BEAAARDDDDSLEY! BEAAARDDDDSLEY!

I’ve done the training. Slowly, at first, my head wasn’t in it until Mrs. Nitmos gave me a pep talk. Then I refocused and trained my ass off for 3 hard, intense minutes set to an 80’s pop-rock song. That should be enough time. I’m ready. I’ve crumpled the picture of Beardsley that was stuck in my bathroom mirror. I have the Eye of the Cheetah (much, much faster than the lame, slow as molasses Tiger).

I even beat Carl Weathers in a foot race. And I like to wear yellow shirts.



It’s off to Boston tomorrow (Friday) morning. That is, if my flight isn’t canceled. Geesh, airline carriers, do you need to be TOLD by the FAA to performed standard maintenance on your planes? You won’t just do it yourself? Are you 3 years old?

The plan is to get to Boston early and go into immediate full blown tourist mode for the next 36 hours. This includes many national historic sites and a stop by the Bull & Finch, the #1 cheeseball tourist schtick in Boston. I’m sorry but I loved Cheers. For many years, I wanted to be Norm. I strived for it but ended up more of a Clavin, so, you know, life didn’t turn out exactly as I dreamed. Saturday morning will also be race check-in at the expo. It won’t be crowded right? Right? What?

Sunday will be a day of rest, introspection, and continuing to rub all things shamrocky in appearance. Oh, and shitting. I take a pre-race bowel mover so I’ll be doing a lot of that introspecting on the toilet.

Monday, of course, the marathon itself! I may or may not be posting between now and the race. We’ll see how much contempt I have for you.

I think I’m prepared to do battle with the Beardsley Monster.
I think I’m gonna love me some Newton Hills.
I know I’m going to love the sight of that finish line.

Dun Dun Dun dun-dun-dun
Dun Dun Dan, Dun Dun Daaa

Dun Dun Dunt Dun Dun Dunt
Dun Dun Dant Dun Dun Daaaa

That’s harder than it looks (theme to Rocky). Probably would have been easier just to clip in an audio file.

If you see me walking around, feel free to say Hi. I’m hard to miss. I usually either have my finger in my nose or am scratching my rear. Or both. I’ll probably be the guy doing that who also looks very confused and disoriented (Schwimmered! Zing!) Also, I have a distinctly “Michigan” appearance. On race day, I should have some sort of Steers LDP insignia somewhere on me.

Mrs. Nitmos and I will be haunting:
-Hyatt Regency Boston
-Friday night Bull & Finch?
-Saturday morning expo
-Saturday afternoon at random sightseeing stops

Post race? Not sure yet but we don’t fly home til Tuesday morning. Beer will be consumed in a yet to be determined location Monday night though.

In case I don’t post again, I encourage you to send positive thoughts out to all runners Monday between 10 and 4 or so ET. I’ll consider this a sort of open thread in the comments. Call it a Virtual Race Cheerleading Section. I WILL receive the message on the race course. I’m that clever. Please keep it positive (I’m looking at you Vanilla). If I receive a thought wishing a bowel movement on me, you better be prepared to send along physical toilet paper as well.

Visit the Boston Marathon website for live in stream split updates as the race goes on. If I slow horribly in the 18-21 mile range, you’ll know Beardsley got me. And I’m not the Rocky I was hoping for but more the Apollo Creed in the Drago match up (think all charismatic-y, red white and blue-y, and dead-y minus the charisma and the red,white and blue). I hope you’ve seen the Rocky flicks or this is making no sense.

Bib #5962, ready to roll.
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By the way, you don't realize how long it took me to find that Rocky on the mountain top photo from Rocky IV online. Really, I'm behind in all my work assignments while searching for it. I found it! It's all worth it...I'm fired? What do you mean "fired"??

Also, besides next week's race report, I'm also working up a profile on my favorite sitcom side character, Mr. Roper. You don't want to miss that. I hope to complete my thoughts on that during the marathon.

Rubbing All Things Irish

(Considered alternate title: Irish Molestation.)

It’s Boston week! Exactly one week from now I’ll be amongst 25,000 or so of my closest friends participating in the 2008 Boston Marathon. It could be a time for deep introspection about what it took to get there. All the toil and sweat involved to realize this goal.

Or, it could be just another excuse to make a few cheap jokes.

For sure, I’ve done the necessary physical training. A bit on the light side but still, I trained nonetheless. During taper, I’ve spent quite a bit on the metaphysical (twice in one week both most likely used incorrectly = ch-ching!) training.

Boston is a city steeped in Irish traditions. The group of folks identified most closely with Boston are Irish immigrants. As such, I’ve made it my own personal quest these past few weeks to come in contact with as much Irish charms and traditions as possible. And, of course, no ridiculous Irish stereotypes were used when compiling this list.

I have:

Worn green clothes on a daily basis. Since I own precisely one green shirt, I stink quite a bit.

Watched a lot of Phoenix Suns basketball to bask in the glow of athletic achievement by the great Irishman Shaquille O’Neal.

Ate Lucky Charms every day for breakfast.

Dinners at Bennigans.

Nightcaps at home with Guinness.

Consumed copious (+5) amounts of corned beef, colcannon and potatoes during snack times.

Tried to work “pissah” into every day conversation.

Watched Boston Legal and The Departed constantly.

Set a leprechaun trap near a fake pot o’ gold I put out in my living room. Ended this when daughter suffered finger lacerations.

And you don’t even want to know what I’ve been doing to shamrocks.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been going overboard. Who can tell? You’ve probably seen an upswing on this site lately with goofy names starting with “Mc”. All part of the plan, baby.

I knew things were getting a bit obsessive when I started hanging out at McDonald’s (is that even Irish?) and fantasizing about Rosie O’Donnell (is that even right?).

There’s still a few days to go. I’m making my last minute plans. In the meantime, if you are out in my neighborhood wearing green or sporting a perceptible Irish countenance (not sure what that means), you may find some strange man rubbing up against you. Be forewarned, it’s best to let him(me) finish.

I’m ready for a wicked good time.

Happy trails.

Sincerely,

O’Nitmos McBostonbound
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Check out this article on Jewish runners and the obstacle they face in carbo loading during Passover before the Boston Marathon. Pretty interesting.

Note: Several of you have dropped pretty impressive words into my comments section seeking Word Score credit. I'm sorry that I cannot award them here. I'm quite sure you made them up as they are obviously NOT real words. Verisimilitude? Piquant? Vernacular? Beleaguered? Good try, folks. I'm not falling for it.

Also, some have taken to refereeing my little Word Score game by pointing out perceived mistakes in my posts. I can only say, if I were to take points away for things you do not understand, I would be in the negative and never be able to recover. Lets just assume I'm always correct. Or I'm applying a grammatical rule you are not familiar with.

Wasting Away to...Speed?!

I’ve been reading lots of different books and articles lately and I’ve noticed a common theme developing: Get skinnier. Run Less. Become super fast.

Really? That’s all there is too it?

Here I’ve been wasting time eating and running when both of these activities have been costing me precious speed!! What a sucker. My mother always said she only raised one idiot. I have two brothers. I kinda assumed it was one of them but, maybe, is it me?

Of course, I’m simplifying things a bit. I know I need to boil things down to a pitifully basic level for you, my reader, to understand. Go ahead, finish looking up ‘pitifully’. And ‘boil’ means “getting really ouchy hot”. There, saved you some time.

We are in the heyday of efficiency. Everything is getting smaller but more powerful and in less time. Where will it end?

The current issue of Runner’s World features a Q&A with erstwhile (+3) cyclist turned marathoner Lance Armstrong. In it, he mentions the desire to lose 10 pounds so he can be faster for the Boston Marathon and next year's NYC Marathon. C’mon, dude. Give us a break. If you are worrying about a few pounds, what the hell should I worry about? At least once a week, I wake up on my recliner to the nightly news with a friggin’ Cheeto stuck to my face. And your worried about a couple of L.B.’s?

This is not the only mention I’ve seen on weight in relation to optimal running. You’ve all read - and tried to ignore – the articles. I’m waaay to lazy to link any here. They’re out there. Trust me.

The way I see it, if Lance can lose 10 lbs and get faster by ten minutes, what can happen if I lose, say 75 lbs. I’m 159 now. If I knock that weight down to 85 or so, will I be roughly 75 minutes faster and, thus, a future marathon champion?

On top of that, there are several recent studies that suggest you can actually run faster by training less (but harder intensity). Now, I’m a BIG proponent of this approach. I had been doing this for years before the FIRST method (detailed in Run Less, Run Faster) was birthed to the world. My lawyers are, in fact, checking with their lawyers to make sure there’s nothing fishy going on. Just because the authors have fancy descriptions like “P.H.D.” and “thorough researcher” and “wonderfully honest and trustworthy” attached to their name while I enjoy common descriptors such as “unsavory appearance”, “penchant for mediocrity”, and “big asshole” does not exclude the possibility they learned this from me.

The convergence of these two streams of running wisdom set off a sort of Big Bang in my skull during one of my recent runs. If I get faster by weighing less…..if I get faster by training less albeit very hard….if I get “cleaner” by showering…how far can I take this?

Conceivably, could go on a crash diet and hole up in the corner of my house in the fetal position until it was time for my once weekly 50 yard dash? The fastest, most intense, 50 yard dash I could muster?

Would I reap HUGE benefits as I become skinnier and lighter as long as – when it was time to run – I explode down the driveway with every ounce of energy my celery-only diet could handle?? Would the whistling of the wind passing over my rippled, exposed rib cage mark the sounds of running triumph or the start of a various serious kidney disease?

It may be worth a try. The way this is going, new science may soon tell us it’s best to not run at all during training and simply visualize running a marathon while taking exorbitant amounts of crystal meth. Taper, of course, would also be known as “withdrawal”. And the GU company would have a potentially dangerous legal situation.

Lots to think about. Maybe I missed the point though. I do tend to overreact. I admit to shrieking uncontrollably and having to be restrained on my first airplane flight because, doggoneit, based on the trajectory we sure appeared to be heading to outer space. But could I have gone too far with all these new studies and their line of thinking?

I don’t know. I’m going to give it a shot and report back. Won’t have much energy to blog, I suspect. Need to save it for my lean, mean, green 50 yard driveway dash. Maybe I can get that down to 25 even more intense yards during peak training??

Happy trails.
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It’s off folks. I ate an Almond Joy prior to pressing the Publish button. Diet blown. Back to my regular training plan.

Forget all this and have a great weekend instead.

Occupancy Awareness Week

Seriously, I must be living The Office or Office Space here.

A memo comes across the ole work email announcing Occupancy Awareness Week. On title alone, you know you are in for a good chuckle.

(click to open)

Let’s see what this little gem of corporate wisdom holds. As you would expect, it’s hilarious, completely without any value, and destined to be mocked and ignored. Basically, it hits the corporate memo idiocy triumvirate (+6).

The idea here – hatched by scheming executives apparently tired of playing FreeCell and laughing hysterically over a bubbling cauldron of their very souls – is that employees are not coming into the office when they should be.

One thing to understand: we don’t punch a time card here. And our individual bosses are not necessarily on site. In fact, my boss is physically located 300 miles away. Metaphysically, of course, he sits on my shoulder using my ear hole as a pencil sharpener whenever I fall asleep. In three years, I’ve never met him. Wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street.

We are left to our own supervision. It takes incredible self discipline not to fritter that time away on running blogs and other personal interests. That would be akin to stealing.

In between cackles, the execs decided they needed a method to track who actually comes into the office and pretends to work. And who stays at home and blatantly flaunts the "paycheck-for-a-day’s-work" industry standard.

Thus, Occupancy Awareness Week was born.

It could have been called Be An Ass To Your Fellow Employees Week but, for whatever reason, they decided on the longer, more impressive sounding words. Regular Webster McWordsmith’s, these folks.

In order to “trap” the unfortunate Home Bodies who don’t know how to get into the office, they’ve decided to enforce a strict policy of registering every person who enters the building. We have a card swipe machine tied to our ids. So, every time we enter or exit, the machine will register this action.

In order to comply, we must:

- Enter the building using our own id card
- Not let anyone else – even a fellow employee – come in under your id (practice known as piggybacking). Slam the door in their face if need be. Tell them they look disheveled and smell like they urinated on themselves (this was implied).
- Report any improper loaning of id cards further ensuring your popularity at the next work gathering.

As soon as the memo was received a roar of guffaws was heard through-out the building. It sounded like a bunch of, well, guffaws, I guess. Not surely really how to describe intermittent, murmured hrrumpffing and guffawing. You get the idea.

I watched with glee as Occupancy Awareness Week came and went. This is right in my comedy wheelhouse. Really, a little slice of heaven for me to enjoy for the week.

I saw:

-Folks purposely letting other employees in under their id just to confound the rules.
- Phone calls placed to the Home Bodies to warn them to come in at least once a day or, at least, loan them their id cards to swipe for them.
- Outright mocking of "Mr. Corporate Executive" in hilariously deep, sonorous (+4) tones with exaggerated hand motions dictating the rules of Occupancy Awareness Week like Moses on the mountaintop.

One very clever person * even suggested that we ALL use the same id card for the week and really throw them into confusion. **

For me, besides the laughter, Occupancy Awareness Week came and went without a change to my normal behavior. Except, I did have an excuse to slam the door in Cube Farters face as he was trying to piggyback in behind me with a handful of Arby’s. I shrugged and shouted through the glass, “Sorry. Corporate policy.”

I think I got even.

Until he entered, ate, and got even all over my nose through-out the afternoon.

* And handsome, too.
** This was me.

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Check out The Running Laminator's riff on "how fast do you run?".

Vanilla, in his randomly regular site feature, has some nice tips on Alien Encounters.

Viper explains his true feelings about running. My favorite is #13.
Don't forget to take Nancy's photo tour of her running route.

Note: You should already be anticipating Friday's landmark post in which, I humbly believe, will improve the race times of every single runner. Period.

Six Words: A Memoir

It’s time for me to play this game. I’ve been tagged a couple of times and need to respond before I’m responsible for bringing the game to a complete stand still. I’d hate to suffer angry emoticons like:

<:-) [dunce] or
L:) [loser] or
:-( [frown]

Seriously, there are web sites devoted to emoticons. Looking over the list of emoticon possibilities, I decided I’d rather shoot myself between the eyes. +-(

Both sRod and RazZDoodle tagged me. I am compelled to present the summary of rules:

(1) Write your own six word memoir.
(2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want.
(3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogs-universe.
(4) Tag at least five more blogs with links.
(5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

In light of future events and the total preoccupation of my mind on the Boston Marathon, my memoir will be of a singular tone:

Boston Runner Seeks Crampfree Glorious Finish

I’ve considered posting this same message in the Boston Globe the weekend before the race but thought maybe, just maybe, there is a woman out there named Crampfree Finish with a middle initial of “G” and I didn’t want to open up that can of worms. I’d hate to have to explain this situation to Mr. Finish.

Requisite visual illustration:

That’s not me but photo credit goes to the Boston Globe (image from 2007). It might be me in a few days. One never knows.

I now deem it necessary to place the tagged burden on these folks:

(1) Annoyingly infrequent blogger, Mike.
(2) L*I*S*A
(3) Russ
(4) NWGDC
(5) Eric

And, anonymous poster Tange, you can leave a six worder in the comments section.

You all may not have time to do this. But I know I don’t have time to listen to you whine. So, if I can indulge myself a second six worder:

Tagged! Shut Up and Do It.

_____________________________________

Sending a hello over Lake Michigan to Mrs. Nitmos on a work related assignment in beautiful, if not a little rusty, Milwaukee. Rest assured, hon, I'm still "hard to explain". Oh, and how do you put out an oven fire?

Fear the Spatula

Note: I will not be spoiling the plot of this film in the following review. Unless you don't like to know a mannequin will be molested prior to watching a movie. In which case, well, I guess I just blew it for you.

I’m not going to take credit for spreading the word of Run, Fatboy, Run to the running community in a previous post. After all, it’s a major film production with a large marketing budget. So let’s just say I probably single-handedly spread the word and leave it at that.

My wife and I took in Run, Fatboy, Run yesterday sans kids. God bless, Mrs. Nitmos. Not only did she tolerate my 14 miler on Sunday (when there was plenty of work to do at home), she then survived a trip to TWO bicycle shops and then sat through a movie heavily involved with marathoning. I expected to fall asleep last night and awake to the repeated thuds of my Asics GT2120’s whacking across my forehead. It didn’t happen (though I noticed my water jug had floaties in it this morning. I don’t remember there being floaties before. I’ll go in for a closer inspection tonight.)

What follows is my two minute review.

The flick is not necessarily a “running movie”. That is just the background for the fairly generic love story surrounding the oafish male lead and his pencilly (+5 for word invention) thin female lead. The movie is no more a running movie than Indiana Jones is an archaeology movie.

That being said, I had some concerns going in:

1) Would the scenes involving the marathon seem realistic?
2) Would I get a couple hilarious gross out jokes to blog about?
3) Would something connected with David (Ben Affleck of the Small Screen) Schwimmer be any good?

Answers:

1) Yes. The marathon scenes were realistic (except for the part where our oafish marathoner takes a lead ahead of the elite runners for a brief period. I don’t care how fast he was sprinting, he ain’t gonna pass 5 minute milers.)
2) Yes. The film featured the “Scrotal Zone”, mannequin molestation, flying blister pus, and nipple lube. Check. Check. Check. And check. No snot rockets though? (fist raised in anger) Schhhhwiiiiiimmer!!
3) Yes, sorta. The final analysis to follow. I left the theatre feeling slightly light headed and confused though. A feeling I describe as "being Schwimmered" (zing!!).

The main thing I took from it is that a spatula is the best training aid. It doesn’t appear in any of the so called “professional” manuals. However, the film makes pretty clear that a spatula applied swiftly to the back of the legs works extremely well in motivation, endurance, and speed. Fear the spatula. I would have thought, of all kitchen utensils, that a turkey baster would find the most uses in running. Shows what I know.

So, how to score this film? If I use the standard Ebertian scale, I’d give it a Thumbs Up. If I use the more common 4 star scale it becomes more difficult but I’d say its either a 2 ½ or 3. Which one? A fellow runner like myself might lean towards a 3 while a non runner (see Mrs. Nitmos) might opt for the 2 ½. Hmmm, much debate. That pus filled blister spraying over the poor schmuck’s face was pretty funny. And the physical representation of the runner’s wall was pretty neat. But the overall plot was fairly average. Hmmm, well, I’m not going to waffle. I know my readers stop by for expert analysis and definitive answers and the complete lack of a criss cross pattern to my face (no? no? reread the previous sentence). I refuse to be indecisive. So, probably, definitively, I’ll give it 2 ¾ stars.

The fact that I got free tickets in made it a lot more palatable (+2) I suspect. I’d sit through another Sister Act sequel for free tickets.

Happy trails.
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Sunday was my last double digit mileage run before Boston! I don't mind saying, it was great! Shorts. No gloves. I wouldn't say I was blurry but I was certainly a bit frayed around the edges to the casual observer as I passed by.

14.0 miles
1:39:37 time
7:07 pace

Last mile checked in at 6:53. Bring on the 'thon.

TWO WEEKS TO BOSTON!!

Sad Dad Bad Had

Dad is sad
Very, very sad
He had a bad day
What a day Dad had

Hop on Pop, Dr. Seuss

Actually, I had a great day! It was my kid’s who had the bad day. Due to me. Fortunately, I’m able to divorce myself from the feelings of others to the point where I can independently have a great time while others in my orbit are not as happy. It’s one of the main reasons people don’t like me, in fact.

Here’s the story.

Every now and then, a local running event comes around that offers a Kids Run as part of their race line up. As both of my kids aren’t quite old enough yet to take part in a 5k, they look forward to these Sunday morning ½ mile or 1 mile races preceding the bigger events.

This past Sunday was one of those events. We registered early Friday, got their race t-shirt, and filled their heads with excitement for the event and the bright, shiny race medal they would get for participation. Friday night and all day Saturday we would mention the impeding race to kind of stoke that excitement and watch the smiles blossom on their sweet, innocent, about to be crushed little faces.

‘No, you cannot have such-and-such friend stay over Saturday night because you have to get up early the next day.’

‘Yes, you have to keep polishing my car as its good for your pre-race mental preparation.”

You know, the usual Keepin-It-Fun-For-The-Kids technique.

We had a nice leisurely Saturday. Awoke real late in the morning. I checked out some bikes at a local cycle shop taking my first ginger (ws= +3 pts) step into the world of duathletes and triathletes. I don’t know what I’m looking for quite yet as far as novice quality bikes go. The one with the basket and horn looked cool though.

Saturday, the alarm was dutifully set. Mrs. Nitmos handles this task as I have not mastered the finer points of alarm clock setting. For some reason when I do it, it goes off 2 hours later to the soothing sounds of Barry Manilow.

The alarm triggers on time. Everyone is in the car on time. We are at the park on time. We even had our pick of parking spots. We literally could park anywhere we wanted. You see, the event was on Saturday not Sunday. We missed it. I missed it. No race. No medal. No proud feelings of accomplishment.

Just another gray, cold March raceless, medaless day.

I had to think fast. If this was Monday, I could have turned around with a big convincing smile and shouted “April Fools!”. Instead, I did what anyone would do in my position when faced with the sad, heartbroken faces of your own children: I made them feel as if it was their fault.

“If I hadn’t been so concerned with feeding you on Friday, I would have remembered the race was Saturday morning. Besides, you barely polished the car anyhow. It’s a mess. So, look on the bright side, you have time to finish!”

I suspect they wanted to do a bit more than Hop on Pop. Probably something more in the order of a "The Bitsy Big Boy Boomeroo" (who knew Dr. Seuss could be so serious?).



We had a bad day
What a day we had

Epilogue:
The kids ran an exciting ½ mile loop around my neighborhood that Sunday morning. They were timed. They each came in first in their age division. Since we paid the entry fee, we are now in process of trying to acquire 2 left over participation medals from the event organizers. After all, who holds a race on a Saturday? Honestly!

We did attend the event last year as reported here. And, yes, it was on a Saturday then. The difference was that I was running on that day. See, if it’s about me, these “details” seem to matter a little more.

Since I encouraged you to shower nasty comments on the anonymous photo in the previous post, I now open the floor to disparaging remarks about my parenting skills. Have fun but remember I'm as tender and as easily broken as an innocent foal.

Happy trails.
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Last night, I had another terrific "Limbo" run. In shorts, even (50 degree heat wave)! Except, I started too fast and actually didn't make it under the bar for mile 2. Again, I cut it off after mile 5 to keep with my training plan.

5.0 miles
34:37 time
6:56 pace

Miles of 7:10, 7:12 (missed limbo!), 7:05, 6:50, 6:20.

Your Garden Variety H---- K---- N----- Guard

It seems I was taken to task in my last post by a fellow Steer over my Boston Marathon goal time of 3:25. He seemed to feel I was setting it too slow. He may have a point. In fact, last year around this time, I set my Bayshore goals faster than 3:25 and achieved them!

So, maybe 3:20 would be a better goal. I’ll consider this an amendment to my official goals.

I sure appreciate his frank and honest feedback. Not to worry, I was not offended for being harangued in the comments section of my “goals” post. I always value good, honest feedback from my readers. What are we if not a society of open communicators?

On a completely separate matter not at all connected with someone criticizing me over my Boston goals….

Have you ever seen a grown, hirsute (word score = +15 pts) man wearing H---- K---- band aid n----- guards??

Let’s all laugh at how funny it looks.
Update: 8/14/08 Hilarious picture has been removed. Sorry.

From Runner's Gone Wild, Fall 2007 edition.

Any other comments on my Boston goals can be left in the comments section along with an incriminating photo, if you please.

I would also appreciate hilariously deriding comments about the person in this “anonymous” photo.

Smiles.

I never thought I'd have a chance to use one of my favorite English language words, hirsute, in a post. What an unexpected treat. Check another item off the "100 Things To Do Before I Die" list!

Beardsley's Ghost and 2008 Boston Goals

With my last 20 miler neatly tucked away in my back pocket, it’s time to turn my attention to the ALL IMPORTANT BOSTON MARATHON GOALS. (Back up and reread this with a booming, echoing voice. You may add a cymbal crash at the end if you desire).

I’ve been vacillating (word score = 10 points!) between setting ambitious, realistic, or amphibious goals for quite awhile. What to do? Really, I’m just happy to be here (there). Do I kill myself running the race of my life in the most prestigious marathon venue? Do I ‘enjoy the moment’ and run a respectable race – for me – and take in the scene? Do I somehow set a goal involving water that, really, has no place here?

I’ve decided to set my goals to match my approach to training.

Therefore, I vow to complain about winter the entire 26.2.

Seemingly, that’s all I’ve done the last few months anyhow.

Of course, that’s not my real goal. I’m being a Jokey McLaughsalot. And one thing I know about you, my reader, is that you appreciate my seriousness. You stop by for wisdom, guidance, and edification (word score = 12 pts). Running must be serious to me. I do it a lot. I also express my dissatisfaction a lot with other drivers but so far have not set any goals in that arena.

Without further adieu, here are my 2008 Boston Marathon goals in all their mundane goodness:

Time Goal: 3:25

I think I can do better than that but I’m scared of the courses hilly terrain. The Newton Hills and the final drive up Heartbreak Hill has me terrified. Of course, I’m probably blowing it way out of proportion. I’m imagining a scene where runners are dropping by the dozens to the chorus of snapping calf muscles. Bandages are being wrapped around ankles, hamstrings, heads. Families are weeping and holding (word score = -5 pts could have used ‘cradling’ here) their loved ones unconscious heads in their laps. A few are crawling up the hill on bloody stumps of knees as the ghost of Dick Beardsley stands on top taunting them and shooting lasers from his GU fueled laser gun. (I know Dick Beardsley isn’t dead. Play along alright?).

I don’t think I’m in Bayshore 2007 3:12 shape. More like 3:20 shape on a flat course. I’m adding +5 minutes for the Beardsley Ghost.

Performance Goal: No freakin’ cramping issues!!!!

The last two marathons have been derailed by the stubborn calves. (Big props to me for not making a lame reference to cattle in the street here. I could have. It would have been easy.) I’m about to have a cow if it continues (ch-ching!). I miss the good old days when I would start a marathon, get increasingly tired, bitter, hallucinogenic, suicidal, and, finally, triumphant. The body would work together to get me to the finish. I don’t know why or when the calves developed a separate agenda. They need to get on board though and quick or I’m threatening to pull a Rocky (“Go ahead, cut me. Take the calves out so I can continue.") Rocky didn’t have his calves taken out. You know what I mean.

So, there you go. You’ve learned a little something today and are probably pretty happy to have stopped by to see ol’ Nitmos. You’ve learned:

1. My Boston Marathon goals.
2. You can make any name funny by making the first name silly and the last name a restatement of the first name with a "Mc" preceding it.
3. That Dick Beardsley is a ghostly runner slaying monster that stalks Heartbreak Hill with a laser gun. And he's dead (not really).

Every runner needs a motivation. Mine is a certain 2nd place finisher from the legendary 1982 Boston Marathon. The picture below is tucked into my bathroom mirror where I’m working to develop my Eye of the Tiger.

I can see you taunting me, threatening me with your evil gaze.

"Psycho" Dick Beardsley

Beardsley, as he appears on Heartbreak Hill

It'll surprise you to know that I am not a PhotoShop expert. I do have a full time job and it's hard enough to edit some pictures when people are constantly walking back and forth behind me. I think I captured the essence though.

Happy trails.

___________________________________

The Running Lamintor had an excellent post recently on running schizoprenia. Check it out.

Vanilla reminds us that running shops offering free "Gait Analysis" may just be pimping a gateway drug.

Boston T(e)aper Party

Taper....Tea...get it? It's a stretch but it's there if you want to see it. I'm in full blown Boston taper mode at this very moment.

The last 20 mile long run is complete. I'm wiped but my calves, hamstring, knees and everything else seem to be in agreement that it went okay though.

I don't have the desire to post anything with my normal, well received timeless humor.

Too tired for tales of whimsy and romance.

That'll come on Monday. Dick Beardsley, you better be ready.

Garmin says:

20.0 miles
2:29:22 time
7:28 pace

Roadkill, Platoon, and Alzheimers Exist in a Single Post

I had to chuckle reading Aham23’s comment in my last post. My blogging has taken on a different tone in recent weeks and some explanation is warranted. Frankly, I started this blog as a pure time killer during slow work days inspired by my friend Mike’s blog. It existed largely as random posts here and there overloaded with dull training updates. I was considering pulling the plug on the whole thing. It was getting kinda boring in fact. Then, I decided I may as well shit or get off the pot (one of my favorite Adults Only sayings).

So, I’m shitting. And you’re reading. That makes you the shittee.

Sorry, not a huge fan of profanity normally but sometimes its just so accurate it can’t be avoided. Plus, I've yet to get an indignant remark in my comments section over my language. I haven’t “arrived” til then.

Basically, I've discovered that I was using a lot of self editing when creating my posts. Things would occur to me while typing – I would find them funny – but figured I better not put that in the post. And you have to understand that I am borderline bat shit crazy (that’s 4 “s” words now if you are counting at home. I’m sure to get some scorn this time!)

I respect Britney Spears’ sanity.

I walk around the house chuckling to myself quite often. My wife thinks I’m nuts.

This has gone on so long that, at this point, there’s no reason to have it diagnosed. I figure in a few years it’ll just descend into Alzheimer's and everyone I know can collectively throw up their hands and say “oh, so that’s what it was.”

I often think of the scene in The Naked Gun where Leslie Nielson and Priscilla Presley (I think) come out of the move theater laughing hysterically and then the camera pans up to show one of the least funniest movies of all time playing: Platoon.

That’s me in a nutshell. I often find humor where none should exist. Example: The sound the gun makes when Bambi’s mom gets killed. Fuuunny. Not realistic at all. Or when Ben Stiller gets hooked with a fishing hook in There’s Something About Mary. Again, not supposed to be funny but it gets me laughing.

So, until the onset of Alzheimer’s, you’ll get more of this half hearted humor and random brain boogers flicked at the screen. Hopefully, you won’t be offended. If nothing else, I want you to stop by here for some abuse. It’ll allow me to exercise the dormant Dominant within and you to exercise the Submissive, bloggily speaking, of course.

Switching gears.

I can always tell when it’s Spring in Michigan. Other states may see the blossoming of new flower buds; the warm glow of the afternoon sun; the fresh scent of lawn clippings. Here, we get roadkill. Lots of it. All the dead animals run down by cars, snow plows, etc. that had been covered by the snow for the last few months. It looks like a field after a great Civil War battle with bodies strewn about. Except, of course, the bodies are rotting deer, festering, pus filled raccoons, and the occasional skunk.

It’s always pleasant to run by one of those corpses and get that putrid whiff of animal death. Ugh. Where are our spring blooms to cover it up? Oh, yeah, they are crushed by the deer carcass in the ditch. Mmmm, spring is in the air (cough, cough).

Next time: An update on my last 20 miler before the Boston Marathon.

A promise: No more profanity for at least 3 posts.

Happy trails.

Psycho Bunny

Quick note: In the last post, I went overboard with the use of the footnote. Regrettably, this distracted from the rather fine blogging that took place. Therefore, I vow to use the footnote sparingly and only when absolutely necessary. Instead, I’ll focus my attention on references to Blatz beer and obscure diseases whenever possible (the two often go hand in hand).

The following conversation took place on Sunday, March 24th around 2 P.M. between myself, a grown man wearing plastic bunny ears, and his wife.

Psycho Bunny: Shit, all the wiffle balls are dented.

Mrs. Psycho Bunny: I don’t think those bats and balls are made for people your age. Usually you see kids playing with a wiffle bat.

Me: You don’t see Easter bunnies playing wiffle ball much either.

Psycho Bunny: Or crazy f%#&ers drinking beer and swinging with a cigarette in one hand. Batter up.

Note: Despite the obvious implications here, there were no trailer parks within a one mile square radius of this scene. There were several severed deer heads and a 25 year old rusted bus fixed up like a “camper”. But no trailer park. Promise.

This was Easter Sunday for me in a nutshell. Please leave your sympathies in the comment section.

There is something poetic in watching a group of men, cigarettes in mouth, swinging a plastic bat one handed like a machete loping off someone’s head in the next Kill Bill installment. Now add beer, icy driveway, and plastic bunny ears and, well, there you go. A good time. We should be party planners.

I should also mention there was plenty of Blatz beer on hand. They still make this. Or, at least, someone has a warehouse somewhere with cases of it from the last production run in 1973 dutifully shipping it out every time one family from Michigan orders it. I’m working on my landmark Blatz beer retrospective for a latter post. Do I go essay form? Poem? Or dirty limerick? I just can’t decide.

All in all, the fam had a nice Easter. The kids were happy. The regular, non-psycho Easter Bunny was good to them. My wife and I were thrilled. Any Easter that doesn't involve rabies, tetanus, or deer ticks meets our success requirements. My daughter was in the doctor’s office for an entirely different reason this morning – diagnosis pending.

I haven’t seen my kids without a chocolate ring around their mouths in 2 days. A sure sign of a wonderfully gluttonous Easter. God, I hope that’s chocolate and not ringworm (fingers crossed, wish us luck).

For some reason, the Easter Bunny brought the children Whoopee Cushions. Perhaps it was spontaneity combined with a recent post that decided on this as a suitable basket stuffer. Whatever it was, I took pride with each cushion belch and startled look on an in-laws face. Yes, those are my kids. Happy Easter.

As for me, I did not get in my scheduled 16 mile LR. I feel like an addict without his fix when I miss my LR. I’m ornery, anxious, and stressed. In 8 days, I’ll officially be in Boston taper time. Not the time to be missing a long run. I’m shaking…I need my long run…need it…maybe I’ll break into my neighbors house, steal his TV, and sell it for a long run fix.

Rest assured, I’ll get it in tonight. We have parent-teacher conferences to find out how much I need to beat the kids and then, after this hopefully brief warm-up, it’s off. Me…the road…the moonlight…a frightening raccoon….and a few terrified dog walkers hearing me run up behind them. I may need to dodge some sprits of mace.

Maybe I should borrow those rabbit ears from Psycho Bunny. That would make a nice silhouette coming at you in the moonlight, wouldn't it?

Happy trails.**

** I’m thrilled to point out that no footnotes were used in the creation of this entry!!**

** Crap.

_____________________________

UPDATE: This was originally slated for publication on Monday. It is now Tuesday and the late night LR was accomplished.

16.11 miles
2:00:13 time
7:28 pace
0 macings

Marathon Breakdown: 5 Easy Steps

I've been spending some time on my long runs lately wondering what’s going to happen at the Boston Marathon. My past 2 marathons haven’t gone exactly as planned. In each, my calves were left shredded like Dolphins in a tuna can. (Save the Whales! Yes, I've chosen a side.)

With each race, I've cautiously approached the start like a kitten tiptoeing to a saucer of fresh milk.

Hold it.

What’s going on here?

My main metaphorical artery is clogged. Cripes. I need 40 cc’s of Shel Silverstein STAT!

I've determined that my marathon experience usually travels a range of emotions starting and ending with happiness. Those middle areas? Well, they’re like…like…bad…or something. (I’m going to need a booster shot of Kafka also.)

So, I’d like to relive these stages for you now. Here in my forum. Perhaps you stopped by for more discussion on Huey Lewis and have no interest in running? Perhaps you are now considering leaving. Perhaps, you know, you should just shut up about it and read on. There is a lesson to be learned here whether or not you are a runner or baker or needle pointer or reality TV star or, anything, really. The lesson? Nitmos don’t like miles 18-22. Take that and apply it to your own career or hobby. And you’re welcome.

With the metaphorical medicine working its metaphorical magic, I wish to liken each stage to that of a metaphorical relationship. **

My typical marathon in 5 easy to read stages.

Stage 1: Dating

Keyword: Exhilarating

The first few miles are exciting. Lots of new people. Lots to see and do (again, metaphorically, as really, you are just running). Everything is new and fresh. Hope abounds. What could go wrong? Depending on the size of the race, this is also the closest anyone will come to being part of an actual stampede.

Stage 2. The Honeymoon

Keyword: Happiness

Somewhere around miles 5-11, you've chosen your mate, er, pace. You are feeling pretty strong. The world is your Hello Kitty purse (let’s not get into this issue here). This marathon thing isn't so bad. The aid station water even tastes like a Bahama Mama served at a poolside Jamaican all-inclusive resort. You can imagine the stunned looks on your friends’ faces when you sprint out that 26th mile in 5:30, grab your banana (maybe a Fig Newton) and circle back to the start shouting over your shoulder that your are “going for a second lap”.

Stage 3: Career

Keyword: Contentment

In these middle miles, time has flown by. Where did the time go? Here you were savoring every mile just a short while ago and now you have become so distracted by career (the first signs of exhaustion) and family (my legs hurt) that you barely notice your sagging gut (knees hurt) and serious demeanor (serious demeanor). You've settled in now. It’s a haul but you are still up for it.

Stage 4: Trial Separation

Keyword: Pain

At some point after mile 18, all of the aches and pains suddenly hit. I hate this marathon. Where did the marathon I was dating go? You're thinking you don’t want anymore to do with it. The water now tastes like the collective spit of the aid station workers rubbing their hands together with a chorus of mwahahahas. Also, somewhere in this range, you typically fight the urge to punch a smiling spectator in the throat (at least, I do. I don't want to speak for everyone else.)

Stage 5: Renewed Vows

Keyword: Reconciliation

By mile 22, the worst has passed. All of those problems you had in the last stage were merely symptoms of a mid race crisis. You worked through it. You're looking forward to the finish now. Of course, since this is a race and not an actual relationship, you didn't get to own a Corvette, get a Gold’s gym membership, and wear gold chains and a muscle shirt during the last stage. You did, however, lose all feeling below the waist. So, in some respects, it’s the same.

By the time you cross the finish line, you're once again exhilarated and content. It was worth it! Now comes the post-race stage (Kids), where you’ll find non-stop aches and pains for the foreseeable future.

I expect to be in mid-race crisis somewhere in the Newton Hills of the Boston Marathon. If you are there and see a half crazed, Dolphin-hating runner, with an angry look in his eyes, cover your throats. Fair warning.

Happy trails.

** I realize some of these “metaphors” may actually be “similes”. If you noticed, this is another thing you can shut up about. **

** I also realize I have been using footnotes way too frequently. Guess what? I’m going to continue to use them starting with here. **

** Here **

** And here.

Hip To Be Square

So how do you follow up a landmark flatulence post? Judging by the response, I’m not the only one finding great hilarity in bodily secretions. Next up: barfing? No?? Nah.

The only way to move forward is to relax and let my chi flow naturally. This, after all, is what I am learning in Chi Running. So, relaxing, deep breathes…fart post leads me to…chi flowing…chi flowing…Huey Lewis and the News.

Okay, not where I expected to be (and certainly not flattering to the band itself) but, hey, chi lands where it lands. Don’t fight it.**

My cable company has been offering free footage from a 1987 Huey concert as part of their package services. Much to my wife’s dismay, I've been watching it. And enjoying every bit of it. Feathered hair, Jordache jeans, harmonicas, hi-top sneakers, whats not to love?

I know, I know, you’re asking yourself, 'Nitmos, how can I get my cable company to offer this concert?' Hey, you’ll need to ask for yourself. I’m not a miracle worker.

I’m in full throw back mode watching this spectacle unfold before me. All the hits from the Sports album. I’m transported back to the mid-80’s, cutting my lawn, wearing headphones and a Sony Walkman. Yes, heaven on earth. (ed. note: a Sony Walkman was a devise that played tapes and considered “mobile” at the time. It, in fact, was considerably more mobile than the turn table and gramophone my parents must have used when cutting their lawn.)

The Heart of Rock ‘n Roll
I Want a New Drug
Stuck on You
Power of Love (yes, from the Back to the Future soundtrack)
Workin’ for a Livin’
Hip to Be Square

The hits come rolling out. These guys aren't cool anymore? What happened? I was saving a concert t-shirt to pass along to my kids. You know, kind of like a 1960's Dad passing along his Rolling Stones shirt to the next generation…except the shirt is Huey Lewis and the kids couldn't give a shit. And, frankly, I wore it so much that there are gigantic holes in it. It’s now held together only by the interlocking arms of the clothing bacteria that have settled in and called it home. My wife hates this shirt. Its since been retired to a storage trunk in my basement resting comfortably with my parachute pants waiting for the day when both are cool again.

When you are an awkward teenager, Huey Lewis was the perfect pop star. Non-threatening. Not particularly handsome. And he looked like your dad. Or, at least, your friend’s dad. He was Hip to Be Square. And despite the pimples, bowl haircut, and forearms that were freakishly larger than my weak biceps, I was Hip to Be Square too. Or so I thought. Blissful ignorance is not a bad way to go about your life, after all.

And now comes word that Huey Lewis is penning and performing the title song to the new Seth Rogan (Knocked Up, Superbad) film Pineapple Express.

Brace yourself, folks. It’s going to be Hip to Be Square, again.

Where’s my key to that storage truck?

** I recognize the complete misuse of "chi" here. In no way does Chi Running suggest that by meditating on unsavory topics you will become focused on 80’s era bubble gum pop bands. If you want to reconnect with the inner Go-Go’s inside of you, I suggest meditating on 5 pink leotarded water skiing women.


Some maintenance updates here:

First, many thanks to Vanilla @ Half-Fast for allowing me to unleash sarcastic comments on his blog. I’m glad he’s realized it was in good fun and I’m not a Class A a-hole. Maybe Class B, but definitely not Class A. Check out his frequently funny blog on your way out of here. You can also leave your garbage there. Think of it as a virtual web rest stop.

This is a running blog – not a farting or Huey Lewis blog – so I should provide an update from the weekend. I knocked out my weekend log run. It’s the farthest I've gone in two months and the last few miles were a struggle. But, they’re done now. My calves can yell at me all they want. I’m the boss and they go where I say. After the run, they rebelled for a day or so but have since come around.

19.0 miles
2:21:12 time
7:26 pace

This weekend, I’ll cut my LR back to 16 miles.

Five weeks to Boston.

Happy trails.

You're Talkin' But Your Lips Ain't Movin'

Disclaimer: The following post contains absolutely nothing to do with running and is entirely without merit. It does contain a rather detailed explanation of a serious – potentially deadly – exposure to basic human bodily functions. In it, the descriptions are sophomoric. There is at least one poorly executed metaphor. If none of this appeals to you, please leave this blog and go about your day. Ultimately, you will be better for it.


My cubicle partner is a farter. I've come to grips with it.

In my quiet little office in Nowheresville, Michigan we are divided and caged into 6x6 cells arranged in a very symmetrical grid pattern throughout the building. Nothing but right angles as far as the eye can see. We are festooned in every neutral color possible. I was never before aware there were so many shades of tan in the world. There is absolutely nothing in here to offend anyone.

Except, perhaps, what we choose to bring in to the building. For this, there is a myriad of rules – itemized in bullet points to accommodate the necessary sub bullets for further clarification – to avoid the smallest ripple of nonconformity. The number of pictures on your desk; the type of pictures; the make and style of knick knacks; all of this detailed in a handy dandy rule book. ‘There will be no individuality here’ they subtly proclaim. Nothing is left to chance.

Except, there is a loophole. They didn't see it. They couldn't imagine it. But, it exists.

And my cubicle partner has found it.

We are allowed to see one other person while seated in our cubes. By craning my neck back and to the left, I can make out the rear 2/3’s of another human hunched over his desk clicking away at the keyboard. If not for the humming of the computer and the occasional pass for coffee, I wouldn't even know he was there.

Until recently, that is.

Sure, the company has done a wonderful job shaving off our individual rough edges and fitting us neatly together in a giant square puzzle consisting of smaller, perfectly square interchangeable pieces. However, we are still free to eat what we want for lunch.

And process that food in the manner our body sees fit.

And expel that waste in a truly independent form.

There are no rules here. Our digestive track is our own, uncharted process. Individuality exists! We are free people!

I think the first time I heard the rapid fire vrip, vrap, vrud I was stunned silent. Okay, that was clearly a fart. Out loud. With no effort to conceal it. Hmmm, alright. He’s a guy; I’m a guy. Fart jokes are funny. I craned my neck back to make eye contact for the shared you-just-farted-in-the-office snicker. He did not return my gaze but clicked away at the keyboard.

No big deal. No smell. No foul.

Then, it happened again. And again. Throughout the afternoon.

VRRRIPPPP. PFFFFT. FRRRRID

Different intonations. Different lengths to the notes. Different volumes. The dude is a gas maestro.

C’mon now, at this point, a sheepish grin is warranted at the very least. I can hear people two aisles over laughing out loud. There is guilt by association. For my honor, you must recognize this act. Own it.

He clicks away apparently oblivious.

This has gone on for weeks now. Every afternoon, like clockwork, it begins.

FFFRAPP FRRRRIP PFFFFTTPIP (there was a bubble at the end)

We are getting shameless cheek lifting action now.

I’m becoming so familiar with this routine that I think I’m able to accurately guess the amount, consistency, and texture of the man’s lunch.

One of the benefits of my solitary, analytical job is that I can plug in my headphones and rock out to some tunes whilst this Concerto in Chili Fries Minor is going on behind me. So far, there has been no accompanying odor. I must be safely outside of the evaporation zone.

Normally, I would let this type of behavior carry on without a single comment. It’s kinda funny. I can tune it out. Everyone knows he’s the office farter and not me. So, big deal, right?

However, it has unexpectedly sent me into an internal dilemma that I am spending way too much of my day thinking about. This can’t go on like this. I’m looking at months, potentially years, sharing this same area of the office with this gaseous man. There is only so much music in the world to conceal it. My ears are sore by the end of the day.

What to do?

I have considered saying something. He has, in fact, mentioned that he is a bit hard of hearing. Maybe he doesn't realize it is so loud? After all, he never becomes self conscious or appears to recognize in anyway that, well, that one was particularly moist. Should I do him a solid and point it out?

“Hey P____, can I get you some more coffee? And, by the way, everyone can hear you shitting your pants.”

-or-

“Um, excuse me, do you have to use the potty?”

I guess I could fight fire with fire and return volley. It might make me feel better. But he can’t hear so well. This might be futile.

I hate to embarrass the guy. I mean, he’s doing a pretty good job of it himself. I don’t want to be seen as the office Fart Policeman either. And Lord knows my wife can attest to the fact that I’m not anti-fart in anyway. But still….

Something must be done. For now, I’ll hunker down and wait it out. It might be a stage. I mean, for awhile in the 90’s, I thought I just might be the next lead singer of Van Halen but I got over it. This may pass. Lower G.I. order may be restored. Office conformancy may again reign supreme.

Unless the evaporative zone expands and I’m caught in the fumes. Then I’m coming out swingin’ baby. Chair overturning, paper flying, full windmill arms exacting justice on the head of the noxious perpetrator.

This I vow.

Happy trails.

Run, Fatboy, Run

First and foremost, yesterday was one of those runs that kicked ass. It was over 40 degrees and might as well have been 70 degrees for all I knew. Any break - even just 10 degrees above the norm - feels like a heat wave. I busted out content to simply shake the legs out after Sunday's LR. But I started loosening real quick and turned it into a Limbo Run (i.e. how low can you go?) to beat the previous mile. I love these kinds of runs. I stopped after 5 miles - that was the plan - but actually felt I could have gone even lower for mile 6.

5.0 miles
35:47 time
7:10 pace

Descending mile times of 7:34, 7:20, 7:17, 7:04, 6:33.

When reviewing this data on Garmin, I became warm and tingly. In fact, I didn't even bother to stuff Garmin back into the drawer afterwards. Seemed cruel somehow. Instead, I propped it up on a pillow next to me, tucking it in ever so gently past the first wrist strap, and let it watch some TV. I placed a Cheeto next to him but he wasn't hungry. Little fella wasn't hungry.

It felt great to leave the North Face bionic jacket at home also and opt for the lighter wind jacket. The bionic jacket is great in cold, windy weather. You never feel either. After a long winter though, it starts to feel like this:

I caught a commercial for a movie coming out that may appeal to the running crowd: Run, Fatboy, Run. Probably one of those 2 week in the theatre, quick release to DVD types as it doesn't have much broad appeal. However, it looks kinda amusing. Comedy, marathon running. It stars the same guy from Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz so, you know, you should be aware of what you are getting into.

Plus, I always find it amusing when the word "fatboy" is used. Same with "akimbo" and "persnickety". Amongst many others, these are money words for me.

Happy trails.

Staring Down the Barrel

So I awoke this morning and rolled out of bed and almost hit the floor. Normally, I don't have to consciously order "legs activate!" They do it on their own. I'm feeling the after effects of yesterday's 15 miler (and the rest of the day house painting).

My knees are sore. Not long term, debilitating sore. But 'oh-you-gave-me-a-pounding' sore. The pavement is unforgiving this time of year.

Did I really write a post about the benefits and general injury-freeness (it's a word, trust me) of Chi Running??

Actually, I have been quietly dealing with a right IT band achiness for the past few weeks but this area is really not very sore this morning. So, things are not a total loss. It had been killing me after recent 5 and 7 mile runs but not so much after this 15 miler. It could be that my different running technique is alleviating some pressure. Or it could be that I switched to shoes with quite a few less miles on them. Inevitably, when I start feeling leg soreness, the shoes are the culprit. One of these times, I'll switch the shoes out before this happens. But, shoes cost money and I want to soak every last mile I can out of them. I'm currently rotating three old pair in this training season. There's a couple miles left in all of them somewhere. And, really, once a pair sits for a week it magically adds a couple more miles doesn't it?

Yesterdays' run was my first in a long time in the redesigned Asics 2120's. I had been using the 2110's which were great shoes. The 20's have a stiffer mid sole. I'm not a fan. I may look at some Nimbus's next.

All in all, I was pretty happy with how the run went. I tried to hold a consistent 7:30/pace and just relax and practice some Chi running techniques. I was surprised to find myself wearing down around the 12 mile mark but, considering the wind and 5 lbs of clothing I was wearing, I managed alright.

15.01 miles
1:52:03 time
7:28 pace

I'm staring down the barrel of my training plan gun. This is the start of my maximum mileage weeks. As I've mentioned, I'm going to take it a wee bit easier in the build up to Boston to be a little fresher on race day. However, these next 3 weeks is where the big long runs will be run. This weekend, a nice 19 miler is planned. I'll try to remember to issue the Engage Legs command before rolling out of bed next Monday.

If there is a running God, I pray to thee:

Please make winter go away

Please send some 40+ temperature days

Please make the frozen ground thaw

Please redirect the wind elsewhere

Your humble servant.

Six weeks to Boston!

Chi Running: Some Thoughts

As I mentioned, I'm reading Chi Running by Danny Dreyer right now to see if there are some little gold nuggets of info I may benefit from with my own technique.

Conclusion: Eureka!

Well, that's a little strong. I wouldn't say I've struck gold in the form of becoming a relaxed, injury-free, sub 6 minute pace, Kenyan style running machine. However, I definitely think I'm taking a few bits of chi wisdom away with me.

I don't like the idea of taking someone's marketed thoughts and plopping them down in a free format such as this. They took the time to research, write, and create the book so I shouldn't heist the material and make it available for the world to see. (ed. note: when I say "world", I of course mean the handful of folks who stop by here on occasion). But I think I can give some thoughts on things I've learned and embraced while directing anyone interested to purchase the book and read more about it. After all, I'm sure I'm butchering the basic ideas anyhow.

With the disclaimer out of the way, on with the shewww...

The general idea here is that most runners tend to "power run" (i.e. run with their leg muscles propelling them forward). Chi running places the emphasis on form and technique thereby minimizing the actual effort from your leg muscles and, thus, minimizing leg injuries. It's an interesting concept. Who doesn't want to run just as fast (or faster) with less effort and fewer injuries?

So, I've been giving the concepts a try with my own training runs. I have only a handful of samples so far but I believe there are some quality ideas here.

First, the book extensively covers the "correct" running posture. That was a bit tedious but not without merit particularly if you aren't exactly sure where you should be holding your arms, shoulders, head, etc. I believe I was using proper posture before so I'm not sure this offered much to me.

Next, the book explores your running form in motion. Here's where it got gooood.

Power Running, the antagonist in this tale, uses your legs to reach forward and pull you down the road. This operates on maximum leg muscle usage. Maximum strain and pressure on your feet, calves, hamstring, etc. And maximum chance for exhaustion of these muscles and injury.

Chi Running argues that most runners need to lean slightly forward from your ankles - keeping their running posture intact - to position the center of gravity in front of your body rather than the center of your body. (Note: Do Not Bend At Your Waist!) You are then using gravity itself as a propellant to move you forward rather than your legs. You should keep your legs and hips (and, really, your entire body) relaxed and loose. You then move your legs under your body - instead of "reaching" forward with them - and work with the natural gravitational forces to move your body forward. Your legs will kick out the back more whereas in Power Running your knees rise up higher in front of you. The "lean" is your gas pedal. If you want to go faster you lean slightly further. This sounds a bit unusual while reading, I know. I had images of folks getting so intent with going faster that they literally fall forward on their faces. Keep in mind we are talking a very small, almost imperceptible lean by the casual observer. You can feel it even if others can't see it.

I've tried this on a few training runs...focusing on my core (from which the chi flows), keeping my legs loose and relaxed, and leaning a bit forward from my "normal" running stride. It's a work in progress still but I definitely have noticed less strain on my leg muscles already. I think I have been getting into a bad habit of bouncing when I ran which was causing undue strain on my calves and hamstrings. By practicing some Chi Running, my legs have felt fresher during my runs and better after my runs. I have become very aware of my legs and noticed that they are often very tense when I run. Now, while running, I constantly evaluate the strain on my legs and remind myself to keep them loose and relaxed.

One of the techniques the book uses to demonstrate the difference between Power Running and Chi Running is to have you stand and run in place. You can feel the muscles under stress in your legs. Now, stand straight up and let yourself fall forward a bit and catch yourself by taking a step forward. You have now shifted the propellant from you leg muscles to gravity. When you took a step forward to catch yourself, your leg muscles were probably loose and relaxed but you still moved forward.

Interesting. I'm not a big T'ai Chi or Eastern philosophy type of guy. But I am open to new ideas or concepts. Especially anything that proposes that I can do something better with less effort.

Many of you are probably already incorporating a lot of the ideas in this book in your regular routine without knowing it. For me, this has been a good reminder to remove the emphasis from my leg muscles and back into a better form. I think I lost a bit of my form over the last several months.

So, take it for what it's worth.

Happy trails.

The Big Melt

Welcome March! It's in the mid 50's today and Ole Man Winter is taking a beating. I've seen several slumped, defeated Frosty's in my neighbor's yards. As Nelson from the Simpson's would say, "Ha Ha".

Of course, we could get another wintry blast any day now. For now, though, I'm delighting in another sign of spring. For the past several years, I've noticed that my mood is directly related to the thermometer. The hotter the better. Why do I live in Michigan? A question I've asked myself often...

Unfortunately, this big melt has come a day late. My run yesterday morning was completed on less than desirable running surfaces. The sidewalk was either:

(a) a big slushy pool of water soaking my foot to the ankle -or-
(b) a solid sheet of ice that froze over night from the previous days thaw -or-
(c) three inches of loose snow in an area that doesn't get direct sunlight.

Take your pick. I ran from one of these conditions into the next often going through all three in a short 1/4 mile span.

My knees are paying for it today. I think running on loose snow is the worst. It's like trying to run across beach sand. Your feet give a little out to the side with each step increasing the torque on your knees. I sat with an ice bag on my right knee last evening. I have a nice limp today. Ole Man Winter is not going down without a fight. It's taking my knees hostage.

Last year, Boston received a nice blizzard the day of the marathon. Don't think I haven't forgotten that either.

10.6 miles
1:19:00
7:27 pace

Congratulations to my friend Phil who completed the Little Rock Half Marathon over the weekend. One of these years, my wife and I will make it down to visit/run this race.

On a completely unrelated note, has anyone seen the flick Michael Clayton? It was up for Best Picture and, frankly, I found it boring. My wife fell asleep and I had to fight the urge myself. I'm not one that needs explosions or car chases to entertain me either. I found the whole thing pretty predictable and bland. I guess I didn't "get" what all the hype was about.

I guess I shouldn't go through the trouble of reviewing movies though after featuring Meatballs prominently in my last post. Me = credibility all shot to hell!

Happy trails.

February Sucks (and other musings)

It's almost over. The worst month of the year is ending.

Besides running issues, February is the epicenter of the mid winter blahs around our house. I love how you get a few inches of snow, followed by a thaw and some sun, then - YOINK! - another couple inches of snow again. Cruel, cruel, cruel...

As Sinclair Lewis so aptly put it: "Winter is not a season, it's an occupation."

However, my Wii tennis and bowling skills have become really strong over the last several weeks stuck inside the house. So, I have that going for me.

Anyone remember the film Meatballs? Really, pretty bad. I caught this on cable over the weekend. But I did appreciate the trip down memory lane with the lovable, stereotypical nerd, Spaz. Who could forget Spaz?

Also, congratulations to Rudy for winning the intercamp Olympiad trail race at the end of the film. Bet you don't consider Meatballs a running film do you?

This past Sunday, I tackled 13 miles for my longest run since the Goofy Challenge in my slow, behind schedule build up to Boston.

13.03 miles

1:37:54 time

7:31 pace

This is cutback week for me. Really, about the only one in the schedule. From here on out, it is full steam ahead towards April 21st!

Happy trails.

Steers Nation, Unite!

There are two relevant definitions for "steer".

The verb:

direct the course; determine the direction of travelling
-or-
be a guiding or motivating source or drive

The noun:

castrated bull

I'll let you, the reader, pick your favorite definition.

You've probably seen the Steers logo pop up on a few blogs, namely here and here, in addition to mine. But what is it? What does it mean?

Well, I'm a second generation Steer. I was not there at the founding fathers creation. I do not know all the ins and outs of how the group came to be. (I have an idea but will leave that story for someone truly in the know). Rest assured, the Steers are not steeped in secrecy like the Freemasons or as mysterious as the druids.

The name has stuck through many Gus Macker basketball tournaments and other events where a team name is required. There have been several members that have gone to war under the Steers banner at one time or another. It has become a loose affiliation of friends and allies working together for a common goal. Yes, basically, the Steers kick ass. *

The group has slowly transitioned from basketball to running over the years. Now, the Steers Long Distance Project has come to being. We expect to challenge the Brooks-Hanson team, another cross state running group, for supremacy within a few years. **

It appears there will be at least 3, possibly 4, Steers present at the Bayshore races in May. We expect a wave of new enrollees shortly thereafter.

We are but a seedling, being cultivated and nurtured before the blossom.

Run with the Steers! Or get the horns.

* As much as one can with a lifetime near .500 record in basketball tournaments
** Only if all of their members join us. We offer no compensation of any kind.

Last night, 6 2/3 miles @ 7:20 pace. Each mile was progressively faster starting at 7:29 and ending at 7:09. Each week I'm trying to mix in at least one outdoor faster paced run.

Note: I have recently become aware that anonymous commenting was not supported on my blog. I have now enabled this feature. So, you Steers out there without a google account, make yourselves known!

The Core, The Core, The Core

Master: You must concentrate on the tan t'ien. Only then will your arms and legs relax and allow you to succeed.

Grasshopper: Yes, master. I will concentrate on my core and my arms and legs will be like cotton moving effortlessly with my running stride.

So, I'm reading Chi Running (shown to the right) which promotes the principles of T'ai Chi and how it relates to running. I'm always open to new ideas. Many times I cherry pick a thought or concept here and there from different books/studies I read and absorb it into my own collective knowledge database. Rarely do I embrace an entire concept, in whole, and live it. I have a bit too much of an independent streak for that. Though I am not quite through with it yet, Chi Running is one of those books where I can realize some benefits but will probably not embrace the entire concept.

So far, I have really latched onto the idea that the most efficient, effortless, injury free running comes when you shift the focus off your arms and legs and instead concentrate on your core. The book suggests that most runners mistakenly think about their running stride and each foot fall while in the act of running. Or spend too much time worrying about building leg or arm muscles to propel themselves forward. Chi Running, using concepts from T'ai Chi, proposes that the best running comes when you forget about your arms and legs and instead concentrate on your core (the area behind and slightly below the navel) and allow that to become the energy force that moves you forward. It sounds a bit abstract and hard to define. I'm struggling with exactly what it means myself (though, again, I'm not entirely through the book yet. Patience, grasshopper, patience).

The idea is that your core, or tan t'ien (or dantien), is the basic center of your gravity/energy. By using that energy force to move you forward, your legs and arms simply become appendages to carry out the running motion. The pressure is relieved from your legs particularly and you develop a more natural, relaxed stride. Running injuries, the book suggest, are the result of too much muscular pressure on the legs to move the body forward.

Cotton and steel: All movements originate from your center, which should be strong like steel while your arms and legs remain soft, like cotton.

I have gone on a couple runs recently, albeit treadmill runs, and have focused on my core and completely forgot about my arms and legs and let them do their own thing naturally. I have to say, I did feel a lot more comfortable while running. I felt quicker. And I had minimal post-run hamstring soreness which I had been experiencing quite a bit of over the last several weeks.

I'm going to keep giving this technique a shot. I can't say that I've been concentrating on my legs previously. But I know I was NOT focusing on my core. Maybe the change in mental focus will lead to a better physical performance. We'll see. Stay tuned.

I wonder what else is in the book?

Right now, I'm still waxing the car...wax on, wax off...and not seeing the whole picture.

12 treadmill miles Sunday.
4.5 treadmill miles last night.

I'll do 6.5 miles tomorrow and 13 on Saturday (possibly with Mike). Hopefully, those will be done outside.

Nine weeks to Boston!

Happy trails.

Best Laid Plans

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

From the poem "To a Mouse" By Robert Burns

Scottish!

My plans for the Boston Marathon are coming together. Hotel is booked. Flight is booked. Maps are googled. What could go wrong? Or, what could 'gang aft agley'? What does that mean? Is that English?

Ahh, the magic of google. "Gang aft agley" is Scottish for 'often go awry'. So, there you go.

It appears everything is set to go but the training itself. I am proceeding slowly but diligently. I expect to get only one 20 miler in before the marathon. This will be my third marathon in 6 months. A feat I hope NOT to repeat. I really feel two a year is enough and will be the plan going forward. However, the whole Goofy Challenge plans were made and then the BQ occurred and I couldn't afford NOT to go to Boston and risk not qualifying again in the future. So....

I'm trying to balance keeping the legs fresh while getting in shape for Boston. I probably won't be in peak condition but I hope to be in healthy, energized condition if you know what I mean.

These are the plans. I hope they don't gang aft agley. (No? Not working for you? How do you work eighteenth century Scottish slang into every day conversation??)

Fun facts: Robert Burns is most commonly known as Scotland's national poet, the Ploughman's Poet, or, simply, The Bard. He is revered. You may know him as the creator of the New Year's poem/song Auld Lang Syne.


Update: Nipple-gate

A quick word on my last post. I am still basking in the after glow of working a nipple photo into my post. A prouder accomplishment one could not have. However, my wife did want me to make it clear that the nipple was not hers either. Nor anyone we know (as far as we know). It was simply an anonymous nipple found through a google search of 'areola'. The wonders of the web!

Happy trails.

Zero Degrees and Wind: A Hate Story

Just in time for Valentine's Day...

If I had to list my two least favorite conditions to run in they would be:

1) WIND

2) COLD

I hate them. This Sunday? Check. And check. The thermometer was dancing between zero and negative 2 degrees with every icy blast of wind. What a horrible, horrible day to have to run 10 miles.

So, I did what any sane, non-Grizzly Adamish person would do. Yes, the treadmill. Inside. Warm. TV.

Of course, you can't really hear the TV at the gym. Nor see it so well with all the heads bopping up and down in front of you on the ellipticals. And the please-oil-me sound of the mill, well, GRATING comes to mind.

But at least it's not out in the freezing cold. There is simply no way my nipples would have survived. Sure, they serve no purpose. I don't plan to nurse any babies any time soon. But they're nice to have around and make a nice focal point for the rather obnoxious looking areola. So I'll do what I can for 'em.

Not mine. Rest easy.

(Yes, I am congratulating myself for finding a reason to get a photo like this into a blog post!)

Ten miles at around a 7:40 pace. Nice and easy if you pleasy. No hamstring soreness to report (I said I was no longer going to dwell on various muscle issue but I'm allowed one in 2008 aren't I?)

I've come to grips with the fact that I'll probably be heading into Boston a bit undertrained. I won't be chasing the 3 hour mark or probably even a PR as I once planned months ago. I'd be content with a second best time ever. For that, I merely need to avoid the "c" word. Yes, cramps.


In other news...

My son's basketball season wrapped up. We now have about a month of uninterrupted time where there are no after school activities to go to. Woo-hoo!

The best TV show you've never heard of on F/X: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. With episodes like "Charlie Gets Molested", "The Gang Exploits a Miracle", and "Mac Bangs Dennis' Mom". How can you go wrong?

My dishwasher crapped out on me. Before it did, it rumbled, shook, groaned, caused a slight buckle in my wood laminate floor, and died with a most horrific metal screeching noise (think train and sudden braking). At least, that's what I was told. I was at the gym running, see above, and unable to be at the kitchenside vigil. R.I.P. Kenmore Quiet Wash II, R.I.P.