/search?q=fine+folks" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fine Folks</span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> at </span><a href="http://aerolife.co/" target="_blank"><strong><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Aerolife</span></strong></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> sent me a free running/hydration
backpack!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like free stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like it <em>more</em> went it is countable in
tightly bundled $100 portions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like it
even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> when it is sitting atop a
mountain of cocaine which there is no way to safely get it down for inspection
without an 8 month long Sheenian-style snortfest.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But I’ll take a free hydration backpack all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who needs money, cocaine, and hookers? (We were
talking about hookers too right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Assumed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The former two always go
with the latter one.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m sure <strong>Aerolife</strong> would appreciate a less R-rated review in
exchange for the hydration pack so let’s bring the lights down for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here is the backpack.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CeoqHBfLWhc/VrSsO5Z0QLI/AAAAAAAABXc/xfDr-fhAuOU/s1600/aerolifepack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CeoqHBfLWhc/VrSsO5Z0QLI/AAAAAAAABXc/xfDr-fhAuOU/s320/aerolifepack.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Backpack-Aerolife%C2%AE-Lifetime-Guarantee-Hydration/dp/B012OYWVK6" target="_blank">Aerolife Running and Cycling Hydration Backpack</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s got the assorted bells and whistles: a 1.5 liter bladder
pouch for storing your water or whatever fuels your long run (my fuel of choice
being fudge stripe cookies which were incredibly tricky to get into the
bladder), zip pockets, mesh pockets, pockets on the front side of the shoulder
straps for easy on-the-go access.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have used a CamelBak for years when I have needed a
hydration backpack which, admittedly, hasn’t been often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My running routes tend to be circular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can make a series of concentric circles for
any distance to arrive back at my doorstep and the cool, refreshing taste of
city tap water (safely 60 miles west of Flint!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What could go wrong?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
on the occasion that I have used my CamelBak, I have not been overly happy: the
shoulder straps were too skinny, the waist belt rides up, the fudge stripe
cookies could never be sucked through the tube, and the pack just bounced
around all willy nilly on my back like the back tits of a large overly-excited 40-something
single woman at a One Direction concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was never comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
always disappointed. <span style="color: red;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I gave the Aerolife hydration backpack a try with a
cocked eyebrow and a suspicious tilt to my pursued lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s winter around these parts, my runs are
shorter, and I wouldn’t really be in need of water but filled the bladder half
full and headed out for a 5 miler just to try it out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was actually surprised and quite pleased. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shoulder straps are wider and did a much
better job of holding the half-filled pack in place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not much back tit bounce at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was comfortable, light, and not an
annoyance in any way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, along with
the several handy pocket placements, make this a far superior product to the
CamelBak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consider my eyebrow uncocked
and lips unpursed.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’d suggest making the sip straw a good inch and a half
wider to support the consumption of fudge stripe cookies but we can’t all have
our cookies and eat them too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upgrade from your CamelBak!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
The price is right and t</span>his is a family run company after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope you enjoyed your Ovaltine interlude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Promise kept.<span style="color: red;">**</span> Now, back to exile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy trails.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>You may apply that disappointment to the CamelBak, the One
Direction concert, or the back tits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
are deserving.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">**</span>I feel slightly bad about this R-rated, tongue-in-cheek
review but then again this is <em>FMS</em> and you all know - or should all know - how I roll.</span></span></span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-75860543177399361202016-02-02T10:23:00.000-05:002016-02-02T10:23:39.555-05:00Ovaltine Coming; Exile ContinuedI received a pretty cool hydration/backpack in the mail free of charge from having the fishing line that is this here blog floating in the marketing waters. I promised and thus - Midwestern values and all - feel compelled to provide a review/commercial for this product. I will post this shortly. However, I wanted to provide context for why this dormant space suddenly became active.<br />
<br />
I am still on my vision quest. I am not "back"; I have not "returned" to take all the runner bloggers to paradise<span style="color: red;">*</span> with me. I know, I know, I feel your great disappointment. All you are getting is a crummy commercial. But at least it should come with a few clever turns of phrase, no? <br />
<br />
I'll be back after these messages.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span> Boston</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-60964266931043588792013-11-20T10:43:00.000-05:002013-11-20T10:51:53.649-05:00I Believed I Could Fly<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Wherein I
cleverly disguise a discussion on Newton’s Laws of Gravity as a race report</span></em>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like a lot
of kids, I had this idea growing up that somewhere within me was this hidden
superpower and that, if I believed enough, I could make it become a
reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure I was one Professor
Xavier mentor away from coaxing it out of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a young boy, I wanted to fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted to soar amongst the clouds with my pillow case cape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a teen, I reverted to my base desires and hoped
to make myself invisible so that I could foil a bank robbery or, <em>um</em>, say, walk
in to the girls’ changing rooms unnoticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a young man, I simply wanted the power to overcome Jagermeister with
my impenetrable steel liver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And now I’m
back to flying again…mainly because I can’t stand small children kicking the
back of my seat during a flight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rob all
the banks you want but Nitmos is going Detroit to New York non-stop in one
single, childless bound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>R. Kelly, he of
questionable judgment, general douchebaggery, and toilet training issues, was
right about one thing: I <em>believed</em> I could fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I <em>believed</em> I could touch the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isaac Newton and his apple had other ideas but there was only one way to
settle this scientific debate:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>an
experiment of one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The <a href="http://dwd.runningfitsites.com/hell-home" target="_blank">Dances with Dirt 100k</a> trail relay race is a much anticipated race around these
parts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran it last year and told you
about it <a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/09/bad-out-of-hell.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a hilly, off-road,
wet, difficult race filled with fun, falling, beer, mud, poison ivy and,
usually, a few swollen ankles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Appropriately, it takes place in Hell, Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a five man team ready to cover the 15
legs of the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was blessed with
one river crossing (i.e. the perfect opportunity to test the theories of
gravity.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My money –
the smart money, in this case – was on R. Kelly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He believed he could fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believed I could fly!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Asics would not absorb a drop of non-sweat
liquid, this I vowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My river
crossing was set for my third and final leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I figured I would launch myself into the air and fly away all the way
home as a spectacular way to end the long day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But a funny thing happened at the end of leg two. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They redesigned the course slightly and, <em>oh,
no</em>, a surprise river!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unprepared, I
plopped into the water like a common bipodal Metropolisite and trudged
across.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Asics soaked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Not very heroic.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And there
was no time to change shoes as my final leg came after a brief twenty minute
wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> So, o</span>ff I ran into leg 3 with heavy, squishy
shoes through the weeds, onto a two track, up a hill and nearly bisecting
myself on a barely visible waist-high wire fence marked with a single barely
noticeable ribbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wire gave enough
at the waist to allow me time to stop, back up a step and duck under to
continue towards my date with destiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The river
approached; I could see it after leaping through the mud bog from one of the
higher elevation grassy patches to the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>R.Kelly vs. Issac Newton:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Game
on.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Down the
embankment with a few cautious steps ready to leap and jet away into the sky…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4LvvwUtd1QE/UozVVyN-0qI/AAAAAAAABVg/OsxI6Addb8g/s1600/dwd10001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4LvvwUtd1QE/UozVVyN-0qI/AAAAAAAABVg/OsxI6Addb8g/s320/dwd10001.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><em>I believe I
can fly; I believe I can touch the sky!<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Off I go,
gleeful, majestic, the fulfillment of a childhood dream!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, all of our scientific notions about
gravity would have to be thrown out and reexamined!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nitmos, the non-fiction embodiment of
Superman, takes flight!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Seriously,
have you ever seen a take-off with such impeccable form?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n57ClHnrs3A/UozWf80GumI/AAAAAAAABVs/QMeCfqcETFQ/s1600/dwd20001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n57ClHnrs3A/UozWf80GumI/AAAAAAAABVs/QMeCfqcETFQ/s320/dwd20001.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s going
great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m flying!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at the joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I'm mesmerized by the shimmering mirror image of myself in the river water. </span>I’ve broken free of Newton…of the laws of
Gravity…confirming soon-to-be-Nobel-winner R. Kelly’s theory!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>Uh-oh?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tf7MIP5pq-E/UozX_41zUII/AAAAAAAABV4/i_p0CcVo_BQ/s1600/lawsofgravity.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tf7MIP5pq-E/UozX_41zUII/AAAAAAAABV4/i_p0CcVo_BQ/s1600/lawsofgravity.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Prepare for
impact.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Les Brown is
attributed the following quote: <em>“Shoot for the moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if you miss, you’ll still be amongst the
stars.”</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to modify that a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From my experience, “shoot for the moon and,
when you miss, you’ll be amongst squalid, cow dung, fecally-infested river sludge
with a better than 50% chance of just having acquired dysentery.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True, not as inspirational or bumper-sticker
concise but definitely more accurate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pNSPCpB391s/UozYC2yY3BI/AAAAAAAABWA/pyi2dqY0SKE/s1600/dwd30001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pNSPCpB391s/UozYC2yY3BI/AAAAAAAABWA/pyi2dqY0SKE/s320/dwd30001.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don’t know
what went wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I didn’t <strong>believe</strong>
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Newton is right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Les Brown and R. Kelly <em>are</em> full of
shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Either way,
I believed I could fly…and I ended up with a mouthful of cow shit flavored
river water. Don't follow your dreams, kids, you might end up with cholera.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe next
year I’ll forget all of this flying nonsense and just drink more Jagermeister
(aka Steel Liver!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy
trails.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">______________________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Those of you who follow me on Twitter (see sidebar) already knew this. Lucky you!</span></div>
Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-32636808657548230532013-11-14T10:16:00.001-05:002013-11-14T10:17:14.711-05:00When Will Marathons Come in Bite-Size Portions?<em><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another in
my continuing series of race-improvement ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>See </span></em><a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2011/08/when-will-races-recognize-street-lights.html" target="_blank"><em><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">here for the previous installment</span></em></a><em><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The kids
were off at school and I was rifling through my daughter’s Halloween candy bag,
as I normally do, when another epiphany<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (ed: that’s not the giant drums,
right?)</span> came to me by the reflective glow of a Peppermint Patty foil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My fingers slowly raked through the tumbling
bite-size candy portions like an Asian masseuse through unkempt pubes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many “bite-size” portions…so evenly
divided to save my teeth the trouble of separating a piece from the main body
of candy…offering both a fun and healthier alternative to the “full-size” bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My maths
aren’t no good but I believe it means:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;">Bite-size =
Fun! = Healthier = <strong><span style="font-size: large;">BETTER<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And here’s
where the timpani comes in: <strong>Marathons should be offered in bite-size portions!<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let me
explain since you come here for sciencey<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> s</span>tuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each bite-size Snickers is
advertised as more FUN than a regular size Snickers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also marketed as healthier since, of
course, portion control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since I
would rather die than question an expensive marketing campaign geared towards
misdirection and positive trigger words, bite-size is truly infallible compared
to full-size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(By the way, YES you may
insert a “that’s what she said” at any point in this paragraph or the remaining
text, reader choice, and it would be completely appropriate.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For example,
without going over the maths, I believe one full-size Snickers equals roughly
29 bite-size Snickers calorie-wise, fat-wise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who’s going to eat 29 bite-size Snickers in one sitting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, throughout the day it wouldn’t be
unusual to pound down four or five dozen but in one sitting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And each and every portion involves a fairly rigorous and complicated
set of finger maneuvers to open the little package in order to extract the
chocolate shame pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You probably burn
as many calories as you ingest simply by walking by the candy bowl, debating
with yourself if you should have another, passing on after a mournful pat of
the belly, and returning a minute later only to shift through the candy orgy in
search of a prize, unwrap, chew, chew, chew, swallow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a lot of work and a lot of calories
burned!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It almost makes more health sense
to <strong>DO</strong> this several times a day than <strong>NOT</strong> to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the very least, it makes more sense than
eating ONE regular size candy bar in one sitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No fat-burning candy bowl drive-bys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No mentally exhausting debates filled with
lust, anger, shame and, finally, sadness. Is this an approved diet plan/fitness
technique?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should be on an
infomercial somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>PsnickersX?!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, how does
this relate to marathons?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, let’s
face it, running 26.2 miles is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s a regular-size marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If we learned anything from my maths and sciencish discussion in the</span>
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">preceding paragraphs, it’s that regular-size is bad and bite-size is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this would be a good time to insert a
<em>'that’s what she said'</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The math adds
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can basically eat as much as you
want in bite-size portions without the harmful effects of a full-size
portion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I run a
marathon, I usually start out strong, controlled, and confident but somewhere
around 20 miles in my pace slows a bit, breathing becomes labored and,
mentally, it can be a struggle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
exhibit none of those signs after completing my third dozen of bite-size
Snickers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just as ravenous,
confident, and energetic as the preceding 35!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In an all-out effort, I can probably run a mile in around 5:10 (if I
haven’t had three dozen bite-size Snickers that morning).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would put me near the front of any
marathon if not outright winning it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
that’s only for a mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t keep
that pace for any more than one mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s something about a "regular-size" marathon that zaps my energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’d like to
split my marathon into 26 fun-size bites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over a few weeks, I could put together a pretty respectable marathon
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One that just might have certain
long-legged Kenyans quivering in their unflattering side-split running shorts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, in bite-size portions, I ‘m not just
one of the (admittedly rugged-jawed, genetically “put together”) rabble trailing the
leaders;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a bite-size champion!
(t.w.s.s.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that’s
maths we can all get behind!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Race
directors, take note!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy
trails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-35787006785357776112013-11-07T11:12:00.001-05:002013-11-07T11:12:56.131-05:00It (Don't) Gotta Be the Shoes<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Remember
those early 90’s Nike commercials featuring everyone’s favorite anti-Bad Boy,
Michael Jordan, and Spike Lee (aka Mars Blackmon) ruminating on the secret to
MJ’s success?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>“It’s gotta
be the shoes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s gotta be the shoes!”<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No, it <strong>WAS</strong>
the friendliest ref’s whistle known to man but that’s neither here nor
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did a lot of b-ballin’ back in
those years and, although I avoided Nike like any good Pistons fan – and human
being, in general - would, I admit to being overly selective about my choice of
footwear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it really was all about
the shoes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why take the chance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, if a celebrity, barely disguised and
using a pseudonym, tells me to do something, I normally do it no questions
asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s always been my policy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I feel uncomfortable doing what
Carlos Danger has asked me to do with that rolling pin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This
shoe-fixation has carried on into running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I first started as a naïve, newbie runner, I wore Adidas Response
(I know, right?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind that I was a
bit portly around the midsection and could barely maintain a solid half mile of
non-stop running, it <strong>had</strong> to be the shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Certainly wasn’t ME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, off to
the specialized running store I went for the expert advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so they recommended the Asics GT line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Woooo, I thought I was personally fit with a
shoe just for my stride and body type!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little did I know that <u>everyone</u> was running in this, the #1 selling
brand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out, that was more like
going into <em>Hot Topic</em>, telling them that I have no innate musical discernment
and unsure of my sexuality, and happily walking out with a One Direction CD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s been
Asics GT-whatever’s for years now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
they’ve been good shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
moonlighted with different brands from time-to-time and, you know what, they’ve
all been varying degrees of “good shoes” too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For years, I thought I HAD to run in Asics GT-whatevers or I just
couldn’t do my best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s a
product of getting older, not liking unexpected things on my lawn, and no
longer feeling the tug of misplaced loyalty and trusting fealty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently
ran the <em>Dances with Dirt</em> in an old pair of Mizuno’s and I
barely noticed any difference in comfort or support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
current pair of Asics have long since expired their Run By date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s almost no padding left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel almost like a barefoot runner except
minus the desperate need for attention and faux enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to ditch the shoes but my inner
cheapskate won out.<span style="color: red;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remembered
that several months ago some trusting company had sent me a free pair of
Ortholite inserts to try out and review on my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span><em>Yeah, how’d that work out for you?)</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I inserted them into my dead Asics last
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They went in smoothly like a
lubed up rolling pin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a nice tempo
six miler, I felt like I was running in <strong>brand new shoes</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nice and bouncy and comfortable like a less
methy Tigger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need new shoes
now!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I don’t need new shoes ever?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Turns out,
it’s gotta be the inserts!<span style="color: red;">**</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s gotta
be the Ortholites!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I always new
Mars Blackmon was full of shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy
trails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><em>(Were you
just Ovaltined?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think you were
Ovaltined.)<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>If you knew
what we spent annually on soccer in this house, you’d guffaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: red;">**</span>Take it
easy, Carlos.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
________________________________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the last
two months, I’ve completed two races.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Will I ever post a race report or photos?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will I ever post again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One can never tell…</span></div>
Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-3956485294545687192013-11-05T12:40:00.000-05:002013-11-05T12:41:11.004-05:00Running from Rheumatoid Arthritis<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I thought
I’d take this occasion to post about something that someone somewhere might
actually get some use from during a Google search.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to my history, most searchers
usually arrive here through an unsavory combination of search words like <em>“anal”</em>
and <em>“leakage”</em> and <em>“Charlie Sheen”</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
is benefit to knowing about all three of those things but perhaps this post will
delve into a slightly less off-putting topic.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am a
runner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve also been diagnosed with Rheumatoid
Arthritis (RA).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So far, I haven’t been diagnosed
with Handsomitis, Charmingectomy, or Modest Egoism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, unless your computer screen is 30
inches wide (and widescreen), you probably can’t keep my ego within frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Buy a larger monitor to view the whole thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The nice
thing about the internet – and a blog – is that it doesn’t forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s also the worst thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, in this case, we can all look back at
the </span><a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2010/01/i-is-old.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">innocent little post</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I did, pre-diagnosis, where I complain about stiff
joints and feeling old.<span style="color: red;">*</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey, whaddya
know, I had RA and didn’t know it at the time!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How sweet and naïve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here’s the
thing about RA for those not in the know: it’s an autoimmune disease; it’s
incurable and, usually, progressively gets worse; it’s not as dire as some cancers
but more ominous than, say, Handsomitis.<span style="color: red;">**</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For me, it started with sore, swollen joints on the outside of my feet
every morning, then hips (which made it a bit difficult to sleep), then neck,
finally, ending in the hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the
time it reached the hands, the foot, hip, and neck pain had mainly gone away,
thankfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took up permanent
residence in the middle two fingers of both hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time, I thought this was just some
sort of karmic retribution for all the flipping off I’d done (and was yet to
do).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, joke was on RA, as it only
served to make my middle finger knuckles slightly larger and thus more visible
from a greater distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Duh, <strong>winning!</strong>
(We are still doing this right? It’s been awhile since I’ve posted.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The long
term outlook can be anywhere from nuisance joint pain to complete joint
failure/replacement/immobility/beep-beep-beep motorized cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some cases, it can progress into the lungs
and heart wall lining and, well, not good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first
symptoms appeared in December 2009.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After several months of believing the swelling was due to running or
soccer or weight lifting soreness, etc., Mrs. Nitmos finally convinced me to
head into the doctor’s office early summer 2010.<span style="color: red;">***</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately diagnosed with RA – which I told
you all about </span><a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2010/08/you-have-incurable-diisease.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">here</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> – I ended up on two medications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, a weekly eight pill regimen of
methotrexate, which can best be described as tasting like Sweet-Tarts – if
Sweet-Tarts tasted like death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Methotrexate is RA's gateway drug. </span>Second,
twice monthly, I would give myself an injection of Humira (I’m sure you’ve seen
the non-stop ads on TV) into the upper thigh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Combined, the two medications cost the insurance company a princely sum
of around $2000 <u>monthly</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, I
only paid around $100 monthly due to my decent work health insurance but I’ve
always wondered how anyone without insurance (or with poor insurance coverage)
manages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, believe
me, I have my own insurance company horror stories as they tried frantically to
force me onto other, cheaper medications so their bottom line would look
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For profit insurance,
hooray!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several HOURS spent on the phone
tussling with these soulless profiteers…but that’s a story for another blog…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Methotrexate
is a baseline drug almost all RA patients take. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, you end up with a second drug and that
could be Humira or Enbrel or Trexall or dozens of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If one doesn’t work, you go on to the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, my doctor was always optimistic
and confident that there is a drug out there that matches a person. For me, the
first try was successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humira (along
with meth, as I lovingly called it) worked right off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a few weeks, my symptoms were under
control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a few months, my joint
pain had vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And since
this is a running blog, I should note that I never stopped running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, my doctor is the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He totally contradicted the layperson’s
advice (which I heard, <u>repeatedly</u>) that I should stop running <em>“because you’ll
just damage your joints further”.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he
said, the worst thing an RA patient can do is STOP exercising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, in fact, IS what many RA patients do
which only serves to accelerate an AUTO-IMMUNE disease that, already, is
compromising your ability to fight it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
best defense, he said, is to take your medication, eat healthy, don’t gain a
lot of weight (which many do as they stop moving and become immobile thus
creating even MORE stress on the joints), and keep exercising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The qualifier here, of course, is that if it
hurts don’t do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Find a different
exercise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, the pain in my
feet went away. So, I kept running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
kept fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, outside of
pill-popping and drug-injecting, this guy here felt completely normal or, at
least, like a typical Wall Street trader hiding a secret meth addiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Early on,
there were times where a run would totally wipe me out for the rest of the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was some guilt too because
the kids would want to kick a soccer ball around in the yard and, man, I was
just beat and had to decline – something I normally never do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the thought to stop running never even
occurred to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I considered it
a key part of fighting RA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Physically, I
wasn’t 100% sure it was the right thing to do but MENTALLY it was exactly what
I needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drug-taking
began in August 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With no symptoms
recurring, the doctor agreed to let me wean off the drugs starting August
2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, we stepped down off the
Death-Tarts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I was sitting
in a New York City hotel room <strong>not</strong> running the 2012 NYC Marathon, I was off meth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In February this year, I stopped the Humira
injections (just in time before my insurance company decided to start charging
me an exorbitant sum for it because THEY don’t have a deal with this
manufacturer but DO have a deal with another drug manufacturer and were forcing
me to an unknown medication….again, a story for another blog…)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s been 9
months and, so far, so good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No joint
pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No swelling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As of now, I’m one of the lucky ones as my
doctor tells me less than 5% of patients can go off medications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually, pill-popping, injecting is a
life-long thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thinks it was due to
my young(ish) age, being fit, and catching the disease <strong>EARLY</strong> – hitting it hard
with heavy medication (which, again, the insurance company could not
understand, you know,” costly”…but that’s a story for another blog…) - before
the body adjusted to having it around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There’s
always the chance that the symptoms may recur at any time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, for now, there is only one conclusion
you should all take from this somewhat somber tale:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>I beat an incurable disease!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I healed myself!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></strong>Yeah, that’s right, Nitmos is just THAT
awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Adjust your
monitor for continued viewing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy
trails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>Also, note
one of the commenters cleverly advising me to have it checked out in a </span></span><a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2010/03/five-knuckle-shuffle.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">follow-up post</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> I did complaining about knuckle pain in March 2010. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">**</span>Not to be
confused with Hansonitis that we all had a case of in the 90’s, <em>Mmmm</em>-kay?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">***</span>If you
experience similar symptoms, the thing any RA doc will tell you is that the
quicker you can get treatment the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>RA can be stopped in its tracks with modern medicine before joint damage
takes place but you must ACT within the first 6-8 months from the onset of
symptoms.<o:p></o:p></span></span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-2822417077206302782013-08-28T13:50:00.001-04:002013-08-28T13:51:57.454-04:00Duel of the Son<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<strong><em><span style="color: blue;">The Fruit of My Loins Showdown</span></em></strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My colt is
not a runner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He plays sports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Specifically, he plays lots and lots of
soccer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my fellow Americans that may
not be aware, soccer involves a significant amount of running at times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also involves a significant amount of
players falling on the ground acting like they broke their leg in overly
dramatic fashion every few minutes but that’s not relevant to this tale.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He runs…but
only after things.<span style="color: red;">*</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I come back from a long run and casually
mention that I just knocked off 14 miles (really, only 8 but what does he
know?) the response I normally get is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“why
are you doing that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sounds so
boring.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>A runner, he is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not yet at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent my youth running after balls
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, not balls per se…well, kinda
balls per se…you know what, you can all go to hell, you know what I mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Balls!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a
requirement for his high school soccer, he has to meet a fairly challenging two
mile time goal of 12:45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two miles in
12:45?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess what 42 year old blogger
just made a high school soccer team?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
Mr. Look Down His Nose at Boring Runners though, this was going to be
interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I haven’t
seen him just plain run that far all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure, I gently encouraged him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
even got in a few humblebrags about how my own dedication and hard work made
something that seemed difficult become easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was during the discussion of fartleks where the conversation ended
with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“ you know what, if you aren’t
mature enough to say fartlek without snickering like a toddler then maybe…okay,
okay very funny, stop snickering…I know the word ‘fart’ is pa-….that’s right, I
just said ‘fart’ again. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>STOP LAUGHING</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fartleks aren’t – okay, it’s just a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">SWEDISH WORD SO STOP….HEY, IS THAT A NEW
PIMPLE ON YOUR FOREHEAD???”</b></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
rest of the drive home in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids
today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually
he agreed to head up to the high school track so I could dump some long-overdue
fatherly wisdom on his unsuspecting teenager ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, maybe show him a thing or two about
running that I’ve learned over the past 13 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, real condescending
father-teaching-naïve-son bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I decided to
start him slow – a couple of 800’s around 3:00 pace, separated by a 90 second
rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that might just be
enough to break him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, when broken,
that’s when I reintroduce the whole fartlek discussion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I heard him
breathing heavy following my lead but his footsteps kept right on my heels both
sets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kinda expected to lose him
during the second 800.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was wearing a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">COTTON</b> t-shirt <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ferchrissakes</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, no,
there was the typical non-runner slapping of the feet right behind me,
overwhelming my perfectly tuned low-impact, barely audible stride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He did it
though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two 800’s in about three minutes
each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, his hands were on his hips and
he was sucking in wind like a canklesaurus that just climbed a flight of stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw in a little comment about how “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this is good warm-up for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually do 4 to….18 of these.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely get the sentence out before
descending into a gasping, coughing fit due to lack of oxygen that I explained
away by blaming the huge fly I just sucked in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn’t
think he fully got what he needed from this session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, he wasn’t defeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there’s one thing I’ve learned from
running over the years, it’s that it is best used to show up, humiliate, or
injure an inferior runner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since he was
none of those things – just a bit tired – I decided to go for the kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“How about one balls out<span style="color: red;">**</span> 400 meter before we head home?”</i> I suggest with
pitched tent finger tips slowly tapping together under an evil grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sure, he
responds, unconfidently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">YES!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I brought my shovel…cause I’m going to
need it to scrape that ego up that I leave smeared all over the track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my most
condescending manner, I suggest to him that he shouldn’t start out in a full
sprint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Start the 400 comfortably hard
then, at the 100 meter mark, start gently accelerating until the hammer is down
at 200 meters to the finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unspoken?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wave goodbye to Dada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s gonna rip your will to run right out
from you, sweetie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing more
enjoyable then shredding the fruit of your loins into ribbons meter by meter!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With that
sage strategy in place, we line-up to start our balls out 400 meters.<span style="color: red;">*** </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know he’s
going to follow my advice because he foolishly looks up to me (I think).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Off we
go!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> GONE</i></b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fuck this if I’m going to let some 15 year
old hang with me for 100 meters gathering confidence every step of the
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hammer is DOWN immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whoosh!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I pop
into a nice little lead around the first bend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His footsteps – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SLAP SLAP SLAP</i>
– grow distant behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hit the 100
meter mark and I’m in the lead by a good two seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fool followed my advice!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, just a little work over the last 300
meters and the Master will head home to modestly tell Mrs. Nitmos how the boy
is still trying to learn the Art of Running.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But then the
footsteps get louder again on the back straightaway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s on my heels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he follow my advice?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was good advice but, really, it was
designed more for me to get a lead and hopefully break his spirit than to
actually, you know, help him win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By 200
meters, we are neck and neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he’s
in the second lane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glance at my watch
and we are at 33 seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not
normally a good sprinter and this is about as fast as I’ve ever gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m hoping he sprinted himself out trying to
catch me as we head into the second turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Turns out,
he’s a fast little fucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m huffing
and puffing through the turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SLAP SLAP SLAPPING</i> away – cotton t-shirt
flapping in the wind - through the turn across the 300 meter mark oblivious to
the need for a Garmin, specialty running shows and
moisture-wicking….everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
arrogance!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We hit 300
meters and he shows no signs of letting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, is that a kick down the home stretch?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it’s me and my barely audible, perfectly
tuned stride that starts to fall away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s painfully obvious that I’m not going to catch him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he a machine impervious to
exhaustion?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is this the same kid that
spends 8 hours a day playing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Call of Duty</i>
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">FIFA ’13</i> and doing rails of sugar
off the TV?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Truly, I
underestimated him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if there is a
lesson to be learned, I should be the one delivering it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the final
100 meters, mid-stride, I change strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, there is a lesson to be taught about winning gracefully, respecting
elders, exemplifying modesty, and congratulating a competitor on a well-run
race.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I’m not
going to deliver that message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
ain’t an after school special and I’m not Oprah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Aaaaahh!”</i> I scream out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figure I have a second or two before he
looks back…just enough time to gently ease myself onto my side on the track as
if I’ve fallen hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hold my leg in
the air and grab my hamstring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
finishes and circles back in an arrogant, non-exhausted jog. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What’s wrong?”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here, I go
for the two-fer:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(1) Rob him of his
clean victory and (2) blame him for my “injury”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Well, I was just about ready to go for my
hard finishing kick </i>(grimace-grunt)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> after
my warm-up 300 meters when you carelessly kicked some loose gravel into my
lane. </i>(grimace-facial contortion) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
slowed up – you had been doing that the last 100 meters or so – to get around
it </i>(uggghhh, grooooan)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> but it slid
under foot causing me to twist my leg funny in an attempt to avoid it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the best I could but, man, you screwed
me over.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After a
suitable amount of time selling the injury, I popped up and, feigning
sportsmanship and general humanity, patted my son on the back and said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Despite the rather large asterisk looming
over it, that was a nice job you did there – including spewing gravel in my
lane!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then we
drove home…as only I could do of the two of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy
trails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">* </span>Meta Alert: I know, I know, WE run after abstract
concepts like physical fitness, health, happiness, and PRs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell that to a 15 year old.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: red;">** </span>Look I don’t have a ‘balls’ obsession, alright?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t get teste.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: red;">*** </span>Stop it already.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<o:p>_____________________________________________ </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Postscript:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: blue;">My colt made the time with a nice 12:26.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The preceding story was entirely true up
until the 300 meter mark at which point it diverted into <em>Hey This Would Make A
Better Blog Post Ending</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In truth, I
finished 3 seconds behind him despite running my best 400 ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">The little shit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-69718143139963294312013-04-24T11:54:00.001-04:002013-04-24T16:12:30.665-04:00Phantom of the 800sThe few of you that follow me on <strong><em>Twitter</em></strong> received an undetailed 140 character (or less) description of an unfortunate event at the track yesterday whilst doing some 800 meter intervals. Except, on my tweet, I didn’t use the word ‘whilst’. This is a problem I intend to correct on all future tweets whilst there is breath in my body.<br />
<br />
The thing we all know about 800 intervals is that they can be grueling. As each one completes, you are that much closer to being done whilst also knowing that the next one will be more difficult to maintain pace than the previous. Your breathing will be more labored; your perceived effort will be higher. Real fuck with your mind shit. <em>Do I really want to do these 800’s? Instead of six, how about five? Instead of 2:50 pace, how about 3:00 pace?</em> Mentally, I start looking for an escape hatch to make things easier. In a way, I go through the five stages of grief during one 800 session:<br />
<ol>
<li><strong>Denial</strong> – I’m not going to work this hard today</li>
<li><strong>Anger</strong> – WHY DO I HAVE TO DO THIS?</li>
<li><strong>Bargaining</strong> – Okay, I’ll do them but maybe only 4 intervals rather than 8.</li>
<li><strong>Depression</strong> – This sucks. Why does Beardsley hate me?</li>
<li><strong>Acceptance</strong> – Alright, I’m here. Might as well get it over with.</li>
</ol>
To distract all of these swirling emotions within, I ratchet up the ole iPod with some raucous <strong><em>RAWK</em></strong> music. Real ear bleeding stuff to get the heart pumping, legs churning, and mind fucked. I’m not a huge metalhead but I do dabble in a few headbangers to facilitate some speed work. I even had a playlist designed at one time for just such workouts. That playlist got deleted at some point during one of the never ending iTunes updates and has not been recreated. Since then, I tend to select an album or artist that I know can provide some adrenaline and hope that the record label required “power ballad” doesn’t pop up at some point.<br />
<br />
That’s <em>usually</em> how I do things.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I decided to hit <strong>Shuffle</strong> and tempt the fate of the music overlords. Now, I know you are thinking <em>‘Nitmos, you are super cool and thus all of the music on your iPod would be Super Cool Approved also so what could go wrong?</em>’ Thank you for thinking that and, largely, you are correct. However, it should be noted (as seen on my profile page), that I do hold a soft spot for garish show tunes. If you are surprised by this, you shouldn’t be. I recently used the word “garish” in a sentence. /deadgiveaway<br />
<br />
It started out alright. My first few intervals had a nice smattering of <em>30 Seconds to Mars</em> and <em>Rage Against the Machine</em>. I was off to a hot start. I knew I was cranking along when <em>Linkin Park</em> kicked in not once but back-to-back selections!! The home stretch was near.<br />
<br />
But then some elongated silence. Did my iPod turn off? Battery drain? Seconds go by and…<em>nothing</em>.<br />
<br />
Wait…not nothing. I hear <em>something</em>. What is that?<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Nighttime sharpens</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Heightens each sensation</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Darkness stirs and</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Wakes imagination</strong></em><br />
<br />
It started slowly, quietly and then built to a, well, sloooow show tune pace. Not something bouncy and Pirates of Penzancey. Nope, “<em>Music of the Night”</em> from Phantom of the Opera instead. I’ve got 2000 songs on that iPod and <strong>THAT’S</strong> what is selected?!? Can a runner at least get some Joey Fatone up in here?<br />
<br />
Now I’m as entangled in the torrid love triangle between Christine, Raoul and the Phantom as any normal red-blooded American. But in the middle of some 800 intervals, I care more about my own tortured soul rather than some damn fool with a half mask. But you can’t stop and change tunes in the middle of an 800 right? That’s got to be against some kind of runner code.<br />
<br />
So, powered by the Original Cast Recording of the Phantom of the Opera, I completed my intervals. Somehow. I’m living testament that it can be done though it does not come with a recommendation.<br />
<br />
And then Johnny Cash came on.<br />
<br />
Clearly, I really have got to go over my iPod selections. At the very least, the lesson I learned the hard way for all of you is not to hit Shuffle whilst doing speed work. Too many things can go wrong. Anne Frank may be a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=phan" target="_blank">Phan</a> (or would have been, one assumes) but this runner is not. At least, not in this context.<br />
<br />
<strong>In summary:</strong> Show tunes rule…but not during speed work.<br />
<br />
Happy trails.Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-5908600626274685592013-04-10T10:32:00.000-04:002013-04-10T10:42:10.943-04:00Immaculate ConfectionI don’t know how it got in there – divine providence I’m guessing – but it’s there and letting me know it every step of every mile of every run. I’m<strong> FAT</strong> right now. Like, grossly obese stuff. I must be a good <strong>4-5 pounds (!!)</strong> over my normal race weight. Look away if I repulse you. Don’t laugh as I parade my collection of the Midwest’s finest wind pants before you each day. Yep, I’m a wind pants guy now. Fatties like me do what we must. I pulled the string through them and everything. I’m not even buying the good quality Adidas wind pants. Instead, bulk Walmart models because what the hell.<br />
<br />
The thing is I don’t know <strong>how</strong> it got in there. Sure, I always put on a few pounds over the winter months – I’ve referred to it many times before as my <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2009/03/cheeto-layer.html" target="_blank">Cheeto Layer</a> – but I know where <em>that</em> fat layer came from. See Cheeto, eat Cheeto. See rum, drink rum. See leftover fry wedged between the garbage can and floor baseboard, eat leftover fry wedged between the garbage can and floor baseboard. Simple fat calorie economics.<br />
<br />
But I don’t know where <em>this</em> first trimester bulge came from.<br />
<br />
Once February rolls around, I start watching what I eat a bit more. The holidays are over. There’s no ready made excuse. Speedo season approaches. I can’t let a bulge get in the way of my bulge <em>ifyouknowwhatImean</em>. Nothing takes away from the sensual delights of a male in a Speedo more than cottage cheese thighs and a <strong>donelop</strong>.<span style="color: red;">*</span> As in “my belly just <strong>donelopped</strong> over my waist”. <br />
<br />
I’ve been eating more fruits and vegetables. I’ve been drinking plenty of beer but I’ve cut out (most) of the rum consumption. Cheetos? Not a single baked cheesy delight has passed these lips since the New Year. No, either my system is automatically transposing the mixed vegetables into a bag of Skittles – just out of confusion due to the similar color spectrum – or something else is going on.<br />
<br />
I think something else is going on you guys.<br />
<br />
I’ve been blessed. It’s an <strong>Immaculate Confection</strong> bouncing around my belly. Except this one isn’t going to make it to the third trimester. My recent spate of 800’s at the local track will see to that. I don’t know that I want to go against the will of God and the gift of a tasty baked good but there are Earthly races to run. So, my belly is on the shrink. It’s demaculating. I will not be birthing a sugary delight onto the world to save us from the South Beach diet. Was Mary a distance runner? I doubt it or things would never have gotten that far.<span style="color: red;">**</span><br />
<br />
I’m back in shorts; the weekly mileage is going up; the body is reshaping. Sure, my winter <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2009/05/michigan-pale.html" target="_blank">Michigan Pale</a> is still in full bloom. Eggshell white mocks my whiteness. But the sun will return around the time the belly leaves. All of this according to prophecy.<br />
<br />
Immaculate Confection or not.<br />
<br />
Happy Nitmos 4:10.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">* </span>Well, maybe gnarly pubic hair jutted from underneath like roots and branches from the Fangorn forest.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">**</span> Come to <em>Feet Meet Street</em> for the sarcasm, stay for the blasphemy.</span><br />
__________________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Thanks for asking, yes we have chipped away at the <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2013/02/runner-advice-49-reasons-to-raise-lazy.html" target="_blank">49 soccer games</a> this Spring. There are only <strong>27</strong> left to go! The colt completed 6 shutouts in 8 games of his last indoor session as Left Defender of the Goal. The filly connected on 18 goals in leading her team to a 6-1-1 record in her last indoor session. She’s on a 4 game hat trick (or better) stretch. Now, outside! In the rain! State Cup games! Junior State Cup games! Premier games! See you on the pitch! I can’t stop talking in exclamation points! Seriously! Help! This is ridiculous! ! !</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-77695305428978370852013-02-28T11:16:00.000-05:002013-02-28T11:44:47.070-05:00Runner Advice: 49 Reasons to Raise Lazy Kids<span style="color: blue;"><em>This is the first installment of my popular one segment series, “</em>Runner Advice<em>”. Enjoy. It probably won’t return.</em></span><br />
<br />
I’ve been trying to fill out my yearly race dance card lately. It’s not an easy thing to do. It’s like Kristen Stewart trying to find time to brood; there’s never enough time to brood. The will is there: I’d like to run races. The health is there: I’m strong like bull. The finances are there: I have a credit card. So what’s the hold up?<br />
<br />
Kids. Yup, <strong>those</strong> guys. Again. Sheesh, I provided the ingredients; Mrs. Nitmos baked ‘em in the oven; Life was created! You’d think that would be enough of our involvement for them. Nope. They require a couple decades worth of constant “attention”, “food”,” water”, “medicine”, “love”, and “guidance”. What the hell did we invent TVs for? I think there’s a word for this: ungrateful.<br />
<br />
I’ve been thinking about a spring half marathon and a fall marathon with some summer 5 and 10k’s thrown in. I might as well keep <em>thinking</em> about it because the reality of making it happen is proving difficult. We just received the kids’ spring soccer schedules. Two kids, two sets of indoor games, outdoor regular season games and additional bonus State Cup games. If you include <em>my</em> soccer games, we have <strong><u>49 games</u></strong> on the schedule over the next 13 weekends. That doesn’t include practice time, of course.<br />
<br />
You know that May race I was thinking about? Not happening. There are a few races I’ve always wanted to do the first weekend of June. And I’ll continue to <em>still want to do them</em> because that particular weekend is the final weekend of soccer games for the season. Oh, but there’s a nice half marathon the <em>second</em> weekend of June…which is soccer tryouts for the following season. Not happening.<br />
<br />
I should have been one of those dads that hides behind a newspaper and only grunts in the direction of the kids when he wants another beer. What happen to those dads? What happened to the good ole days? A little neglect and deep emotional scarring never hurt a kid before.<br />
<br />
For those of you with kids already, you know what I’m talking about. They are little Time Thieves. They are like an engrossing reality show. They get you all wrapped up in their little dramas and then you realize two hours have gone by and your kid didn’t get the rose. <br />
<br />
For those of you without kids, let me be the first to suggest: <strong>Don't have them. Or, at the very least, raise lazy kids.</strong> Television is a wonderful babysitter, friend, confidante, therapist, and educator. It can do a much better job in those areas than you could ever do. Think you know a lot? The History Channel knows more. Think you can unravel their traumatic emotional issues? Not better than Dr. Phil, you can't. Think you know better than <strong><em>TELEVISION</em></strong>? Don't be arrogant. Also, you’d be surprised at how much more running you can get done when you plop the kid right down in front of the TV with a bowl of chips. This is a fact: <strong>The lazier your child; the better your chance of PRing.</strong> Heck, I set all of my PRs when I could put the kids in a child swing, set it on Slow, and head out the door for a long run as they gently rocked back and forth and drifted off to sleep. Every five miles, you come back around to make sure there are no fires, dump some Cheerios on the tray, grab a swig of Gatorade and Gu and head back out the door. My motto was: <em>Unless they are blue in the face, keep training for the race!</em><br />
<br />
But that doesn’t work anymore. Ever try to get a 15 year old to cooperate while you attempt to stuff him into a swing? (Not to mention that the tray won't latch.) And he sure as shit won’t eat dry Cheerios anymore. The <em>language</em> – and strength – of a 15 year old these days!<br />
<br />
We should never have encouraged them to be active. <em>Forty-nine games?!?!</em> I suppose I could do laps around the field while they play but that would cut into my valuable <strong>Yelling at the Ref</strong> time. (I find that most referees need a parents help in order to correctly whistle an offsides. This is a theory I’m attempting to prove.) You reap what you sow and I sowed the seeds of future running obstacles way back when I rolled that soccer ball out onto the grass and encouraged my new little walker to kick the ball. It was a pathetic kick – barely went an inch – but he was delighted despite my disapproving scowl. He (and then, she) continued to kick the ball over the years and now <strong><em>I don’t have a free weekend to run a goddamn race.</em></strong><br />
<br />
My time would have been better spent teaching them how to work the remote control. Soccer’s more fun to watch then to play anyhow, right?<br />
<br />
Kristen Stewart’s not the only one brooding these days. Just how many kids does she have anyway? <br />
<br />
Happy trails.<br />
____________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: x-small;">Last weekend, my filly contributed 4 goals and an assist in stirring 3-2 and 3-0 wins. It<em> was</em> fun to watch even though I estimate that it cost me approximately 20 seconds off my next 5k time. /Reaped</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-7751051275098330162013-02-26T10:19:00.001-05:002013-02-26T10:25:24.432-05:00Dtoilet Paper UnrolledConsidering I don’t promote this blog any longer or run around trying to stoke my comment bonfire, receiving 24 comments on my<a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2013/02/sans-treadmill.html" target="_blank"> last post</a> is quite an unexpected windfall. What created this outpouring? I’ve had recent posts about Lance Armstrong, deer antler spray, the New York City Marathon, my own off season battle with the candy bowl…some real deep, introspective shit laid out for you all on my blog buffet. Nope, you didn’t give a sniff about any of that. You metaphorically sneezed on my blog buffet sneeze guard and walked away. <br />
<br />
No, your comments came <strong>ROLLING</strong> in due to a postscript I hastily tagged at the end of my last post. About toilet paper and how it should unroll. <em>Wiperz, pleeze!?!</em> <strong>That’s</strong> what gets your interest? Believe me, I underestimate all of you but this even seems below that deeply underestimated level.<br />
<br />
Well, I give the people what they want. You want a toilet paper discussion. I’m a giver that way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vkQrhkKZCsU/USzRBZQXIII/AAAAAAAABS8/XJdG1LsMaOQ/s1600/toiletpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" gsa="true" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vkQrhkKZCsU/USzRBZQXIII/AAAAAAAABS8/XJdG1LsMaOQ/s400/toiletpaper.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left or Right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I pulled your results into a spreadsheet and analyzed the comments based on spelling, grammar, and clarity. I then pie charted, bar graphed (both vertically and horizontally), and power pointed the results. I was going to do a picture graph but that just seemed unsavory somehow. <br />
<br />
<strong>The results?</strong><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">24 total respondents</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">15 correctly chose Left (over the top)</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">5 incorrectly chose Right (from below)</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">4 seemed confused by the simple choice between two things and fell into an Other category</span><br />
<br />
That means 75% that chose, chose Left. And they are correct. I mean, who wants to grab toilet paper from below all up against the wall like that? If I’m in a public stall, you think I want my fingers scraping up against the wall, with “stuff” potentially collecting under my exposed fingernails from a thousand poopers before me? Maybe if I was a filthy animal like, say, a llama. Hell, maybe they could get the toilet paper to spit at you too. Would that make your Below Rollers happy? Have some class. Don’t invite me over unless you correct this social faux pas or I’ll use one of your hand towels instead and fold it over and rehang it on the rack, out of spite.<br />
<br />
My favorite “Other” response was from <em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12274576534281164011" target="_blank">Danielle in Iowa in Ireland</a></em>:<br />
<em><em><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em><em><strong>I know it is supposed to be the left, but I just put it on however and deal with the consequences.</strong></em></em></blockquote>
</em></em>I like to know that there are still rebels out there, man. You are the Abbie Hoffman of toilet paper. Be free but….beware of your hand towels, just sayin’.
<br />
<br />
Mrs. Nitmos and I have settled into an uneasy peace about this issue, truth be told. There might be a small chance that I’ve <em>waaaay</em> over thought this particular piece of household engineering.<br />
<br />
But the results rather decisively speak for themselves. Using some transitive logic to other areas of the homestead, if I am correct about the positioning of the toilet paper, then I am also correct about a few others: Dirty clothes <strong>do</strong>, in fact, only need to fall within two feet of the hamper; Dirty plates do <strong>not</strong> require rinsing before going into the dishwasher; W<em>hy lift the seat to urinate?;</em> Milk will not “go stale” when left on the counter for hours at a time; Farmer’s blows indoors are actually a <strong>good</strong> idea; Farting in bed is both expected and welcomed.<br />
<br />
We’ve settled quite a few matters with that post which makes it very successful. Thanks to you all for clearing things up, transitively speaking.<br />
<br />
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming about running, life, feelings, and important social issues. You know, those things you don’t care about.<br />
<br />
First, I need to grab a clump of toilet paper (from over the top), as if I was displaying an egg to the world on a tiny fingers pedestal, and swab out my cranium from this whole discussion.<br />
<br />
Happy wiping.Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-46575935823169807572013-02-22T10:47:00.000-05:002013-02-22T11:05:45.978-05:00Sans Treadmill<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I feel like I think I’m just cool enough to get away with saying “sans” a lot. I know you are all snorting and snarkily declaring that I am “sans cool.” But I am sans a fuck about what you all think.</div>
<br />
We are in the middle of another snow dump today but prior to that I had managed to get three consecutive runs off the treadmill and back out on the cold, hard ground in the past week. Whenever I’ve spent too much time on the mill (which, prior to this winter, was rarely), I usually hit the ground going <em>way too fast</em> because it just feels <em>too damn good</em>. Sans proper pacing, I end up limbo running what was meant to be an easy pace, maintenance run. Yesterday’s five miler culminated in a last mile of 6:11. Considering I had started around a 7:15 pace and had planned an even tempo run, you can see I was sans discipline.<br />
<br />
Screw it. It’s so nice to be back on the road in (relatively) firm footing where a forward tilt actually <em>means </em>something other than that I might hit the front of a treadmill, slide backwards into the wall, and miss the end of <em>Cougar Town</em> in an unconscious haze while the whirring belt scrapes uninterruptedly across my drooling cheek...<br />
<br />
As nice as it was to be back on the road, as Beardsley gives, he also takes away. My beloved stretchy bands – that I just waxed poetic about in the last post – snapped in my hands Wednesday night. When stretchy bands fail – and they always eventually fail – they can’t just tear unassumingly. No, they got to make a <strong>BIG</strong> production out of it. Always during butterfly curls…when your fists are up near your throat like JFK after the first shot…<em><strong>SNAP!</strong></em>...you punch yourself in the nose and the detached end whiplashes out and strikes your dog in the hind quarters where she lets out a yelp and scampers across the room into a table, knocking over orange pop onto the carpet. <br />
<br />
So now I am sans stretchy bands. Dusting iron is becoming even more imperative.<br />
<br />
Tonight is soccer night. We’ll see how that speedy last mile feels on the hamstring when I slide across synthetic turf in a few hours. I’d hate to be sans hamstring.<br />
<br />
This weekend’s long run may or may not be on the mill. We’ll see how the snow plows do their job and Mother Beardsley conspires to make things difficult. If I have to go back on the mill, I’ll do it like I always do: <u>Sans balls</u>.<br />
<br />
Happy trails.<br />
_____________________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">Why don’t you all settle a little dispute around the Nitmos home? I have very strong feeling on this matter. It is a source of conflict between Mrs. Nitmos and I. It usually involves one of us turning the roll around to “fix” the proper direction of the roll dispensary. <strong>Tell me in the comments which photo below – left or right – is the proper way to put on your toilet paper</strong>. I don’t want to overemphasize but…you may be responsible for the happiness of our marriage based on your response. There's a correct way and then there's a way animals do it.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wQcjeafIyyQ/USeSjHsyL-I/AAAAAAAABSk/OOZK1nFlg2E/s1600/toiletpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" mea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wQcjeafIyyQ/USeSjHsyL-I/AAAAAAAABSk/OOZK1nFlg2E/s400/toiletpaper.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-1109332484793858172013-02-19T10:57:00.004-05:002013-02-19T10:59:03.986-05:00Dusting IronIn order to make one’s pecs dance spastically to the awe and delight of others, it’s necessary to have pecs. In order to have pecs, it’s necessary to have a gym membership, home work out equipment, a good plastic surgeon or a 1985 Camaro, muscle shirt, mustache, and gold chain. Lacking a Camaro and unable to grow a passable mustache and definitely not rich enough to afford implants, my options are dwindling. <br />
<br />
We had a gym membership for a few years but I cancelled that as soon as my locker room fascination with the Laws of Gravity sagged and wrinkled. Fortunately, I own some home workout equipment of my own. See? My weight bench is right over there…underneath the suitcases and laundry. It’s held up the suitcases for two years now without fail. It’s doing a good job.<br />
<br />
Now, I’m not a muscle headed no necker. That’s not real conducive to strong running. You probably want to aim your body type more for a gazelle than a rhino, as runner. The first Kenyan I see that can beat a twelve year old girl in an arm wrestling competition will be…the first Kenyan I see that can do that, I guess. Sorry, I couldn’t quite land that comparison.<br />
<br />
But I’m not running to <strong>win</strong> marathons or shorter races. I’m an amateur, recreational runner. See how I don’t have a running coach but DO have a full time job? That identifies me as an amateur. I also play soccer every Friday night (those of you on Twitter already know this…repeatedly! Look for the next tweet around 5:30pm this coming Friday!) Let me let you in on a little secret, get real close: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I also don’t have a soccer coach for that</span>. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Why?</span> <strong>BECAUSE I’M AN AMATEUR, RECREATIONAL PLAYER! </strong><br />
<br />
As an amateur, I’m thinking I might want a bit more muscle to go with my running. It won’t help me finish 236th in an 800 person race. Maybe I finish 254th instead. But those newly pumped pecs will bounce every step of the way. My race photos might look better. Less gauntish. I’ll need more body glide for my protruding nipples. I’ll definitely need to go on a shopping spree to <em>Tank Tops R Us</em>. Do they make Rogaine for upper lips? This is all a small price to pay. Heck, I might even have to check the <em>XL</em> box instead of the<em> L</em> box on race registrations. We are talking a millimeters difference there. <br />
<br />
I used to pump iron all of the time. For ten years, I’d dutifully pull my weight bench out 1-2 times weekly and run through 10-12 little exercises, ogle myself in the mirror for a few hours, then complain to Mrs. Nitmos about how my mustache would never properly fill in and whether or not I should consider a tight perm. Toothpicks? Chewed constantly!<br />
<br />
Then two things happened nearly simultaneously: we remodeled our basement and I discovered stretchy bands. The remodel moved the weight bench into the laundry room where I promised to still pull it out every week for a good workout. Like a Grandma checked into a senior home “just for a visit”, it has never left. <br />
<br />
And those of you who have read <em>F.M.S</em>. for a while know that I’m an acolyte at the Altar of Stretchy Bands. Those things are awesome: portable, effective little bands of stretchy fitness. I love pulling, elongating, snapping and stretching on that rubber.<span style="color: red;">*</span> I love it so much; I’d probably make a great balloon animal creating clown (or a male Dominatrix). Resistance bands are great for keeping your muscles toned, loose and stringy. Also, you can knock off some DVR'd <em><a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/billyonthestreet" target="_blank">Billy On the Street</a></em> episodes while stretching them right in the middle of your living room.<br />
<br />
But they don’t build bulk. Nitmos needs some mass. Bikini season is right around the corner here in Michigan. I believe it’s a Thursday this year. Most of you have Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter as your seasons. Not us. Here’s how our seasons break down:<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Michigan Calendar of Seasons</u></strong><br />
October-mid November = <span style="color: blue;">Pre-Winter</span><br />
Mid-November-Mid December = <span style="color: blue;">Winter</span><br />
Mid-December – Early March = <span style="color: blue;">Deep Winter</span><br />
Rest of March = <span style="color: blue;">Winter</span><br />
April = <span style="color: blue;">Post-Winter</span><br />
May – Early July = <span style="color: blue;">Spring</span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #990000;">July 11th = SUMMER (Bikini Season)!!!</span></strong><br />
July 12th- September = <span style="color: blue;">Pre-Fall</span><br />
September to Early October = <span style="color: blue;">Fall</span><br />
<em>Repeat</em><br />
<br />
If I want to be ready for bikini season/day, I better get that weight bench out and dust it off. The suitcases will have to sit on the floor for a while. Summer’s going to be a great day this year! With all of the extra weight I’m about to pack on, I probably won’t run as fast but I’ll look better not doing it. Dusting iron comes before pumping iron. Pumping iron comes before mustache. Mustache comes before tank tops and gold chains. Tank tops and spandex tights come before race photos. It’s the Circle of Douchebag Life! <em>Pink pajamas penguins at the bottom, pink pajamas penguins at the bottom....</em><br />
<br />
If you have a used Camaro for sale, I might be in the market soon. I pay extra for flame decals on the side.<br />
<br />
Happy pumping.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">______________________________________</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">There's a new race on the sidebar calendar for 2013. Okay, it's a <em>relay</em> race. The Dances with Dirt 100k relay is on again. Teammates assemble! I still need to find me some solo races....I'm currently circling a few...decisions, decisions...</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-84296571819917344622013-02-12T10:33:00.001-05:002013-02-12T13:59:15.886-05:00Nitmos and the Amazing Monochrome Compression ShortsI love a good Broadway musical: the music, the dancing, the costumes, the colors and pageantry. Lovely. I also love my ball sack. This is more about the latter.<br />
<br />
There’s a lot to love about my compression shorts too. There’s a lot for <em>you</em> to love about <em>me</em> in my compression shorts, in fact. I look chiseled. I look bulgy in a good way. It appears this baby even got a little back! And that’s saying something as normally my ass is concave. In jeans, it looks like a Rottweiler had grabbed ahold and taken off a good chunk of the better parts leaving just a sunken in pair of ass-less jeans and the outlines of a pelvis bone in its place. If Sir Mix-A-Lot tried to walk on my bubble, he’d fall into a cave.<br />
<br />
I run in compression shorts all of the time now. That wasn’t always the case. In my early days as a runner, I wore boxer shorts and even tighty whiteys. Then there was the misguided jock strap year that no one wants to relive.<span style="color: red;">*</span> All of these appendage restraint experiments came to an end one sunny spring day when I simultaneously chipped a tooth and dented my ankle with one innocent leap over a pothole. Enough. This Django needed to be chained.<br />
<br />
The first time I tried on a pair of compression shorts, I fell in love. With myself. All over again. I took one look in the mirror and I believe I even said out loud, <em>“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”</em> I’m not sure but there even may have been an, <em>“Oh, snap!”</em> mixed in as well. Bulgy? Check. Ass? Yes! Django? Defined. Compressed? Completely. Forget about the slight muffin top, I was in love. With myself. All over again. When security finally removed me from the dressing room, I paid and wore them home.<br />
<br />
I wear my compression shorts everywhere now. There’s really not a good place to <em>not</em> wear them. Sure, both the parents and teachers at a Parent-Teacher conference may look at you cock-eyed<span style="color: red;">**</span> when you walk in compressed and ready for business. But everyone appreciates everything being held into place. Am I the only one that wants to see corsets come back into fashion? <em>Psh, pleeze</em>.<br />
<br />
Hang out at a mall food court in your compression shorts long enough and you’ll see what kind of looks you get! So many admirers…from afar. You can clutch your children and hurry off to, what I assume is, the nearest athletic store and thank me later. <br />
<br />
And lets not even talk about the magical properties of compression shorts when on the run. No swaying. No tooth chipping. <em>Mudbutt. Problem. Solved</em>. If you have a little accident mid race, don’t worry about. It ain’t going anywhere. You can take care of it later, homey, finish that race! That’s why my compression shorts are black and gray in the appropriate spots. Race gravy is treated at the finish line.<br />
<br />
Every now and then, a non-compressed fellow runner suggests that I really should wear shorts over the compression shorts. I remind him/her that (a) they are called compression "shorts" not compression "underwear" and (b) you don't wear a t-shirt over a life vest. <em>Psh, pleeze.</em><br />
<br />
Mrs. Nitmos heads off to spinning or yoga in her compression tights and I’m a big fan. Why doesn’t she wear them to work? <em>*shrugs*</em> Beats me.<br />
<br />
I can not lie. I think everyone should wear compression shorts as regular wear. They sure do tighter things up a bit around the soft edges whether you’re rolling around in a Honda or playin’ workout tapes by Fonda.<br />
<br />
If I see you wearing your compression shorts at the grocery store, we can exchange a knowing smile and head nod. Be compressed, be proud. Don't worry if you are a bit hirsute and, from the rear, it looks like you shit a wig. We are on the right side of history, my friends. Unless you ride more to the left….either way, everyone will know.<br />
<br />
Happy compressing.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span>The Year of Groin Burn</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">**</span>Pun intended</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-48130347469865213152013-02-01T10:30:00.000-05:002013-02-01T10:30:39.178-05:00Will We Put Anything Up Our Nose?So now Ray Lewis has to <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/01/130130-deer-velvet-antler-spray-science-health-football-sports/" target="_blank">answer questions about putting deer antler velvet spray up his nose</a> to promote healing from a torn right triceps. And, possibly, improve performance (as it is a growth hormone as well.) Problem is…the substance is banned by the NFL. Is it a big deal? I don’t know. I don’t really care, I guess. There are technicians in lab coats and bureaucrats in suits that’ll decipher test results and make a verdict or, in this case, issue a punishment.<br />
<br />
I’m more interested in how this stuff comes about.<br />
<br />
Who the hell looked at a deer and decided to snort their antlers? Seriously. It’s such a random thing to do. I admit to being more than casually interested in a libidinous bull or a particularly fluffy lamb hindquarters but that seems only natural. I never once looked at a deer and wondered how it’s antlers would be if inhaled.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BUY2ybKKN_s/UQve3k9aPnI/AAAAAAAABSQ/kwKdXm6gb8c/s1600/deerantler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ea="true" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BUY2ybKKN_s/UQve3k9aPnI/AAAAAAAABSQ/kwKdXm6gb8c/s320/deerantler.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, yeah, can't wait to inhale you, baby.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It seems folks will do almost anything to get a physical edge in athletics. If that involves injecting drugs or hormones, snorting deer, or rubbing turtle shells on the groin<span style="color: red;">*</span>, someone somewhere will do it. What’s the old saying? If you ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t tryin’, (eh, <a href="http://espn.go.com/college-football/story/_/id/8897280/deer-antler-salesman-saw-alabama-players-use-product" target="_blank">Alabama</a>?)<br />
<br />
Maybe they’ll come out with <em>Deer Velvet Gu</em> one day. For now, I’ll stick with my finger, my nose hair trimmer, model glue, and the odd occasion I have some cocaine, mixed with a hooker’s ass sweat, as the only things going <strong>up</strong> my nose.<br />
<br />
For you injured marathoners, time to get out the bow and let the healing begin! No judging from me.<br />
<br />
Happy snorting.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span> No proven results so far but I’m still in early testing.</span><br />
___________________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Please to join me over at <strong><a href="http://bottlefedparents.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Bottle Fed Parents</span></a></strong> for another exciting <a href="http://bottlefedparents.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-ballad-of-giant-trampoline.html" target="_blank"><strong>tale</strong></a>. This time, I discuss a torture device that every kid wants but every parent hates.</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-53648798683210243302013-01-29T10:53:00.000-05:002013-01-29T11:05:55.372-05:00FattestThis is always a proud time of year for me. Come the end of January, I’m at my yearly peak weight. Not outlandish <em>Biggest Loser</em> reward-me-with-a-chance-for-fabulous-prizes-for-my-total-lack-of-self-control fat but “spongy”, I guess, is the term I’ll go with.<br />
<br />
Since I’m not going to blame myself, I’ll blame winter. And you. Winter, obviously, creates a situation where I’m simply indoors more. It’s dark at 5 o’clock PM. It’s cold when it’s not dark. No win scenario. Who wants to trudge around in the snow and/or muddy lawn and kick around a soccer ball? No? Who wants to watch <em>Biggest Loser</em>, eat chips, and laugh at the struggling fatties while brushing splintered Pringles off your chest and lap into the eager mouth of your obese dog? Yeah, that sounds better. Hand me the pizza sauce encrusted remote and whatever chips you can scrape together from the recliner fabric. We have a regular upholstery garden in full bloom.<br />
<br />
Winter sucks. But <strong>you</strong> might be the bigger problem. Guess how many cards, letters, comments and emails of encouragement I’ve received from you? You’ll notice there was no ellipses before this sentence to simulate time spent counting. Zero. Pretty fucking self-involved aren’t you? I like to remain humble even in the face of your rudeness. In fact, I’m better at being modest than all of the rest of you combined. But thanks a lot. How much time do I spend commenting on your blogs? Again, you’ll notice no ellipses before that sentences and Ithankyoufornotcounting.<br />
<br />
No, I’m at my yearly Fattest <strong>right now</strong>. BUT it can only go down from here! (Weight, that is.) <br />
My normal, rippled six pack abs are more like a 4 ½ pack. <br />
My food pyramid is comprised of pie, beer, fudge stripe cookies, and whatever that crumb was stuck to my cheek for an hour that I pushed into my hole. No good?<br />
When ordering at a restaurant, I say, “<em>What do you have in a crust? And I’ll have two of those.”</em><br />
<br />
I think I’ve identified the source of the problem. It’s post-holiday hangover. If running is a habit, so is eating sugary treats and drinking away your post-Christmas financial woes. <br />
<br />
Oh, I’m still running. Don’t worry about that. I just need to turn up the music to drown out my fat guy wheeze. I’m pregnant with laziness. I don’t think I’m in danger of turning up on the <a href="http://www.casinotop10.net/Top-Ten-Hottest-Olympic-Athletes" target="_blank">list of hottest Olympic athletes</a> any time soon. A good dose of pro-biotics will solve some of the problem but, if I’m being honest, there’s still a little wiggle left. <br />
<br />
<strong>When are you at your fattest?</strong> And gross. Slob.<br />
<br />
February 1st begins my quest to redefine my figure for the upcoming bikini season. I probably should mix in a nice waxing at some point too. The phrase "unsightly curly ass hair" is a real turn off to Mrs. Nitmos.<br />
<br />
No worries. By spring, I’ll be toned and ripped out and exceedingly modest. Handsome? Yes, to all Get Out!<br />
<br />
Heck, I might even start ordering those little green things….what are they called….vegetables! I might even pair it with a fruit if I’m feeling a little wild and crazy. Hell, I might even stop asking them to cover my entire plate in fried dough “like a giant Elephant Ear.”<br />
<br />
But the calendar says January 29th. That gives me two more days of <em>nom nom nom nom nom nom….</em><br />
<br />
Happy trails.<br />
_____________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">One of Mrs. Nitmos and I’s favorite weekends of the year approaches! No not Valentine’s Day. That’s for teenagers and cartoonish romantics. Purely coincidental that it shares the V-Day weekend. It’s my hometown’s winter <a href="http://wintercomedy.org/" target="_blank">Comedy Festival and outdoor winter festival</a>! It’s wine. It’s laughter. It's soup and chili. It’s hot tubs. It’s wine again. It’s kids at grandparents and not our problem! It's local craft beer. It's a frickin' winter ferris wheel on the downtown streets! There’s no soccer! Along with some friends (yes, we have them), we’ll be creating little embarrassing scenes at bars, restaurants, and theatres all over the area before waking up in an amnesiastic<span style="color: blue;">*</span> fog the next morning that allows us to go on with our normal Responsible Citizen lives.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">View the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEuISkc3fj8" target="_blank">fabulous video</a> about my ancestral homeland. That's totally how we lived every single day. Believe it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Once again, I haven’t been asked to do my “act” on stage for the comedy festival. This seems to be a yearly oversight now. If it keeps happening, I’m going to start considering that it is not accidental. So, I guess I’ll attend and take notes to give to the performers. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the critique.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">Also, yeah, I know I said getting <em>un-Fattened</em> starts February 1st but I’m allowed this one weekend of debauchery. I’m not a Quaker. Believe thee that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: blue;">*</span> Should be a word. Screw you, red squiggly line.</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-9679784694466552632013-01-22T10:22:00.000-05:002013-01-22T10:31:44.743-05:00Vicious CycleAround around I go, where it stops nobody knows. Well, <strong><em>I</em></strong> know. It’s going to stop at five miles. That’s my limit on the treadmill.<br />
<br />
Despite my last post, it turns out that I have one other thing to confess: I’ve been using the treadmill a lot lately. Normally, I can count on one hand the number of times I use a treadmill in a year. I still need only one hand for this year…as long as that hand has eight fingers.<br />
<br />
It’s a Vicious Cycle. <em>(Lance, you may use this title for your next autobiography with my blessing.<span style="color: red;">*</span>)</em><br />
<br />
I’ve definitely been tougher in years past. It would have taken a frigid one-digit Fahrenheit day or several inches of snow or an engrossing episode of <em>Cougar Town</em> to keep me inside and resigned to the mill. Oh, I hate it so. But, this winter, I’ve stepped outside to test the temperature and, frankly, haven’t liked the cock-eyed look that oak tree was giving me and decided to head to the mill. Thirty degrees? Yeah, but it’s <strong>WINDY</strong> so it feels like negative twenty. One time I even convinced myself that it was <em>National Nipple Day</em> and that it would be wrong to have them sticking out and getting all scraped up from the cold on <em>NND</em>. <br />
<br />
You know what you don’t watch while on the treadmill? TBS. The Superstation. They play all of those mind numbingly bland sitcoms from the 90’s. The commercials breaks last nearly five minutes giving you plenty of time to keep consulting the distance and count the hundredths of a mile one.digit.at.a.time. <em>Everybody Loves Commercials</em>! I’ve also become familiar with every nook and cranny of the basement within my sight line from the deck of the mill. Guess who has eight fingers and doesn’t dust much?<br />
<br />
It’s Tuesday and I have five miles scheduled. I won’t feel guilty getting on the mill today though. It was <strong>-2 degrees</strong> Fahrenheit when I drove my filly to school. Negative two? That’s a solid, completely legit reason right there. <br />
<br />
If yer nose hairs crystallize when inhaling, you might be a treadmiller.<br />
If yer penis becomes a scared turtle, you might be a treadmiller.<br />
If winter comes inside and slams the door saying <em>It’s too cold out there</em>, you might be a treadmiller.<br />
If yer goosebumps develop goosebumps and those goosebumps’ teeth are chattering, you might be a treadmiller.<br />
If yer….you get the point.<br />
<br />
That was surprisingly easy. <em>Hey Foxworthy, give me several million please</em>.<br />
<br />
You can all leave your <em>I would never run on a treadmill. That’s not real running hur hur</em> comments if you want. I’ve made a few myself over the years. And no, it’s not “real” running. It’s <em>near</em> running. As Zima is to beer, the treadmill is to running. But it’s good enough for this genetically finger deformed circus freak this winter. Let the vicious cycle loop de loop begin! The gentle whir of the mill is the sound of my running manliness escaping like air from a balloon.<br />
<br />
Ever see a guy with 23 fingers on one hand? I think you are about too.<br />
<br />
Happy trails.<br />
__________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span> I was recently sent an article that seemed to be suggesting that you morning coffee drinkers (myself included) are perpetrating the same body altering fraud as Armstrong’s purposeful hundreds of million dollar earning, Tour winning, doping scam. And your milk hormone drinking kids too! I would link it here but I can’t stop laughing and, also, don’t want to spread this Looney Tunes. False equivalent much? Obfuscate much? Oh, my. At first I thought it was one of those sly witty articles from <em>The Onion</em> or something but, sadly, no luck. I’ve always been an Armstrong fan too but this…this…was way too much. Maybe at a future date I’ll share with you. Armstrong fans (again, myself included), get over it. Dude cheated. Don't try to pretend that my lying about the size of my <strike>penis</strike> height is the same thing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On a side note, I stepped on a spider in my house the other day. It dawned on me: I’m doing the same thing as people who slaughter defenseless elephants for their tusks. The madness must stop.</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-5981678229751030402013-01-18T09:46:00.000-05:002013-01-18T09:49:10.789-05:00While We Are in the Mood to Confess...Did you see the <strong>BIG MAJOR NEWS</strong> event last night? Oprah, the Jerry Springer of celebrity interview journalism, sat down with Lance Armstrong and discovered that yes, indeed, a world class cyclist took performance enhancing drugs!?!? <strong>WHAT?!?!</strong> The Earth shook; my bowels moved. Only one of these things normally happen during a typical evening. <br />
<br />
Of course, Lance was the last one in on it. Everyone else in the world - cycling, baseball, <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://growingup516.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/gholston-arms.jpg&imgrefurl=http://growingup516.wordpress.com/2011/03/02/saying-goodbye-to-a-legend-vernon-gholston/&h=640&w=451&sz=66&tbnid=Z7DKcW2ogv1DlM:&tbnh=90&tbnw=63&zoom=1&usg=__jQR0lTNYd_lws0arWddQ9qsQsGo=&docid=MzZ65qPQzrcltM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=bVr5UMGUK_DZ0QXGjoHgBA&ved=0CDAQ9QEwAA&dur=31" target="_blank">Vernon Gholston</a>, whatever - already reconciled that PED's were everywhere and everyone was using them. I'm glad he got the opportunity to catch up with common knowledge.<br />
<br />
You juxtapose the interview, where a seemingly contrite Armstrong seems to be fully admitting his involvement, versus the Manti Te'o <a href="http://aol.sportingnews.com/ncaa-football/story/2013-01-16/manti-teo-dead-girlfriend-hoax-notre-dame-deadspin" target="_blank">dead girlfriend hoax</a> where, allegedly, "someone" still just might not be telling the whole truth and nothing but. (<em>Your stock is dropping Manti with every fib. Do yourself a favor and save millions</em>.)<br />
<br />
In the spirit of these current (and soon to be) confessions, a lot of folks (and inanimate objects) are taking the opportunity to confess under the protection of Armstrong's more newsworthy announcement. Heck, I'm going to take advantage of the spitirt of the moment and come clean myself. I've compiled a list here:<br />
<ul>
<li><strong>The sky is not blue</strong>. It has to do with the atmosphere and how light scattering makes the sky <em>look</em> blue. The sky would like to apologize for the confusion.</li>
<li><strong>Cap'n Crunch hasn't done a single crunch his entire life.</strong> That's why he wears the big coat.</li>
<li><strong>Pop singer by day; talk show host by night.</strong> <a href="http://images.search.yahoo.com/images/view;_ylt=A0PDoTBKX_lQSTsAxwWJzbkF;_ylu=X3oDMTBlMTQ4cGxyBHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDaW1n?back=http%3A%2F%2Fimages.search.yahoo.com%2Fsearch%2Fimages%3Fp%3Djustin%2Bbieber%2Brachel%2Bmaddow%26ei%3Dutf-8%26fr%3Dsfp-img%26tab%3Dorganic%26ri%3D1&w=425&h=300&imgurl=lezbefierce.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2012%2F05%2FJustin_Bieber_and_Rachel_Maddow.jpg&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Flezbefierce.com%2Ftag%2Frachel-maddow%2F&size=33.3+KB&name=Justin_Bieber_and_Rachel_Maddow.jpg&p=justin+bieber+rachel+maddow&oid=251df657ec94b1c2a819f6ad3925c1df&fr2=&fr=sfp-img&tt=Justin_Bieber_and_Rachel_Maddow.jpg&b=0&ni=144&no=1&ts=&tab=organic&sigr=1196gicsn&sigb=13f865qvo&sigi=12ep86862&.crumb=CP3p7eaHBGi" target="_blank">Now's the time JB</a>.</li>
<li><strong>The Delorean never needed a flux capacitor.</strong> There's no such thing. It didn't work. It was just lights and blinky parts. Doc Brown and Marty McFly send their regrets.</li>
<li><strong>I took a drug cocktail</strong> of laxatives, Tylenol, salt tabs, potassium, and, post-race, Advil in the week leading up to and during the 2006 Chicago Marathon. I finished 5,532nd and would probably have done no better than 5,857th without it. To those 325 people that I defrauded, I apologize.</li>
<li><strong>Orphans.</strong> They know where their parents are.</li>
<li><strong>Carly Rae Jepsen doesn't want you to call. </strong>Definitely.</li>
<li><strong>The NRA hated <em>The Expendables 2</em>.</strong> </li>
<li><strong>OJ's glove <em>did</em> fit.</strong> We shouldn't have acquitted. /ReverseCochran'd</li>
</ul>
It's never easy to confess but it sure does feel liberating. Almost as liberating as wearing frilly panties around the house when no one's home. I just hope everyone can find their way to forgive and forget (maybe not in the OJ situation but the rest, I think, we can move past). <br />
<br />
If <em>you</em> have any secrets to confess, now would be the time. It's the Age of Liars. Get in while the gettin's good.<br />
<br />
By the way, we know that runners are certainly not taking any PED's to win these marathons right? Right?!? I call bullshit. Ever try to run a five minute mile - let alone twenty-six of them in a row? Based on my experience, it can't be done naturally. <br />
<br />
Happy trails.Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-37981262587555353732013-01-09T09:55:00.001-05:002013-01-09T09:55:16.131-05:00Thomas Gibson Hates Half MarathonsApparently the star of one of those TV detective shows <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/people/2013/01/07/criminal-minds-star-thomas-gibson-arrested-for-dui/1813227/" target="_blank">wandered onto the course of a nighttime half-marathon</a> in Los Angeles <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/06/thomas-gibson-arrested-on-suspicion-of-dui_n_2420599.html" target="_blank">the other night</a>. The star, Thomas Gibson (previously on a show called <em>"Dharma & Greg"</em> as, one assumes, either "Dharma" or "Greg") brought his Audi SUV with him which was a clear violation of race rules. Audi's are not allowed as an authorized mode of transportation for this particular half-marathon.<br />
<br />
He was also drunk according to the "police" and the "law" and "social customs".<br />
<br />
I know celebrities get special breaks and all but now they are allowed to <strong>drive</strong> to the finish line of a half-marathon? With adult beverages?<br />
<br />
Or was this some sort of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosie_Ruiz" target="_blank">Rosie Ruiz</a> style attempt to win that blew up in his face by (a) plowing through a race course barricade and (b) reeking of non-Gatorade based alcohol?<br />
<br />
He was later released on a $15,000 bond which was approximately $14,925 more than had he just paid the race entry fee and wore a bib.<br />
<br />
Actors aren't the brightest bulb in the carnival, we know, but I'm sure we'll enjoy his future work on <em>Law & Order: Marathon Edition</em>.<br />
<br />
Happy trailers.<br />
________________________________________<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color: blue;">The New Year brings you a NEW chance to get back into <em><span style="color: red;"><a href="http://bottlefedparents.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Bottle Fed Parents</a></span></em>! Yes, there's a new posting. I explore the nightmare every parent faces Christmas morning. I also do things with glue guns. <a href="http://bottlefedparents.blogspot.com/2013/01/there-may-be-no-finer-trio-of-words-to.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">Check it out</span></a>.</span></strong>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-58930390904606008642013-01-08T11:06:00.000-05:002013-01-08T11:06:07.191-05:00The CleanseWell, it’s a New Year. Again. It just never stops. Every tick of the clock is like the flick of an ole coot’s pocketknife whittling away at my youth. Sigh. <br />
<br />
Well…Happy New Year. I guess.<br />
<br />
Okay, truthfully, I’m just fuckin’ with you. I’m not that depressive. Actually, I’m kinda optimistic, generally speaking. I always believe that there is a <em>chance</em> that something good will happen even though we all know that optimists are just unevolved pessimists.<br />
<br />
The New Year brings new hopes, new dreams, new runs, new races, and new PR’s. Unless you did some sort of New Year’s Day resolution run or the like, you haven’t yet felt the bitter, humiliating sting of disappointment this year. Your great fear of <strong>Not Being Good Enough</strong> has not yet materialized. It’s still out in front of you. By the end of this calendar, we’ll all be embarrassed and ashamed about our missed PR’s and half-assed training. But, for now, hope abounds! Foolish, ignorant, misguided hope!<br />
<br />
It’s this time of year that I like to take stock of things. And that stock includes a half gallon of unfinished rum left over from the holidays anchoring my kitchen counter. In a non-literal sense of “taking stock”, I like to sit down, <strike>dwell</strike> reflect on my previous year’s <strike>lack of</strike> accomplishments - gulp rum – and consider the New Year’s unrealistic goals. And gulp rum. It’s important to lay out a plan for the coming year. Not only are races hard to enter these days due to demand but training for them takes so damn long. This year’s goals will become next year’s <em>Tally of Failure</em> at about this exact same time so it’s best to get a jump on things.<br />
<br />
Reflect on the previous year. <em>Drink rum</em>. Write unfulfillable goals for this year. <em>More rum</em>. And then <strong>CLEANSE</strong>. Don’t forget the cleanse; it’s the most important part.<br />
<br />
I’ve talked about it before. Long-time <em>F.M.S.</em> readers will remember the <strong><a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2010/12/merry-christmas-shitter-was-full.html" target="_blank">Empty Your Shitter</a></strong> directive from two years back. If you do, in fact, remember that, stop stalking me. You’re creeping me out. But it’s still great advice as only I can deliver.<br />
<br />
Cleanse the memory banks. Purge the body thetans (for you Scientologists). Turn the page. Insert Cliche #2. It’s better to have run and lost, than to have never run at all. Insert Cliché #4. Start fresh.<br />
<br />
<em>(The preceding paragraph brought to you by Madlibs. Feel free to fill in the clichés at your leisure.)</em><br />
<br />
I like to cleanse cliché-free. I tell myself, <em>“Nitmos, the hay is in the barn for 2012. You don’t want to be All Talk and No Action in 2013. Am I a man or a mouse? It’s make or break it time for 2013. After all, the more things change, the more they stay the same.”</em> <br />
<br />
Then, after my little cliché-free pep talk, I sip more rum, take a deep breath and CLEANSE the negative thoughts from the past year. It’s a new year and I’m turning over a new leaf.<br />
<br />
The big NEW YEAR CLEANSE is about rebooting your personal hard drive. Unburdening your soul (or sole, as the case may be) about runs missed, races lost to superstorms and missed PRs. You don’t need a tube, lubricant, and gentle warm hands and ability for distracting small talk for this cleanse. It’s more of a deep breath, meditative type thing. The other stuff is purely your choice (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">though recommended as you’d be surprised where a Twix bar can get lodged</span>). <br />
<br />
To that end, I’ve already resumed my regular stretchy-banding, crunching, and push-uping routine left dormant during the extended holidays. During the evening, my living room is again resembling a home gym. I no longer drink wine every day. I set a PR between Thanksgiving and New Year’s this year for consecutive days drinking wine. It got to be like making coffee: wake up, scratch nuts, pee, head downstairs and uncork the wine bottle, and pour it into the coffee mug or onto the Frosted Flakes. It’s okay though, I was getting up at <u>three</u> in the afternoon. It’s not like I was some sort of alcoholic morning drinker.<br />
<br />
By the way, for those <a href="http://twitter.com/@nitmosruns" target="_blank">following me</a> on <em>Twitter</em>, I apologize for my uncalled for stream of <a href="http://www.latimes.com/sports/sportsnow/la-sp-sn-suzy-hamilton-escort-20121220,0,6634254.story" target="_blank">Suzy Favor-Hamilton jokes</a> a while back. That was the wine talking. <br />
<br />
But I’m back now and supremely average as ever! No negative thoughts! No disappointing races! No missed PR’s! <strong>Yet.</strong> I’ve got a WHOLE YEAR for that! As Eddy says, <em>“That is the gift that keeps on giving the whole year.”</em> My shitter is empty and ready for the reload. And if you counted how many mini-Snickers I ate, you’d know that another unload is coming….hard. Probably mushroom-headed.<br />
<br />
Get back up on that horse. Let’s have a great, cliché-free year running.<br />
<br />
Right after I have me another little sip of that rum….<br />
<br />
<em>The more things change…</em><br />
<br />
Happy trails.Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-2155378164975314672012-12-20T11:05:00.001-05:002012-12-20T11:55:36.319-05:00The Year That Wasn'tHow do you encapsulate a running year when you didn’t actually run a race during the <strong>ENTIRE YEAR</strong>?<br />
<br />
You lie. The Koreans can have their “gangnam-style”; here on <em>Feet Meet Street</em>, I do it “Nitmos-style”. It just so happens that “Nitmos-style” involves prevaricating, expactorating, and swaggering. Good thing I have a blog! Reality gets so cliché…<br />
<br />
<strong>So let’s review, Nitmos-style:</strong><br />
<ul>
<li>Planned a spring half-marathon. Planned so hard I conveniently forgot to sign up because, you know, nothing fit into my “busy” schedule. I felt like I wasn’t in PR shape anyway.</li>
<li>In July, decided I’d run the local festival race – that I once ran 8 years in a row but took the last two years off – then failed to sign up. I felt like I wasn’t in PR shape anyway.</li>
<li>In September, <strong><a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/09/bad-out-of-hell.html" target="_blank">RAN</a></strong> a 100k relay race, Dances with Dirt, with some friends. It’s a relay so…not relay a “race” per se (get it?). At least, not when all five of you are crossing the finish line trying not to spill your beer. Oh, and we got beat by a group of ladies in French maid outfits.</li>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UcTq6TaWI8E/UNM2U4PODyI/AAAAAAAABRs/xbTRNCCTCQ0/s1600/2012+DWD+Flirtin+with+Dirtaster+Finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UcTq6TaWI8E/UNM2U4PODyI/AAAAAAAABRs/xbTRNCCTCQ0/s400/2012+DWD+Flirtin+with+Dirtaster+Finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<li>Could have done the local half marathon in late September. I’ve done it three years in a row and set a better time each run. But the kids had soccer – stupid kids – and, really, I felt like I wasn’t in PR shape anyhow.</li>
<li>But at least I got to <a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/11/nyc-marathon-race-that-wasnt.html" target="_blank">run the New York Marathon</a> right! Er, right? Of course, I totally was in PR shape too. If only the winds weren’t unusually strong…</li>
</ul>
And that’s it. Three <em>near</em> races. One relay. One canceled race that, no doubt, <strong>would</strong> have been an automatic PR. <br />
<br />
Final tally? <strong><u>Not a single race run. </u></strong><br />
<br />
But here’s the good news: I’m on track for my second <strong>HIGHEST</strong> mileage year ever (only 40 miles off my most). So I’ve been running, training, expactorating…just not racing. I’m like Rocky without the ending fight. I scream <em>“DRAGOOOOOOO!”</em> from the mountain top and then….roll credits. It’s like being half way through sex (or “87 seconds” to the rest of you) and then saying <em>“nah, I’m good”</em> and rolling over…<br />
<br />
I know you are thinking <em>‘but Nitmos there is still time for a Jingle Bells run or New Year’s run, don’t give up now’</em>. Then, you are new here. Welcome. Do I look and sound like the type of guy that attends a run like that? You can put a red reindeer nose on me for a race when you pry my running shoes from my cold, dead feet. <br />
<br />
<strong>Perhaps This is 40, Running</strong>.<span style="color: red;">*</span> Running fits around a busy kid schedule. Running fits around a busy work schedule. Running fits around a busy…<em>I don’t need to give excuses I just don’t feel like it</em> schedule. As a competitor, running, for me, is about challenging my best times. When I don’t feel that I can do that, I don’t really feel like racing. It’s not about red noses and shitty times, for me. Never has been. I enjoy running and being “in shape”. I can do that without the race fees. The race is about the time challenge, for me. The stark reality of 'peaking out' is fast approaching. Will I find enjoyment in attending races with absolutely no hope of PR'ing? Stay tuned.<br />
<br />
<strong>So what will 2013 bring?</strong> <br />
<br />
I wish I could say. I know I’ll be running, training, expactorating, prevaricating and swaggering. Will I be racing? If I were to bet, I’d bet on a <u>Yes</u>. A little time away from a timed event…you start to miss it. Besides, I receive almost all of my personal validation from a stopwatch. And that is in no way pathetic whatsoever.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'll continue posting...sporadically. And, yes, I realize that this is my lowest number of postings in a year since 2006. But, ask yourself, have you done your part? Who's really to blame here? Are blogs becoming more like MySpace or<a href="mailto:nitmos@aol.com" target="_blank"> AOL</a>, a relic of the past that only the coolest of people hang on to? Those same people may also have an extensive Beanie Baby and Silly Bandz collection that can be purchased by inquiring at the email address in the preceding sentence. Used <a href="http://www.kajagoogoo.com/" target="_blank">Kajagoogoo</a> CD's also available.<br />
<br />
I <strong><a href="http://twitter.com/@nitmosruns" target="_blank">tweet</a></strong> some. Always witty, sometimes malicious, rarely important. <br />
<br />
I'll be along soccer pitches through-out mid, western and southeastern Michigan every weekend starting January watching the filly knock in goals and the colt destroy attacking forwards. <br />
<br />
Considering the popularity of racing, it’s also time – probably well past time – to start scheduling <u>next year’s</u> events. Hell, it might even be time to start planning 2014 events before <em>they</em> sell out.<br />
<br />
But you can count on me running no matter what. I’m always running. I hope you are too. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xbK5PDKsWQ/UNM11zbd5nI/AAAAAAAABRk/bxOux7H35H0/s1600/Michigan_Soccer_Family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" eea="true" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6xbK5PDKsWQ/UNM11zbd5nI/AAAAAAAABRk/bxOux7H35H0/s400/Michigan_Soccer_Family.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Happy Holidays!</span></strong><span style="color: red;">**</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I’m totally copyrighting that title.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">** I don’t even have the energy to compose a full length post this year about the ridiculous “Merry Christmas” vs. “Happy Holidays” debate. Suffice it to say, I will now always say “Happy Holidays” simply because I know it annoys a certain segment of our population despite the religious etymology of the word “holiday” (i.e. “The word holiday derived from the notion of "Holy Day". The word originally referred only to special religious days. In modern use, it means any special day of rest or relaxation, as opposed to normal days away from work or school.) It seems so easy, people. Keep teeing ‘em up for me. Let's all pretend that the word "holiday" doesn't have religious connotations so we can engage in an asinine debate!</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-16409703542295582452012-11-21T10:00:00.001-05:002012-11-21T10:03:41.160-05:00Food Goes in HereTomorrow, we celebrate Thanksgiving. <span style="color: #783f04;"><strong>Happy Thanksgiving America!</strong></span> For non-Americans and native Americans, have a great Thursday! My gift to you is to present my Detroit Lions humiliating themselves before a national television audience once again. If you think you received this gift before, you’re right. It just keeps on giving…since the 1950’s!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P4gWDUQ6ifo/UKzqjZYoLSI/AAAAAAAABQs/5AuOGQCsInQ/s1600/thanksgivingart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P4gWDUQ6ifo/UKzqjZYoLSI/AAAAAAAABQs/5AuOGQCsInQ/s400/thanksgivingart.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A turkey? A bunch of rebel fighters attacking the Death Star? 'A' for effort; 'F' for execution, kid.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I’ve been ravenously hungry lately. You’d almost think I ran a marathon. Wait, let me rephrase that: I think I <em>almost</em> ran a marathon. <br />
<br />
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite times of year. It signals the point at which I throw away 11 months of vigilance over my financial budget and spend like a Michael Jackson in a creepy mannequin store. <br />
<br />
It brings me closer to my family. Yes, closer to the people I purposely moved away from.<br />
<br />
It brings lots of drinking which, in turn, lowers inhibitions which, in another turn, allows us all to tell each other what we really think. You know that old saying, <em>‘What starts with the pop of a wine cork, ends with a splash of “Shut the hell up, motherfucker!”’</em> <br />
<br />
And the eating? Oh, the humanity! It’s elastic-waisted wind pants season, my friends. It comes in with a turkey and leaves six weeks later amidst the confetti and empty bottles with a serving of shame and despair. The only good thing about all of this eating? The pooping. Sometimes twice a day! You can imagine all of the reading I get done too.<br />
<br />
But we are runners and so we can run our calories away. Want that extra scoop of mashed potatoes? Run an extra mile. Want another piece of your Aunt’s pecan pie? Eat up, your shoes are right over there. Add two miles, please. There’s another old saying: <em><strong>“You can take what you want but you run what you eat.”</strong></em> It goes something like that…<br />
<br />
In case you’ve forgotten, food goes here:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vW8Arb1kOMI/UKzrKu241BI/AAAAAAAABQ0/wgkxRNO1B1o/s1600/foodgoeshere1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="345" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vW8Arb1kOMI/UKzrKu241BI/AAAAAAAABQ0/wgkxRNO1B1o/s400/foodgoeshere1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1990's goatee! (Not me)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you are “cat people”, for some reason, food goes here:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XIDVTGAa4w4/UKzrvfG2vHI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5xFH3SIx3s0/s1600/foodgoeshere2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XIDVTGAa4w4/UKzrvfG2vHI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5xFH3SIx3s0/s320/foodgoeshere2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And if you are dog people:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rcFRMqgIC-k/UKzr6MTYSeI/AAAAAAAABRE/UYePUO4Evbk/s1600/foodgoeshere3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rcFRMqgIC-k/UKzr6MTYSeI/AAAAAAAABRE/UYePUO4Evbk/s1600/foodgoeshere3.jpg" /></a></div>
Afterwards, of course, run forest run!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5wE06TKLso/UKzsFaZphzI/AAAAAAAABRM/y41-_M0Cj20/s1600/runforestrun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" rea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5wE06TKLso/UKzsFaZphzI/AAAAAAAABRM/y41-_M0Cj20/s320/runforestrun.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Enjoy your Thanksgiving. For my money, I have the Lions winning tomorrow.<span style="color: red;">*</span><br />
<br />
We plan to celebrate a “traditional” Thanksgiving this year. Along with the turkey and squash and corn, half of us are going to get smallpox and the other half will steal our cars while we writhe around in agony.<br />
<br />
Now, let's get our uvula massage on!<br />
<br />
Happy gobbles.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">* </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">In Lions fan lexicon, a “win” is described as losing by less than 2 touchdowns.</span> Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-47309951089847950642012-11-13T09:36:00.002-05:002012-11-13T10:28:54.496-05:00Randumbery Bats Eyes at New York, Still<span style="color: blue;"><em>You come here for the snark; you stay for the soccer updates; you click away unfulfilled. Such is life on</em> Feet Meet Street<em>. Now you know how Mrs. Nitmos feels.</em></span><br />
<br />
Randumbery lives! Do I need to explain <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/search?q=randumbery" target="_blank">this segment</a> still after five years?? On with the<em> shooooowwww</em>…..<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color: #660000;">Kummerpecking Like a Motherspecker</span></strong><br />
<br />
Have you worked <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/05/grief-bacon.html" target="_blank">kummerspeck into a conversation</a> yet? Ten points for Gryffindor if you have. I don’t need to ‘work’ kummerspecking into anything. I’ve literally been eating my grief bacon for a week now since the cancellation of the <strong>NYC Marathon</strong>. I’ve been kummerspecking the hell out of our leftover Halloween candy reservoir. And, to be honest, who’s kidding who about this “leftover candy” bin? I <em>purposely</em> bought way too much candy to give away full well knowing that there would be some left over. When events transpired that threatened to call my favorite candy into action Halloween night, I took control of the <strong>Front Door Sweet Dispersal Interface</strong> and reportioned our, <em>ahem</em>, rather generous contributions to a more modest size<em>. Voila!</em> My favorite candy saved just for me and my self-pity. <br />
<br />
Is that a dickish move? I don’t care. If you want my fun-size Heath bars and giant fecal-reminiscent Tootsie Roll turds, you better not be the 17th Power Ranger I’ve seen. Or the 22nd Cinderella. Is that a magic wand or did you glue some glitter on star shaped cardboard and tape it to a pencil? <em>#cheapskateheresabutterscotchdrop</em><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="color: #660000;">One Bite of the Apple is Not Enough</span></strong><br />
<br />
Running a HUGE marathon is more about the event itself rather than the purity of running for running’s sake. My best race times have been at smaller races. I’ve enjoyed the sport more at those smaller events also. However, there is a tangible and invigorating energy surrounding these <strong>BIG ROCK STAR SUPER GALACTIC</strong> events that is missing at the small localized races. Though financially and logistically they are often a nightmare to deal with, I still like to experience them on occasion to take a dip in full on runner porn. Plus, let’s face it, the New York Marathon is a big “get”. Boston was a fun experience but New York was the one I was really looking forward to.<br />
<br />
Did you know I didn’t get to run it? Did you drop out of the sky and start reading at this paragraph as that would be the only explanation? <br />
<br />
After doing a few “laps” around Central Park that fateful Sunday, I can definitely say I’m still hungry for more. In fact, I think that only stoked my appetite. Before, I <strong>wanted</strong> to do New York. Now, I believe I <strong>NEED</strong> to do it. And I will….pending word from NYRR about how they are handling this year’s entrants. Next time, my bite of the Big Apple won’t have a worm in it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LPhgtZnNSsk/UKJav6mmeuI/AAAAAAAABQY/C7iKs7g8yMQ/s1600/NYFinishLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LPhgtZnNSsk/UKJav6mmeuI/AAAAAAAABQY/C7iKs7g8yMQ/s400/NYFinishLine.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FU Sandy. I ran anyhow!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There can’t possibly be another inconvenient hurricane next year, can there Al? I want to race down those streets like the winds of a....nevermind.<br />
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Oh, yeah, and <strong><u><em>rebuild Staten Island!</em></u></strong> Preferably with a heated indoor lounge able to house approximately 47,000 people once a year (or twice, pending natural disasters.) <br />
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<strong><span style="color: #660000;">Lemonade!</span></strong><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.clintonfoundation.org/main/clinton-foundation-blog.html/2012/11/09/voices-from-team-healthier-generation-jean-chatzky/" target="_blank">This lady</a> used her time <strong>NOT</strong> running New York to give the running community a good name. What a terrific ambassador(s) for the sport! Me? Too busy hobnobbing with huge international celebs <a href="https://twitter.com/i/#!/nitmosruns/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2FNn6r9iZ7" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/i/#!/nitmosruns/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2FeJlrfRzr" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/i/#!/nitmosruns/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2Foz5PErVn" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/i/#!/nitmosruns/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2Fn1XeF4IZ" target="_blank">here</a> to be bothered. Big gold star for her; picture with The Fonz for me. Who won?<br />
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<strong><span style="color: #660000;">Mercury Up, Nipples Out</span></strong><br />
<br />
<em>What has two nipples and ran shirtless the other day?</em> You can’t see but my nipples are bending playfully back towards my areola as if to say <strong>“THIS GUY”.</strong> That’s right, 65 degrees in Michigan, in November! Oh yeah, I popped my top. It might be months before I get another chance. I was so excited that if Joe Francis and his <em>Girls Gone Wild</em> motor home been around, I might have giggled playfully, signed a release form, and stepped aboard in exchange for a t-shirt. <br />
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<strong><span style="color: #660000;">Soccer! Me, This Time</span></strong><br />
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<em>What has two aching hamstrings and doesn’t know its age?</em> My spasmic hamstrings, bending like angry electrical arches, are saying <strong>“THIS GUY!”</strong> Is there anything more futile than running to near exhaustion, to a 6-6 tie in an over-30 co-ed league, against opponents of which half do not have functioning ACL’s and are forced to wear a knee brace? <br />
<br />
It turns out, I’m much better telling my kids how to play rather than doing it myself. <em>Speaking of which…</em><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #660000;">Soccer! The Colt and Filly, for the Final Time…This Season</span></strong><br />
<br />
Since I know you care and haven’t clicked away unfulfilled yet, here’s the final soccer update for the year. The colt’s J.V. team finished<strong> 10-2-3</strong> allowing only 8 goals against this season to go with 10 shutouts - his stat sheet as a defender.<br />
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The filly’s team finished<strong> 5-3</strong>. As striker, she converted<strong> 16 goals in 8 games</strong> on the year (and about 6 other crossbars, ggrrrrr) and took home the team MVP trophy for her club team at the end of season banquet. The filly feels she can do better next year!?! Why do I think she’ll be complaining of sore hamstrings as a 41 year adult in a co-ed league one day? Circle of life! <br />
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That’s all...until January when it begins again. And again. And again…<br />
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<strong>Randumbery out.</strong> <br />
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Happy Seacresting.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.newgeography.com/content/003216-the-new-york-marathon-vs-nfl" target="_blank">Running isn't as popular as the NFL</a>. Who knew?</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-27283352458916031952012-11-08T11:53:00.001-05:002012-11-08T14:13:21.468-05:00NYC Marathon: The Race That Wasn't<em><span style="color: blue;">Wherein I recap not running a marathon. In other words, a weekend like almost every other…almost.</span></em><br />
<br />
You may have heard of the New York City Marathon. It’s a pretty big race. You may also have heard of Hurricane Sandy. It was a pretty big storm. I know you heard that they crossed paths last week.<br />
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I was all set to run this race. I’m not going to kid you….my <strong>whole year</strong> was aimed at this event almost to the exclusion of running any other races. I wasn’t in hyper-Rocky training mode or anything. I just spent time planning this race out and, frankly, barely looked at the race schedule of anything else going on. You know my kids’ soccer schedule. Who has the time? This was to be <strong>THE</strong> event of this year. And as Events go, it’s a big one with a capital E.<br />
<br />
Then Sandy ripped through Staten Island and New Jersey. Then Sandy stopped being the name of America’s sweetheart from the 1970’s, in <em>Grease</em>, and became a life altering Bitch from Hell. <em>San-dee!!</em> (/surprisedTravoltavoice) <br />
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I’m not going to demonize, moralize or generalize about the events that transpired next. I’ll leave that to the arm-chair bloggers, couch-side psychoanalysts and knee-bending moralists. I’ll tell you what I saw and what I felt, however.<br />
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<strong>Mrs. Nitmos and I, filled with uncertainty and with mixed emotions, traveled to New York last Friday morning</strong>. We expected long lines for a cab and stand still traffic. Instead, we boarded a cab quicker than ever before and raced into midtown in record time. We expected tattered store front signs, broken windows, garbage –strewn streets, and store closings. We found none of that. Midtown was bustling with activity just as it was 2 ½ years ago when we last visited. Outside of the dangling crane, as seen on TV, two blocks from our hotel, you wouldn’t have known that a hurricane had just ripped through there. In many places there was a large amount of garbage bags piled on the curb waiting for the delayed garbage trucks. <br />
<br />
The most painful damage was primarily in Staten Island it would seem. <br />
<br />
Visually, in midtown, everything was basically normal. Times Square was gaudy and bright as usual. Business folks were racing about; tourists carrying arms full of bags around. However, the impression from Sandy was visible on the faces of the people. The cabbie expressed concern on a couple of occasions that he had enough gas for one more day of work and that would be it. The front desk clerk did not have power back at home. Lower Manhattan was still in the dark when we arrived. The folks that live and work there had greater concerns on their mind than greeting and serving guests and tourists (and runners). But the cabbie needed the money and was going to drive until his last drop of gas ran out. The restaurant staff wanted the tips because, on top of a hurricane, a reduction in pay was not what was needed.<br />
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And here’s where the strong emotions come in from runners, non-runners, media, Staten Island residents and everyone else that watched this play out on TV. <br />
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<strong>What to do about the New York Marathon?</strong><br />
<br />
I like how some members of the media (and fellow bloggers) think the answer is so very easy. For them, I’m envious. I always see complexity where others see simplicity. My decision-making thought processes take many twists, turns, lefts, rights, loops, and triple salchows before arriving at a final destination. Oh, to be a speed skater instead! Despite how I play on this blog, I often see a path to lemonade where others stop at the lemons. What to do about the New York Marathon??? <em>Cancel it</em>, the cry started early and persistently. Bloomberg and the NYRR resisted. <em>CANCEL IT!</em> The media outrage grew. Bloomberg and the NYRR resisted. For sure, canceling it was the easiest and simplest short-term solution. <br />
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I know that I felt extremely awkward about the whole thing. Mrs. Nitmos and I determined that we would donate in any way called upon: financially, physically, or otherwise. (And we did as many other runners did as well.) <strong>We knew, as we’ve known about the running community for a very long time, that runners tend to be an abnormally giving and generous group</strong>. Runners would loathe to think that they weren’t contributing to a greater good. Runners would not selfishly TAKE from a battered city without GIVING more back. I know I just generalized when I said I wouldn’t but, screw it, this is my blog.<br />
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All along on Friday we had side conversations with other marathoners. We overheard conversations on the plane, hotel, and restaurants and at the expo. Obviously, Sandy, the marathon and the future was on everyone’s mind. I did not hear one selfish comment. Like us, most runners understood right off that this was an extremely strange situation and would roll with whatever decisions had to be made. However, I heard countless stories of runners getting involved to help with the relief effort. For some, a plan was in place to take the bus or ferry to Staten Island race morning and, instead of running, peel off to do relief work for the Staten Island residents. Extra large tips, on top of general relief donations, were being handed out to workers who needed it to support their families. In short, lemonade was being made all over the city in various small ways.<br />
<br />
There’s always a straw that breaks the back, a tipping point, a lasting indelible image that becomes irreversible to the course of events. For the marathon, it was the sight of the pasta dinner tent in Central Park and the three <strong>LARGE</strong> generators to power it (while lower Manhattan was still in the dark and Staten Island was still digging out). Like everyone, I was pretty outraged by that. How on earth did anyone think the pasta dinner should go on? I realize I’m drawing a moral line when I said I wouldn’t but, screw it, it’s my blog. A marathon is a pretty extraneous event to begin with. But it does bring money and, with it, aid and relief long-term. It does bring a volunteer group of gaunt-looking aid workers if the city had only set something organized up. Believe me, there were hundreds – thousands – of runners ready to donate time and money. EVERYONE understood that the marathon might be a bare bones operation to conserve anything that could be conserved. It would/could STILL work out to a net positive for the city.<br />
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But a pasta dinner? Even extraneous as far as extraneous things go.<br />
<br />
Boom. <strong><em>CANCEL IT!!!!</em></strong> Everyone screamed – nay – demanded. The tipping point had occurred and cancel it Bloomberg and the NYRR did. It was hard to blame them.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t even that upset about it because (a) I knew there were more important things going on and (b) it was obvious at that point that it was the only – and simplest – solution.<br />
<br />
So, the race was not run. On Sunday, what would have been race day, I joined thousands of runners in Central Park as the marathoners ran “unofficial” marathons that day on the old NY marathon course (self-contained within Central Park) hoping to still collect money for charities that were counting on them (<u>an unconsidered side effect of cancelling the race</u>.) Would this have been an option to shrink the number of needed resources? Were other options considered (i.e. NOT starting on Staten Island) before turning away an estimated <strong>$340 million dollars</strong> that the race brings in and that, especially now, residents (wage earners) desperately need? <br />
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I don’t know the answer to it. I don’t know what was “right” in general versus what is best for the city in the short and long term. I don’t know what is right in “reality” versus “what looks good or bad on TV”. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. <br />
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I <strong>do</strong> know that New Yorkers, metaphorically, can take a punch. They've proven it many times in the recent past. The city bends like rubber but bounces back. Myself - and the other marathoners - had shown up determined to reinforce the rubber to allow the city to snap back quicker not be the enemy jabbing them in the belly./endmixedmetaphors<br />
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Mrs. Nitmos and I were invited over to sit and chat with another marathoning couple at a restaurant Sunday night (we were both wearing our race shirts and were easily identifiable to each other). They were an older couple from Washington state and, as it turns out, were marathon race directors back home. They didn’t know what the right thing to do was either. The husband felt it should’ve gone on; his wife felt it should have been cancelled. Like me, they were constantly evaluating the positives versus the negatives and, by the way, NONE were “because I just want to have fun and run a race”. To continue the analogy, our minds were busy finding ingredients for the lemonade.<span style="color: red;">*</span> <br />
<br />
Or were we merely assuaging our feelings of guilt?<br />
<br />
I’m home now and I still don’t know what the right answer is. For those of you who do, congratulations. Mrs. Nitmos and I certainly “used some resources” while there. We also left some resources behind on our way out. Lots of “resources”. From talking to hotel, restaurant, retail, and transportation staff, their weary, worried faces explained to us that, though they were still recovering from Sandy, they were more worried about the rough weeks ahead facing a reduction of cash needed to support their families. Sandy is gone; bills need to be paid tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<strong>Is the New York Marathon so unnecessary that it could be summarily dismissed as a lemon in a time of need?</strong> Perhaps. <strong>Could it have been a net benefit to the city and region as many runners were determined that it could?</strong> Perhaps.<br />
<br />
Or perhaps not. I don’t know. My thoughts are currently doing an axel jump. I’ll let you know when I land it and complete the routine if there’s any lemonade to be had.<br />
<br />
Happy trails.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">*</span> It’s more than just water and lemons right? <em>Right???</em></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">For those of you who followed me on </span><a href="https://twitter.com/nitmosruns" target="_blank"><strong><span style="color: #660000;">Twitter</span></strong></a><span style="color: blue;">, you’re welcome. (And those that didn’t, WTF?) I hope you enjoyed your tour of 1970’s celebrity. Just bummed that I couldn’t get Sandy Duncan's picture (assuming she’s still alive). <strong><u>Sandy</u></strong>….ugh!!!! (fist shaking)</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: blue;">Also, though I didn’t get to use my svelte cut and rippling abs across five Burroughs, I <strong>do</strong> start my own indoor soccer season on Friday! Think I got some pent up aggression to blast out? Yup. Beware Over-30 co-ed opponents, Nitmos is coming with sharpened spikes.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: blue;">To recap </span><a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/10/ny-marathon-frankenstorm-impacted-goals.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">my race goals</span></a><span style="color: blue;"> for you scoring at home: I accomplished goals A, 7, and X!</span>Nitmoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17108597328135023198noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26945556.post-24995264130818607912012-10-31T09:45:00.000-04:002012-10-31T12:52:15.670-04:00NY Marathon Frankenstorm Impacted Goals!<em>Wherein I wax unpoetic about the upcoming New York City marathon and display almost no human-like sense of compassion for the folks in that region. It’s post-<strong>Frankenstorm-Hurricane-Sandy-General-Freakout </strong></em><a href="http://www.ingnycmarathon.org/" target="_blank"><strong><em>New York City Marathon</em></strong></a><em> week!!<span style="color: red;">*</span></em><br />
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<br />
Oh my, look at the Runner’s World calendar on the wall, it’s well past time for the <strong>blog obligatory marathon goals</strong> post. Or, as I call them,<strong><em> List of Impending Disappointments</em></strong>. What would a run blog be without a statement of goals before a big race? And I’m certainly not one to extend a middle finger at blog clichés and traditions. Shoot, I have an alliterative post coming up next: Whackadoodle Wednesday Wackiness! And, guess what? I’m now a running coach! I love me some clichés. <br />
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Despite the rain literally raining on my marathon parade in NY right now, I’m pretty excited. Yes, I know people are suffering and it’s a bit uncouth to say how excited I am to run something so extraneous as a marathon down the same streets where, currently, people are canoeing to their homes. But you don’t come here for couthness<span style="color: red;">**</span> and sympathizing do you? Boy, are you in the wrong place. I hope you come for inappropriate blogging and a slight feeling of discomfort like <em>I really shouldn’t be enjoying this because the guy’s a jerk but I can’t tear my eyes away</em>.<br />
<br />
As I <strike>look</strike> gaze into the mirror and rake my hand through my playfully floppish mane and gangnam-style dance my irrepressible pecs, I note the general gauntness of my figure. Sunken cheeks? <em>Check</em>. Loose fitting jeans? <em>Check</em>. Malnutritioned appearance that would make <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unbroken-World-Survival-Resilience-Redemption/dp/1400064163" target="_blank">WWII era Louis Zamperini</a> blush? <em>Check</em>. I appear to be on heroin. Don’t touch me; I might give you a paper cut. <br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-size: large;">In other words, I’m in marathon shape!</span></em></strong><br />
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A few people at the mall the other day snarkily spat at me in passing, <em>“Eat a burger fergodsakes, pervert.”</em> To which I smiled that knowing, hungry smile of a soon-to-be marathoner. Then picked up my pants that had fallen to my ankles and cinched the belt another notch. When is Sarah McLachlan going to sing a sad song for the <em>Feed the Marathoner</em> campaign? Screw those adorable one-eyed ASPCA puppies.<span style="color: red;">***</span><br />
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Mrs. Nitmos and I are due to fly to New York on Friday unless general plane/airport disruptions ensue. She will be participating in the Saturday morning 5k that starts at the United Nations building and ends in Central Park. I will be taking the recently drained (fingers crossed) subway at <u>4 am</u> on Sunday down to Battery Park to catch the ferry to Staten Island. A corn-fed Michigan man with wide eyes and a nervous disposition riding a NYC subway at 4 am? What could go wrong?!? <br />
<br />
I’d like to say that all of my summer long hard work during this “<strong><em><a href="http://www.feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/04/tyler-perry-presentssummer-of-speed.html" target="_blank">Tyler Perry Presents: Summer of Speed 2012</a></em></strong>” will come to fruition during this race. I’d like to say that but then I’d be a big fat liar. Truth is, I’ve trained adequately…even pretty good during certain stretches, but definitely did not kill myself out on the roads. I’m comfortable running the speeds I’ve been running the last few years and I’m slowly coming to accept that. Plus, I have a pile of empty fudge stripe cookie boxes and fun size Snickers wrappers that belie any attempts to convince myself otherwise. Oh, I’ll be lugging a barely distinguishable – but definitely present – <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2009/03/cheeto-layer.html" target="_blank">Cheeto Layer</a> along with me during the marathon. I’m actually about 2-3 pounds heavier than I normally am pre-marathon.<br />
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So maybe all of the gaunt talk was a bunch of bluster. Am I a big fat liar after all? Nah, I’m definitely still gaunt. And my pecs DID dance gangnam. The mirror don’t lie.<br />
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So, just what are the goals in this current Stormocalype climate? How can I use Frankenstorm to blame my failure to achieve my goals on something other than myself and my own training efforts? It won’t be too hard, trust me. Natural disaster = ready made excuse in anybody’s world!<br />
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<strong><u><span style="color: red;">The Goals (in Helvetica! and purple!):</span></u></strong><br />
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A) Make it to New York on time, find hotel has power.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2) Do best to avoid Charity/Clean Up New York fund raisers by not making eye contact.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Z) Beat 3:15.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">VI) If race turns into a waterlogged steeplechase, call it a “Tri” and buy Ironman car sticker.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">AA) Beat 3:20 if it is just not my day. Plan to blog that I stopped to help “victims”. Invent elaborate stories of my heroism.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7) Avoid falling cranes from the sky.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Z) Finish race and spend the next two days in New York eating and drinking nearly everything in sight…even aid relief supplies if they are in my line of sight. Ever have post-marathon sore leg muscles? Just as bad as not having a home. Give me the water and cheese.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">X) Leave NY dryer than when I arrived.</span><br />
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My training is in the barn. The hay is already done. There’s nothing left to do but run the race…if the race occurs. <br />
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My Wal-Mart discount sweats are purchased and ready to be worn <u>once</u> before discarded at the start for the Hobo Christmas that starts at the same time as the marathon. Hope they enjoy my donation! Merry Hobo Christmas.<br />
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Believe me, I have feelings too. I feel the pain coming from New York and I’m sympathetic. But, after my <a href="http://feetmeetstreet.blogspot.com/2012/10/21-run-salute.html" target="_blank">training 21 miler</a>, I didn’t see anyone from New York massaging <em>my</em> cramping leg muscles <em>youknowwhatI’msayin</em>?! #karmaisbitch<span style="color: red;">****</span><br />
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I know everyone is concerned about the folks on the East coast but, while you are praying, say a few words for <strong>me</strong>. I’m running a freaking marathon people not sitting around looking at all of my drenched photo albums.<br />
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And I’m not saying it’s going to come down to this but, if it come’s down to this, guess who’s in pretty good shape to get to an Ark first if there's foot race? Mrs. Nitmos, better keep up, we need to go two-by-two. The unicorns, then us, then the llamas….<br />
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<strong><em>Llamas?!?!?</em></strong> Not on this hypothetical Ark. I'll end the human race right then and there before a llama boards that Ark...<br />
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Happy trails.<br />
<br />
/tongueincheekobviously<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">* </span>For the sake of argument, let’s assume there will be a marathon.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">** </span>It’s a word. If not, it should be.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">***</span> No, don’t do that. I like puppies…almost as much as I like turtles.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: red;">****</span> I kid because I care.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">I may post photos regularly as the weekend progresses. If you care to follow along, you can follow me at <em>@nitmosruns</em> on Twitter. </span><br />
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