Devil in the White Dress

That giant depressed sigh you heard last evening came from the Midwest. Not any one place in particular…just kind of everywhere. Collectively, we all looked out the window at the innocent-looking, fluttering flakes accumulating in inches and heaved a gentle, defeated sigh. Last night, the Devil returned to mid-Michigan wearing his (her?) white dress.*

You would think that, having lived my entire life in this region, I’d dourly accept this fate. The Devil always sweeps in this time of year with a train of cold, wet ice and snow leaving a wake of downed power lines, ditched cars, and frustrated runners. Traditionally, white is the color of angels. Not in my book. It’s White Death, White Hate, and White Menace. White is the color your body parts turn when blood – liquid life - is removed. White is the face of a vampire. White is my face when threatened with watching another vampire Twilight movie.** What color do things turn when they die? Do they whither and turn red or black? No, they turn white. White is the color of death and it’s all over my running trails.

Perhaps I’m being over dramatic *** but I’m pretty sure this region is basically uninhabitable. On November 29th we received the first snow fall of the winter. There’s a decent chance that the last snow fall will occur on April 29th….FIVE MONTHS LATER. Of course, you’ll always get the contrarians among us who will loudly proclaim how Michigan enjoys ALL FOUR SEASONS – isn’t it great! – we have it so good here. The problem, of course, is that winter lasts 5 months, a typically cold spring another 2 months, summer just 2 months, and then right into fall for 3 months. Notice how many warm months are in there? We have all four seasons for sure but they sure aren’t equal partners.

Maybe I’m just being pissy as well as over dramatic. A new marathon was announced recently for its inaugural run next year. I was excited. There is currently no marathon in the local vicinity. I could sleep in my own warm little bed, eat my own little porridge out of my own little bowl, take my pre-race nervous crap in my own little crapper, and come home to my own little refrigerator for my own little post-race beer.

But then I found out the race is on April 22nd. Seriously?? That means the 20+ mile training runs need to be completed in February and March. In Michigan. Most likely, in several inches of snow and ice. What dented head set this up? No, thanks. I’ll continue driving elsewhere and sleep in a cold, unfamiliar bed, eat a stranger’s porridge (t.w.s.s.), crap into an unfriendly porcelain bowl. My excitement was quickly smothered. The devil was in the details.

On this blog, you never hear me complain about the heat. Not even when its 100 degrees and I’m doing 16 miles. But you sure as hell are going to hear me complain about the snow. For five months. Brace yourself. I spy 23 more f-bombs to describe the snow and cold ahead!

It is no good casting out devils. They belong to us, we must accept them and be at peace with them.
D. H. Lawrence

The dance with the devil has just begun. I'll submit because I need my miles so I’ll do the Two-Step; I’ll do the Fox Trot; I may even do some Dirty Dancing (because the Devil never puts me in the corner). Heck, I maaay even let him get away with a reach around – idle appendages are the devil’s playthings after all - but that’s as far as I’ll go.

Unless winter lasts longer than 5 months. A fella can only hold out for so long. Tee-hee.

Happy shoveling.

*Not making a slur here…just saying he dresses somewhat FAHBULOUS (snap snap) to not at least ask the question.
**For the record, I did see the first two Twilights as rentals. I have kids, don’t judge. But it does allow me to know that of which I speak. Those movies are horrible. Seriously, horrible. And I’ve watched a lot of dreck in my life. Those two Twilight movies rank right down there with the dreckiest of dreck right along with the Alvin and the Chipmunk movies (I have kids, don’t judge, again.)
***Hard to believe right? You’ll need to excuse the devlish imagery. I’m smack in the middle of The Master and the Margarita and the scene where Margarita, doused in blood, is drawn into Satan’s Ball. After you’ve enjoyed the descriptions of Woland and his retinue, you’ll never see the devil any other way…if you go about seeing the devil, that is.

Tips for a Pleasant Thanksgiving

First, remember to cut left to right in one continuous motion with a sharp blade….

Proper drainage is important. Your family will appreciate the difference! If you don’t home slaughter, ask your local butcher or grocer for graphic details on how the turkey draining is handled.

Other tips:

· A turkey’s esophagus can be turned into a wonderful coke snorting straw to help you get through the family gathering. (Bonus tip: Eyeballs serve as corks for either end for easy transporting! And since its all natural, it won’t show on an airport rectum scanner.) I’m like the Martha Stewart of turning animal parts into handy drug paraphernalia crafts!

· As you know, there is a War on Thanksgiving.* Please confront anyone that says “Happy T-Day” or “Happy Turkey Day” with the proper “No, Happy THANKSGIVING!” with extra emphasis on the THANKS part. Also, be needlessly indignant and condescending as if their greeting was intended to be some sort of political message. You can’t take the THANKS out of Thanksgiving after all. It’s the reason for the season!

· Since the first Thanksgiving actually occurred in 1621 –well before the formation of the United States – this should actually be considered a British holiday. So feel free to get ridiculously drunk and repeatedly proclaim that you ain’t gonna celebrate no holiday for the Monarchy. While you’re doing it, you could toss in a horrible British accent and sprinkle in “old chap” into your diatribe.

· Make sure to run. A lot. It’s a great reason to get out of the house and away from the “beloved” relatives. Heck, even if you don’t feel like running, you could at least tell people you are going to do five miles, put on your running clothes, and then sit out in the woods behind the house with either a pack of cigarettes or the turkey esophagus for 45 minutes.

· Remember that, no matter how miserable you are, you still aren’t nearly as miserable as every character in a Twilight movie. Oh, and don’t go see a Twilight movie. They are horrible.

· Thanksgiving only lasts one day (or 2-3 days if the relatives insist on staying). You can survive it. And then you have at least three weeks to recharge before Xmas. You’ve run trail runs, half marathons, full marathons and/or ultra marathons. You can do this too! Thanksgiving is an endurance sport too.

· Drink terrible beer like Schiltz or Stroh’s or Pabst. You don’t want this awful family gathering to ruin your favorite beer. Think cognitive association here. Grueling holiday + favorite beer may associate your beer to something bad. No good. Go all in on the misery…drink Schlitz.

I hope you all have a Happy THANKSgiving! Also, Happy Holidays. Yeah, that’s right I said HOLIDAYS instead of Christmas. That means I’m making a political statement. I’m wishing you a Happy Holiday rather than a Merry Christmas, want to fight about it?**

Here's to hoping you don't want to cut your own neck, like the turkey above, by the time this is through! Game on.

Happy T-Day.

*Seriously, I watch cable news and they tell me this all the time so it must be true.
**Isn’t the derivative meaning of “holiday”, “holy day”? Am I missing something? I’m too exhausted to care.

How to Increase Blog Traffic Without Even Trying!

Many of you may be wondering how, after five years of blogging, I’ve built such a pathetically meager audience. Obviously, I’m filthy-mouthed, sarcastic, have an unusual preoccupation with llamas, and insult you all on a regular basis. If I haven’t offended you yet, stick around, it’s coming.

Wait, what am I trying to communicate here? How to drive the rest of you leeches away? No, this about how you maintain a core audience of degenerates while never, ever expanding. If you would like to have similar crews of sycophantic reader monkeys – such as yourself - as your audience, follow these, er, following steps:

1) Insult people in their own blog comments.

If you aren’t making enemies, you aren’t trying. Call someone a sycophantic monkey in their own blog comments. If they come by and insult you back, game on! And then let the blog hits follow. People love a good sissy name-calling fight. Donald Trump tries to do it all the time with Rosie O’Donnell and look how popular they are. I may have even done it once or twice myself.

2) Pretend to Know Things

Many of you already employ the ‘here’s more running advice’ technique. Hell, I do it myself all the time. It’s great because (a) it makes you seem smart (b) it makes you seem compassionate to share this valuable information (c) you aren’t a professional so no one can call you on it and (d) provides cover for the real purpose of your blog: to insult people and hurt peoples’ feelings. Reader monkeys will keep coming back if they think what you’re saying sounds intelligent. Try deploying a few “listen to your body” references - love those! -when discussing a training technique. No one knows what that means but it sure sounds like solid, unassailable, No Shit Sherlockian advice. Give me more of that!

3) Take a Contrarian Position

When the whole brouhaha over the BAA changing the Boston Marathon qualification standards occurred last Spring, every bloghole with a blog decided to give their opinion that, basically, they didn’t like it. No shit, Sherlock. Some tried to sound all understanding and created thousands of words that ultimately could have been said with a shoulder shrug and a “well, that’s what they want to do sooooo…whaddya going to do?” I even took Boston to task by basically saying eff you and your race.*

I like to take the opposite approach. Want to get a running coach? You’re an idiot. When have you ever seen softball guy with a softball coach? C’mon, get off your high horse, amateur. See? That right there pissed off four dozen of my reader monkeys. They are deciding right now whether to leave a comment or quietly fume and click elsewhere, to a safer spot, so that they can be reminded to wear bright clothing when running in the dark. Either way, they’ll come back to laugh, cry, fume, or click away in an angry huff. No matter the emotion, it all counts as one hit. Notice how often I like to stoke this fire? Remember: Use your blog for Good (i.e. to anger people).

4) Porn.

Dirty porn (obvs.) The more ponies, the better (obvs).

5) Tie Your Blog to Already Popular Movies, Images, or Skeevy Searches

You want to know the most popular reason folks come here, besides pure animal attraction, on days when I don’t have a new post? That would be this post. There are apparently a ton of folks trying to find this image on Google and I, apparently, am near the top of that search list (search for ‘Shitter is full’ and good ole F.M.S. is near the top of the results!) In fact, I have a few images that I’ve “borrowed” that create traffic all by themselves. They are

1 Shitter is Full
2 Inbreds
3 Hello Kitty nipples

The Eastern Europeans (and one particular household in Happy Valley, PA!) seem to really love their "Hello Kitty nipple" searches. I don’t want to know what that’s all about but, it got so bad, that I actually went back and removed the words and images from the original post just to prevent Interpol from knocking on my door one day. See? Of course, now that I’ve relinked the words “Hello Kitty “ and “nipples” (as well as “dirty porn”) to my site, I can safely say WELCOME BACK, EASTERN EUROPEANS!

But maybe, for some reason, you don’t wanna be like me. Maybe you like llamas, you want to dispense fairly obvious advice in an innocuous setting, and you have something against image stealing and dirty porn. Whatev….you do what’s best for you and your blog, reader monkeys, because, at the very least, you should always listen to your body.

Follow these 5 steps and I have no doubt that your blog will also barely register as existing on the internet! However, you may trap a few unfortunate folks in your net. Look, just by the title alone, I’ll no doubt bring a few people here thinking they are actually going to get good advice about How to Increase Blog Traffic. Instead, they got references to pony sex so maybe they should have just LISTENED TO THEIR BODIES and not come here at all.

Suckers.

Happy saddling...and LISTEN TO YOUR BODY.

*But since I totally want to run Boston again, I didn’t mean any of that. Hugs and kisses. Did I ever mention that your new qualifying standards go great with your eyes?

Randumbery Reads the Fine Print

I used to run this semi regular feature called "Randumbness" about, as you would guess, various random and dumb things going on. It was nice page filler. You thought you were getting actual carefully constructed content. Instead, you were getting fluff, filler, time wasters. I'm not saying this to foreshadow this post. I'm just saying the post title is Randumbery and if you can put 2 and 2 together....well, we'll both be pleasantly surprised at your cognitive skills.

NYQ!

Remember how I got all indignant like two posts ago because my automatic qualification for the 2012 NYC Marathon was yanked right from under me by newly revised time standards? Remember how I whined, went all ethnocentric, and made up a new, slightly blasphemous character named Jesus H. Beardsley and then put him on a Popsicle stick?

Welp, it turns out that one of my anonymous readers is a more diligent reader than I. I was so focused on the new chart showing age/time standards for automatic entry into New York going forward that I didn’t bother to read the fine print. Underneath the chart announcing the time standard for a 40 year old shifting from 1:30 to 1:23 for a half marathon qualifier, it says:

Because the 2012 race qualifying period is already open, this new policy will take effect beginning with the 2013 race.

You know what that means right? NYQ! NYQ! NYQ! In other words, I don’t have to put my name into a lottery like some unwashed commoner. Nitmos deserves his special treatment and it appears that New York also desires to massage his shoulders and give him a manny/peddy!

Now, I need to be quick on the draw once the registration opens – usually not a problem for me. Have you booked your room yet? I have…just in case. I want to be as close as possible to those high class New York hookers.*

Speak of the Devil

Dick Beardsley was in my nape of the woods…neck of the wape…he was here the other day. The guy keeps coming by my local running store…which is only about 2 miles from my house. Yeah, he’s a bit of a creeper. Probably drives a panel van.

Actually, I saw him speak two years ago – you can find that little write-up here – and he was a fascinating speaker. If he’s in your area, don’t be afraid to go and give him a listen. Very entertaining. If you were ever wary of threshers before, you’ll be downright scairt after.

I couldn’t go this time, restraining orders being what they are and all. Besides, at this point, there’s really nothing more left to say. It’s long past time for Duel in the Sun II: Tears of Beardsley**.

Health Scare

It’s time to sign up for health insurance again through my company! This is annually one of my favorite times of the year. It’s always clever how those wacky insurance carriers find new and incredibly deceptive ways to hide their decreased coverage and increased costs. It’s like a little demented game…find the new loophole that’ll screw you if you’re not careful!

I’m not Viperian frugal but I like to save a buck as much as the next Viper. Thus I try to find that perfect balance between decent coverage and cheapest out of pocket costs. What results, typically, is partial coverage. Case in point: Mrs. Nitmos wears glasses (or contacts). She’s a candidate for Lasik. But my carrier will only cover half the costs of Lasik. Well, I’m not a rich heartless banker, like Ian, so I can only pay so much. We compromised: She had one eye Lasiked but not the other. There is no need for glasses in one eye now – and I’m not going to pay for something unneeded – so now she wears a monocle. You’d be surprised how cheap you can buy a monocle. A lot of time, it comes with a free Charlie McCarthy doll.

Compromise! It’s what the Nitmos family does…

And that’s Randumbery for today, folks. Hey, here’s a completely unnecessary photo of my colt schooling some poor bow-legged kid. Left defender, away!Happy trails.

*The kind with less herpes.
**I’m still writing it but waiting for the obvious conclusion to unfold. I’ve already gotten some interest from a publishing house. When I sent off my draft, one house replied, “This is the least interesting sequel in the history of sequels. We’d be more interested in a book about a snake slowly ingesting a panda for 300 pages. Might have broader appeal”, which, I think, is pretty promising because who wouldn’t read a snake/panda book?

Shadin' Away Again in Margaritaville

Be sure to drink your Ovaltine! Yep, you’re reading the first line of another commercial.

Well, not so much a “commercial” as a “product review”. And not so much “Ovaltine” as “Jimmy Buffett sunglasses”. Seriously, I have no idea how this ended up in my Inbox. I was offered a free pair of shades from an obvious Jimmy Buffett affiliated sunglass company called Margaritaville. They must have caught wind that I like to drink lots of rum, swing in hammocks, wear flowered beachwear, waste away again (and again and again)* and hate to squint. Since they gave me my selection of eyewear, the least I could do is offer an unbiased product review right?

This was an interesting product to receive free in exchange for a review. First, it only vaguely has anything at all to do with running. There are sunglasses made and marketed specifically for athletes. These are not those. There are blogs devoted to Jimmy Buffett, island life, or general interest in cheeseburgers and/or paradise. This is not that. To my knowledge, I’ve never mentioned Buffett or created much discussion of sunglasses in any way. Yet, there it was…an email offering a free pair of $150+ sunglasses. Why? I don’t know but I know better than to - what’s the old saying? - look a gift Jimmy Buffett in the mouth.

Sunglasses and I generally don’t get along. We are a bad mix…like Jerry Sandusky and tickle fights.** My face, while initially sculpted by angels but finished rough-sawn by the Carpenter, is a tough match for most sunglasses. They are generally too wide, too round, too douchebaggy for my smallish, angular skull. In fact, one of my hobbies is trying on sunglasses at nearly every store we enter that sells them. Somewhere, the perfect match exists…if only I could find it! I usually leave as disappointed as Mrs. Nitmos after our own tickle fight. I knew right off that ordering online was going to be tricky. I selected the Cayman model as it looked to be one of the smaller lenses but had the highest potential to make me look like Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino. (I don’t care what Abercrombie and Fitch says about me either, Mike. Word.)

That’s the Cayman model I received above. You won’t find a picture of me wearing them. As usual, they are too big for my face. I look less like The Situation and more like Ponch from CHiPS. They came in a nice little dry textured case (which makes me lick my fingers every time I touch it). They are as light as Erik Estrada’s coiffed, feathery look. I could see where they would be very runnable if you wanted to do that. You can barely feel them on your face. Like The Situation himself, there’s almost nothing to them.

They wear well. They shade well. They smell, well, like nothing in particular but that’s hardly important. What’s important is that Jimmy Buffett can wear them, The Situation can wear them, Erik Estrada can wear them. Hell, even YOU can wear them and pull it off. Me? Not so much.

The sunglasses are obviously a quality product. I’m sure you can find something at Margaritaville that’ll work for you. At the very least, I found something myself…a newly ignited desire for another ChiPS reunion. (Duh Duh Da-Dat Daaaahhh.) But, seriously, light, high quality, a little palm tree outline on the frame…

But now I’m just repeating things like a trained parrot.

Happy shading.

*And again and again and again.
**too soon?

American Wins NYC Marathon!

…if finishing 6th counts as “winning” (duh). But what was I suppose to announce: A Kenyan Wins A Marathon? Yeah, right, I guess I could bury that headline right below Sky is Blue, Tootsie Rolls Are Delicious Little Gobs of Fecally-Reminiscent Goodness, and Guy Fieri Annoys Mankind. That’s not “news”. “News” is something, you know, new. But with all of the sensationally awful news coming from Penn State these days, it’s hard to get an eye-grabbing headline out there.*

Meb Keflezighi finished 6th in New York last Sunday with a time of 2:09:13. That’s pretty good. Not Dick Beardsley good. He ran a 2:08:53 at 1982 Boston (aka “Duel in the Sun”) however, as I’ve established, he’s a Gu shooting Runzilla that patrols Heartbreak Hill shredding runners’ calf muscles. As far as I know, Meb does not have a Godzilla lower body nor shoot lasers and Gu from his eye sockets so, considering his disadvantages, that’s a pretty solid effort.

What will it take for an American – heck, a Canadian (don’t snicker) or a European – to win a marathon major? Do we need a Rob Sloan kind of effort?

Maybe New York is just waiting for…ME.** A natural born American hasn’t won New York since 1979 (Bill Rodgers). Meb (2009) and Alberto Salazar (3 times) won it since but, like Obama***, they were born elsewhere and later became Americans. I was born in Michigan. I have all of my teeth, never played Spin the Bottle with an unattractive relative, and, during two winters of my youth, spent an inordinate amount of time on a snowmobile. I’m as American as excessive flag waving and an inflated sense of entitlement. So, why not me? I feel like I’m entitled. U-S-A, U-S-A!

One little problem. You see, after the whole Boston dust-up this year where they reworked the entrance requirements (i.e. tightened the standards forcing all of us to work harder), I figured it was the first domino that would eventually sweep through all of the major marathons. Every large, popular race would re-evaluate their registration process/entrance requirements. New York, known for its exhaustive lottery system, also has a backdoor entrance. Well, I’m a backdoor kind of guy.****For 2011, a man of my age could automatically qualify and avoid the lottery by running a half marathon in less than 1:30. Really, just 1:30? Really. So, bingo, I knocked off a couple of 1:26-7ish’s this year preparing for the 2012 registration. Based on 2011 standards, I was NYQ’ed!

You can see where this is going right?

That’s right, sons of bitches changed the standard for 2012. I knew it was probably coming but hoping they wouldn’t adjust for one more year. Or, at least, it’d only drop to 1:27. To auto-qualify for 2012, now I’d have to run below 1:23 in a half marathon. 1:23? Am I a fucking ROBOT? Who does that? Do they not realize how many Tootsie Rolls I’ve been eating? Jesus H. Beardsley on a popsicle stick…that’s quite a requirement change.

They’ve also renovated the traditional lottery system so, if you were interested, you better check the new requirements. All of these changes seem designed to specifically keep me away from their marathon. Clever...a more subtle version of a restraining order. I guess they’re not interested in a natural born American winner. And, make no mistake, I was coming to win.

Well, I still want to run NY just to put another notch on my Asics so…I could chance it in the lottery or roll up my sleeves and make my dreams a reality through my sweat, determination, and solid Midwestern work ethic.

In other words, lottery, here I come!

Happy trails.

*Could I suggest another though? How ‘bout “Man Continues Abusing Children For Years After All Notified Adults Have Met Their Legally Obligated, Contractual Reporting Requirements So, You Know, Not Their Fault”.
**See how I casually pivoted the conversation back to me? Don’t like it? Screw you, it’s my blog and narcissism reigns around here.
***Take it easy, just throwing the Tea Partiers a bone.
****You know what I mean.

Tootsie Roll Challenge

I believe I professed my love for Tootsie Rolls a few weeks back buried deep within this post concerning my love for …spite (and anus waxing). If I need remind you, I believe Tootsie Rolls are little gobs of fecally-reminiscent goodness wrapped in a fun little pull and twist package! But, to be clear, the order of things I love from that post should go:

1. Tootsie Rolls
2. Spite
3. Anus waxing

Folks often get #1 and #3 mixed up and I advise you not to do so. The pull and twist open meets with substantially different results. Trust me…you do a 1-3 year stretch for orphanage arson and tell me they’re the same.

I was going to present a lengthy sonnet in Shakespearean iambic pentameter to really describe my fascination with the rolled Tootsie but said fuck it so all you get is a lousy haiku. Suck it, sonnets!

Tootsie Rolls are sweet
I Am Not Above Murder
To Obtain This Treat

With Halloween behind us, the Tootsie Roll supply is at its yearly high right now in the Nitmos home. We had pre-Halloween candy sales, Halloween, and then post-Halloween candy sales. I shook the kids down the moment they walked in the door Halloween night and confiscated their Rolls. There’s so much of this stuff coming into the house lately and disappearing that I’m like the John Wayne Gacy of Tootsie Rolls. I don’t even have to wear the clown make-up while eating them. I mean, I don’t have to…I just do that for fun.



But this is the danger season for those of us who like to watch my figure. Pre-Halloween, Halloween, post-Halloween, Thanksgiving, post-Thanksgiving leftovers, Hanukkah, Christmas parties, Christmas, Kwanzaa, excessive drinking to get through the holidays, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day football, there are some serious weight-bearing days ahead. Tootsie Rolls are just the start. My six pack abs turn to a half barrel kegger by mid-December. I no longer have to ask if that was a fart or a shart. Come December, it was a shart, definitely. If I get through a December day with anything less than three pair of underwear, it’s a win. The wallet in my back pocket is replaced with a travel size case of wet wipes. You get the point. I shart. A lot.

So, as a time chasing runner, how do I combat this? Years ago, I used to basically take December and January off. I’d run sporadically but a week or more may go by before I’d brush the crumbs off my chest and find my running shoes (usually being used as a beer cozy somewhere). Then I’d burp my way through three miles – miles that were previously quite easy – and then settle back in for more sloth and gluttony. This became too hard to keep bouncing back from each spring if I wanted to set new PR’s so there is no more taking December and January off. The gluttony still takes place – oh, I gluttony the hell out of December, believe me – but I put the slothfulness away.

With my Tootsie Roll consumption at an all time high this year, I decided I needed some additional motivation to keep this confection from clinging to my belly and slowing the legs. Turned sideways, they may look like little ab muscles on the outside but, believe me, they don’t take up residence in the gut that way. I’m still going to eat a truck load of them. So just how many miles do I need to run to keep things in check?

I figure one track lap interval = one Tootsie Roll. Or, you may consume four Tootsie Rolls to each mile (4:1 gluttony ratio). My Sunday long run will net me at least 40 Tootsie Rolls as a reward.

I challenge you to find your own successful Gluttony level. Snack size Snickers, Baby Ruth, and Butterfingers may have a slightly different consumption:miles ratio. You’ll need to figure this out by yourself. I suggest you eat lots of them but also keep running. The point at which you look in the mirror and don’t exhale in disgust saying Damn, I’m getting fat is probably the correct ratio. Eat up! Run on! Post your results! We can create the world’s largest candy consumption to miles gluttony ratio science experiment.

I’m planning a meager 4x800 (2:45 pace) at the track today. With cool down laps, that’s 11 total laps. If I don’t consume during the cool down, I figure I can unwrap and double fist 8 Tootsie Rolls between my fingers while I run. That’s one for each lap of the track, two for each interval. They'll be poking out of my knuckles like a set of Willy Wonka brass knuckles. By the time my intervals are complete, my fists will be empty. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Remember, there is no reason to deny yourself delicious snacks. Where there is a will, there is a way. Whether it be candy or beer or orphanage arson, there’s a mileage equivalent that can balance against your running. You just need to burn find it.

Happy trails.