Randumbery Hates Mascots

After two product posts, I figured I should at least let you ease into the weekend with a lame Randumbery.   This is a real half-ass one too.  I’m on vacation next week! 

You’ve all probably seen this by now:

That’s Mahiedine Makhissi-Benabbad, French Olympian, and the 3000 meter steeplechase champion winning then assaulting a 14 year old girl in mascot outfit that looks like a pack of paper towels.  What’s my reaction to this?

Awesome!  There simply needs to be more assaults and violence in running competitions.  It’d really spice things up.  I’d like to see what Ryan “Razor Elbows” Hall could do to Meb the Calf Mangler over the course of 26.2 miles besides, you know, the running.  Seriously, did we care anything about the European Championship 3000 meter steeplechase until Benabbad started knocking over teenage girls dressed as paper towels?  What we owe the man is a "Thank You".  Thanks for bringing the sport into the spotlight!

And who likes a mascot anyway?*  They are as useless as a cheerleader.  We have a local green guy, Sparty, that annoys everyone around here.  Until the age of ten, my kids thought he was a felon and were slightly afraid of him, thanks to a few well placed comments whispered into their tender little brains from yours truly.  I’d love to see Benabbad meet up with him after a race.

Chi-Town Yo-Yo

It’s vacation week for the Nitmos clan.  And when we vacation, we do it right!  That means, lots of time in the car and driving back and forth to Chicago every weekend!  What could be better?  That’s how you all vacation, right?

We start out in northern Michigan.  Then, a trip to the Windy City after, followed by a return to Up North, Michigan for lakes and boats, followed by a return to Chicago again next weekend for a Chicago Fire** game.  The second Chicago excursion was a late booking as the kids’ soccer club arranged a play date with the team.  There will be tailgating, on field scrimmages and ball boy assistance.  By game time, I should be all lit up and ready for a full scale European-style  BRAWL!!  I’m going to find the nearest mascot…

Speaking of soccer, both of the kids re-made their premier teams for the coming season.  I know you were concerned and all.  You can look forward to another year’s worth of photos!  By the way, soccer season actually begins again in t-minus 10 days…..

What Training Plan?

It just dawned on me that I’m about 17 weeks away from the NYC Marathon.  I don’t have a training plan written and you know what?  I’m not going to write one.  Like most of my running these days, I’m going to just go with feel on this one.  I haven’t written any plan down in over two years and things have worked out.  What could possibly go wrong?

Although I keep forgetting about the Dances with Dirt trail run in September.  Someone better tell me my leg assignments soon.   I’m highly allergic to poison ivy and I hear there is lots of it on the trail.  I’m sure it will work out…what could possibly go wrong?

Here’s to hoping there’s a giant green three leaf mascot named "Ivy" at the finish.  I’d love to go all Benabbad over its ass.

If you’ve run more than five marathons, do you still write out a training plan??

Happy trails. 

* While FMS does not officially endorse mascot abuse, for legal reasons, it is unofficially encouraged and monetarily rewarded in the most hypothetical, legal way possible.

**I know, it’s the MLS but that’s the best we got around here.

Ridin' the Wave

What better way to celebrate America week than to post about another retail consumer product?  This one with a Japanese name!

Like many across the blogscape, I was also sent a free pair of Mizuno shoes.  I’ve never run in Mizuno and, frankly, have never even tried a pair on.  I have a hard time even pronouncing the name of the shoe company which is why I’ve shied away from them in the past.  I don’t want to look like a fool when someone says, “Hey, what brand of shoes are those?”  I have to go into a lame Snoop Dogg impersonation and say, “It’s the Miz-izzle, my schmizzle”, and hope I don’t get smacked in the mouth.  It’s the same reason I won’t eat ‘hors d’oevres’ either.  I end up calling someone a whore before I can figure out the last part of the word.

But Mizuno sent me free shoes so I’m talking about them and now you’re reading about them.  It’s all a part of their rather expansive Mezamashii Run Project that has them giving away thousands of free shoes.  If you think I had to go to the web site and double or triple check how to spell “Mezamashii”, you would be wrong.  I checked four times.  It’s a Japanese word and it means brilliant” or “eye opening”.  In exchange for the free shoes, I expected to have to paint a fence or wax a car or, at the very least, catch a fly with some chopsticks.  Yes, my world view of Japanese culture was informed largely from The Karate Kid (along with a sprinkle of Michael Keaton’s Gung-Ho…oh, and who can forget “The Donger needs food!”) 

I started my running hobby in Adidas Response until I wised up and realized I was the only guy at a race wearing Adidas.  That’s as embarrassing as wearing cargo shorts to a 10k (and we all know who did that.)  Eventually, I switched to Asics and have been running in the GT series for about 8 years now.  I’ve liked them well enough which is why I’ve never really checked into another brand or style.  But free is free and I’m nothing if not a product hors d’oevres.

They even let me select my own style.  Of course, I selected the gaudiest pair of red shoes I could find.  Maybe part of me wants to be Dorothy with the little red ruby shoes?  That would go a long way towards explaining all of the ridiculing I took in high school.  I chose one of their more recognizable products, the Wave Riders.  I figure, if those aren’t any good, what’s the point of looking any further?

Mizuno Wave Rider 15th Anniversary edition

They sat in the box for nearly two weeks before I was brave enough to try them out.  I’m a nervous Nitmos that way.  Change doesn’t come easy for me.  I still have The Bangles on my iPod.  Then, I took them out and walked around for a bit.  My knees didn’t buckle.  My hamstring didn’t tear.  So, I took them out for a 6 mile run.  They felt different.  They aren’t my Asics.  They had less of a platform, round feeling in the toe box.  It’s more pointed with more of the cushioning seeming to fall at the mid foot.  My first mile was a bit strange.  I felt like I was walking like an Egyptian.

But after I got over the ‘It’s just different’ feeling of having another shoe on my foot, I settled in for a comfortable run.  The shoes fit well.  They felt smooth carrying me down the sidewalks.  I think I have pretty decent running form – mainly a mid foot striker but with a touch of under pronation – and the design of the shoe seemed to match my tendencies.  They are a tad lighter than my Asics but also a bit stiffer.  If you are running straight, as most runners do, they are perfectly flexible and fine.  I noticed on turns, however, that I can almost feel the twist of the shoe fighting back against me.  After their running life cycle is complete, I’m not sure I’d be able to transition these shoes to my every day/play soccer in the yard shoes due to this lack of sideways flexibility.

However, as running shoes, I was surprisingly impressed.  In fact, my Asics are basically worn through and need to be replaced but I’ve been in no hurry to do so since the Mizuno Wave Rider 15’s are filling in quite nicely.

It even has me considering actually spending my own money on a pair which, ultimately, was probably part of their devilish plan.  The evaluation continues…

And here’s the part that you are probably MOST interested in:  You can get a free pair too!  Maybe.  Go here to apply for an invite to be part of the Mezamashii Run Project and the recipient of a free pair of Miz-izzles.  You can be a product hors d’oevres too!

Nitmos-san say, Konnichiwa bitches and…

幸福の小道 (Happy trails)

Run Into a Cherry Summer

This is one of those "fine folks" posts so buckle up.*

You don't need me to tell you that we are in the midst of summer.  You might have noticed the sweat pools under your arms, back, and cankles.  I slept on my back last night and awoke to the sounds of hootin' and hollerin', pistol fires, and barely audible rock music.  My natural body lice** had set up a swimming pool in my belly button to cool off and were having a great time.  I let them be and went back to sleep.  Heck, even completely naturally occurring body lice - that we ALL have - need a little relief from the heat sometimes.

Starting smooth segue in 3-2-1...What better way to run in summer than with a new Garmin and some cherries, right?

Brownwood Acres, near my ancestral hometown, sent me a care package of cherry related products.  Many of them are in the picture below (not the Garmin or the woman, however.)


In exchange for these free goods, they would love me to tell you about their Run Into Summer giveaway where you could WIN a Garmin Forerunner 305 GPS or a year's supply of CherryFlex (which promotes healthy joints) or weekly winners of various cherry related products or a gentle massage from the woman in the photo (assumed).   They'd like me to tell you about this giveaway but I'm not going to do it because it only lowers my chances to win.


Did I mention that I love cherries?  Want to see me tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue?  Email me.

Let me take you back a bit...Little Nitmos, a precocious but devilishly handsome tot with the sexiest bowl cut east of Lake Michigan, was raised in the self-proclaimed cherry capital of the world.  My fondest cherry-related childhood memory is..watching our only cherry tree get cut down by city workers because we didn't spray it and it posed a threat to the other cherry trees in the region.  That was a sad day.  I ate my potentially disease-riddled last few cherries between tears and seed spits all the while barely jostling a hair along my ruler-straight hairline -  1/2 inch above my uni brow.

I'm sure there are other little Nitmii - thousands perhaps -  in the region right now eating their cherries and running and eating more cherries and promoting more healthy joints and eating still more cherries and promoting their fabulous bowl cuts.  We They would like you to join us them.

Enter the contest.  Eat more cherries and cherry-related products.  Possibly win a Garmin or awesome cherry stuff or a gentle massage (assumed).  Experience the benefit of this superpower fruit.  Benefit my homeland.  Let the young cherry Nitmii prosper and multiply until critical mass is reached....

Well *ahem* never mind all that.  A "product review" isn't really the place for willy nilly talk of world domination.

This is all about the cherries.  Git some.  We'll worry about "other matters" another time.  Believe me, everything is just fine, folks.

Cherry-o!

Happy trails.

* For you FMS newbies, "fine folks" is a derogatory description around these parts.  I simply cannot read a product review on some one's blog where that person hasn't referred to the donating company as "fine folks".    As in "The fine folks of Company X sent me...".  Ugh.  FMS maintains a strict anti-Fine Folks policy.
** We all have it.  Right?
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And you're welcome for not making you "Like" me or them on Facebook, or Twit this or that, or send chain emails to 5000 friends.  If you want to enter, enter.  No business of mine.  See?  Entering a giveaway CAN be pretty easy.

One Mile Time Trial: Act Four

Mmmm, taste the toxins!



Apparently, drinking from a garden hose is not recommended.  It contains lead.  Lots of lead.  Like, Chinese toys amount of lead.  When I was a wee lad, I drank from the garden hose all the time which may explain my severe social disorders and four testicles.  But those were the days when seat belts were optional and my brother and I took long family car trips while rolling around the back of the family station wagon.  Safety first!

So, if you have a kid (and you like them), please don't let them drink the lead water from a hose.  Neighbor kid?  Fine, go right ahead but not your kid. (source)

What does this have to do with my one mile time trial?  Nothing really but then again this isn't your blog.  Nothing, I guess, except that it's damn hot out and I'd drink all of the water from all of the Chinese garden hoses in...China if it meant moisture going INTO me rather than out.

It was in this 90 degree/50% humidity climate I decide to tackle my fourth in installment of this summer's One Mile Time Trial.  I can't ignore all of the emails I get asking - nay, DEMANDING! - it's return.  Clever how you guys keep sending me those emails pretending to be from a Canadian pharmacy or offering me Viagra at a discount rate just to trick me into opening it and reading your desperate pleas for another installment.  I don't even open them either because I get my Canadian pills and Viagra and enlargement pills (oh, yeah, those too) from a guy at my local gym.  Jokes.  On.  You.

A brief recap:  One mile = 4 laps at the track or 1600 meters.  It's formally called the One Mile Time Trial series after I rejected proposed titles such as Who Gives a Shit About 9 Meters? and After Running Four Laps, Thirty More Feet Don't Matter.  Those were too clunky.

Act one: 5:39
Act two: 5:38
Act three: 5:34

Today?  How 'bouts 5:26!

Definitely trending in the right direction.  I'm feeling my sluggish cardio starting to come back around.  Must have been all of the Canadian pills and garden hose water chasers.

I'll check back in late July with another installment of this edge-of-your-seat thriller series!

Until then, stay hydrated, the lead-free way.  If you have a rich relative with tenuous health, perhaps whip them up a batch of garden hose lemonade?  You aren't getting any younger.

Happy trails.

When Did Florida Come to Michigan?

I’m on record as saying that I don’t like cold weather and I never complain about the heat.  We get temperatures that are below my personal liking for 8-9 months of the year so I make it a point to NOT COMPLAIN during the few weeks where it is stifling, unbearably hot.  Like, now.  After all, in a few short weeks, I’ll be bitchin’ about the cold again.  So, consider the following an observation not a complaint.  (ed. Heat, don’t go away.  You complete me.  The lawn looks better brown, believe me.)

In fact, there’s a few time honored traditions around these parts.  For the region’s notoriously unpredictable weather, Michiganders like to say, ‘Don’t like the weather?  Wait five minutes and it’ll change’.  Mrs. Nitmos and I always eagerly await the first time the local news anchor turns to the weatherman and deploys the yearly news patter cliché, “Now, here’s Rob with the forecast.  Rob, are we ever going to get relief from this heat?”  This is usually accompanied with a sigh and a hand fanning to cool their fake heat stroke.  Hilarious, right?  At my house, this is also accompanied by a shared eye roll and a snarky comment:  “Yeah, when it’s 40 fucking degrees or below for 8 straight months asshole!”

Despite the obvious simmering hostility described above, you might be surprised to learn that I’m generally a jolly drunk.*  I’d go as far to say that I probably wouldn't even cannibalize someone when mixing bath salts with LSD.  I might grab a nibble – just a sample really – but hardly a full meal. 

But the string of 90+, highly humid days has tested my love of warmth.

Running?  Yeah, it’s getting done but not at nearly the same paces I had planned.  My sweat glands are giving out after three miles.  Today, I doubled back to go again through a lawn sprinkler that was spraying across the sidewalk.  I wanted to strip naked and fold myself over it like a hero saving his buddies from a grenade…to feel the cool liquid jettison into me…to drink the thin waterpik dental spray from the top holes.  But I quickly realized that my anus hasn’t been bleached in several months and the HOT hasn’t fully robbed me of my sense of social decorum and class.  It’s hard to be classy with an exposed, unbleached anus while dry humping the neighbors sprinkler.  The More You Know. (queue rainbow)

I haven’t run in heat like this since we wisely took a family trip to Florida last….AUGUST(?!?)  It feels like Florida moved to Michigan but it didn’t bring the palm trees, beaches, tourists in white rental cars, or frontier justice with it.  I don’t know how you hot weather state people do it.  I guess everyone acclimatizes?  I’ve noticed that my last few HOLY HUMID HELL runs have gone better than the first few.  By September, anything below 80 will probably feel like a break.

So, I’ll again do my exciting One Mile Time Trial summer series tomorrow, as planned.  I’ll hit 11-12 miles on Sunday in my ancestral homeland, as planned.  I’ll continue to do it all with or without my sweat glands…with or without an unevenly bleached anus.  I’ll do it all even if the community puts up Wanted posters for the "Sprinkler Rapist".  (It’s not my fault, they were asking for it.  They’re the ones that left the garage looking all cool and wet, amirite?  Maybe that’s the dehydration talking…)

I’ll keep staggering on in the HOLY HUMID HELL hot.  One of us will give out eventually. This is not a complaint but merely an observation.

I just wish I knew when I’ll get some relief from this heat??  Rob??  /fansselfsarcastically

Happy trails.

* I make it a point to always be drunk by the time the nightly news comes on.  Coping mechanism for the news patter.

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‘Member a long time ago – almost exactly three months in fact – when I told you that you shouldn’t be surprised if I disappeared suddenly at the end of each quarter?  Well, look at your calendar, it’s the end of June or, as we say in the biz, the “second quarter”.  See, if you had been paying attention to the minutiae of FMS  you wouldn’t have been gnashing your teeth and mumbling to yourself, “When is Nitmos going to post again?!?”  Lesson learned?  Let’s hope so.  Pay better attention.

Quick quiz:  What do you think is going to happen on this blog over the last two weeks of, say, September?

The 800 Meter Elephant in the Room

Ready for a confession?

The truth is that I don’t really like my Tuesday track 800 interval sessions.  Who wants to get that hot and sweaty and just plain ole tired?  I’d rather run easy like this guy I see out on my routes all of the time that just kinda saunters in a weird hybrid run-walk.  If you photographed him, he’d look like he was running hard based on the pump of his arms and grimace of sheer exhaustion on his face but, upon closer inspection, you realize he’s just ambling along slowly in a Near Run as if he’s trying to fool a distracted gym teacher.  He’s not quite running.  He’s the Zima of running.  I’d like to be more like Zima on occasion.

No, there is no love for me and 800’s.  They fall into the “necessary evil” category of my personality flaw: Unquenchable PR lust. 

In fact, 800’s are often pure torture.  But I’m nothing if not a bit of a sadomasochist.  Go ahead, ask Mrs. Nitmos’ curling iron, jar of battery acid, and the well worn riding chaps about the places they’ve been and the things they’ve poked, prodded, rubbed, or swabbed.  I’m very kind, considerate and generous to animate objects but inanimate objects?  The first thing I think is…will that fit there?!?

Of course, there is some benefit to these 800 bastards which is why I do them.  After running 800’s at a 5:30/mile pace, a regular mile in the low 6’s suddenly seems quite a bit easier.  Almost like a weird sauntering run-walk.     I know that the ball busting on the track translates into more effortless tempo runs, time trials, long runs, and, ultimately, races.  So Tuesdays, I slather on the battery acid, slip on the chaps, and plug in the curling iron for another grueling session, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I whirl around the ever expanding oval muttering sonofabitch sonofabitch sonofabitch every step of the way.  I hate it.  I clench my teeth and pinch my nipples between my thumb and forefinger harder and harder with each lap.  Why?  Well, I don’t do things half way.  If I’m going to hate it; I’m going to hate it proper.  And you just can’t hate something proper with pleasant nipples.  At least, that’s what Grandma always said.  If I want to induce a crying fit, I put on some Justin Bieber and blubber WHY ARE YOU A STAR at each straightaway between the edges of my ball gag*, streaming tears and rapidly swelling nipples.

But when they’re over and I’ve hit my goal pace, I’m as happy as a submissive that’s received his last lash.  I have a full week to recover and forget until the dread grows again the following Tuesday morning.

What’s even worse now is that my local high school track is hosting all sorts of end of the school year track events, summer running clubs, and field days and the first two lanes are littered with hurdles, discarded jackets, and empty water bottles.  The 800’s are more like 820’s and the nice, smooth laps are more like a steeplechase.  Isn’t the stress of the 800 intervals, ball gags, nipple twisting and Bieber enough pain for one person?  Next thing you know, the water fountain will start streaming Zima.

Makes me dream of the relative comfort of a rapidly warming curling iron….

I admit it.  I don’t like my 800’s and I feel better for having said it.  But I’m going to keep on doing it until my PR lust is quenched or my nipples explode like a teenager working a zit in the mirror.

Pray for the former, will ya?  Meantime, pass the Zima.

Happy trails.

* Oh, yeah, I wear one of those too.

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I'd like you to note how seamlessly Feet Meet Street manages to juxtapose posts with family soccer photos and ball gags.  Weird or AWESOME!?!  You decide.

Loser Trophy

The loooong Memorial weekend is over and we are just now recovered.  Ever stand around a pitch for 18 hours over two days in 90 degree heat?  Me want beer.  Me want beer right now.  But, according to societal mores, I’m supposed to stand there and drink freakin’ lemonade and watch kids play a sport and be a ”good example”.  Screw society.  Game #7 goes down much easier with a Schlitz.  My voice was raw and hoarse and my mean-spirited and completely inappropriate verbal attacks on the ref didn’t have quite the sharp vitriol it should have had without that Schlitz.  I feel like I cheated both myself and the ref.  We deserved better.

I didn’t run this past weekend.  I wanted to but we were all sun burnt to a crisp and dehydrated and, ultimately, collapsed on the floor of the house ten seconds after springing it open in a pile of empty Gatorade bottles, coolers, shin guards, and dried sweat.  I used my Asics as a pillow instead.

I know you’ve been anxiously awaiting news about how my kids BIG tournament soccer games went right?  Right?!?  Well, I’m going to tell you so grab a Schlitz and gather around the screen as Uncle Nitmos recaps my kids’ totally inappropriate weekend actions in a series of vignettes. 

Pimp Hand Strong

My filly loves the Will Ferrell movie Kicking & Screaming.  She loves to quote lines from it.  She tries to get her teammates to chant “Break someone’s clavicle!” as a pre-game team cheer.  Though she doesn’t understand the meaning, she also likes to quote “keep my pimp hand strong” – which she asked the coach before the game.

Coach:  Hey, ready to play?

Filly:  Are we going to keep our pimp hand strong this game?

Me, beaming with parental pride.

The Swan

They always talk about “form” being important in running.  It also has its place in soccer.  We captured the elusive soccer swan a couple of different times.  Shhh, here it is in all of its glory: (For all pictures, as always, click to prostate size)

These Colors Don’t Run

"Oh, no, they won't run onto the uniforms."

Yes they do.  Believe me.

Loser Trophy

Poor filly has inherited my competitiveness.   I blogged about being First Loser years ago.  Her team had an incredible tournament with a Goals For/Against of 19-6, a +13.  They won their first three matches 3-1, 4-2, and 10-0 to advance to the Championship match where they were downed by a more disciplined team 3-2 by a goal with a mere 4 minutes remaining.  Great tournament for them but, of course, my filly was displeased.  The team received a second place trophy for which she lovingly described as a “loser trophy”.  Here she paused in mid pout for a quick picture.  You might note the redness of the eyes...and the pink hair spray coloring on the front of the uniform.

I was also hyper competitive as a kid.  I’ve (mostly) grown out of that.  Hopefully, she’ll mature quicker.  As a perpetual non-winner, I’ve learned to appreciate the accomplishments of mediocrity.  In fact, if I win an age group award at a race, I’ve been known to parade it around the house, set it next to me at the dinner table and maybe (or maybe not, I’ll never tell) sleep with it at night.  Fourth place age group awards give the best bed.

Lesson:  Take the time to celebrate an accomplishment.

Her totals:  3 goals and 3-4 assists.

Calm the F*ck Down

My colt was also in action.  His team is missing a few pieces on the offensive end to make a strong championship push.  Like a boa, they just try to squeeze the life out of an opponent and then knock in a goal somewhere along the way.  They won and tied their first two matches, 2-0 and 0-0.  Until game #3 in the tournament, they were on a streak of 7 games where the only goal let in was the fluke slip n’ fall goal in well lubricated Ohio.  Finally, the ultimate champs knocked them out of the tourney with a decisive, scoreless game streak destroying  5-1 victory.

During that game, I was patting myself on the back again for my parenting skills.  My 14 year old, bless his soul, takes great delight in living the Roosevelt proverb, “Speak softly but carry a big stick.”  As left defender, he regularly crushes opponents and sends them spinning to the ground without a word no matter what is said to him.  However, a loud mouthed group of opposing parents was screaming uncontrollably about FOULS the entire game.  When my colt found himself in front of their group, he calmly looked over to the sideline like this…

Did you say something?

 …and said, “Why don’t you calm the fuck down.” 

Me, beaming with parental pride. 

Need help raising kids?  Give me a ring.

Happy trails.

One Mile Time Trial: Act Three

My wholly original One Mile Time Trial series is back for a pre-Memorial Day edition!  Don't take off for your long weekend until you read this post!

Before we get to the results, I want to point out what a fool I am (and not for the obvious reasons.)  The track has two drinking fountains near it.  I've run at this location for 10 years now and, every winter, they remove the piping under the fountain so it won't freeze and restore it around Spring Break for the outside sports teams to use again.  Except, this year, I did not see the piping return and I was brought to great sadness.  I would have no water for my harsh summer intervals unless I supplied it myself and I'm no J.D. Waterpockets.

But then I saw someone drinking from the inoperable fountain the other day.  Were they staging an elaborate joke on yours truly? No,no, they actually seemed to give off the satisfied glow of recent hydration.  And the chin was unmistakably glistening.  So I warily wandered over on guard for hidden cameras and someone shouting, "You got Punk'd!"  I depressed the button and a magical stream of looping water appeared before my very eyes.  It was a Memorial Day Miracle!

Apparently, they replaced the piping with internal flex lines this year.

As always, the "one mile" is really 1600 meters as in four laps at my local high school track - 30 feet short of an actual mile.  As explained before (i.e. horseshoes/hand grenades), close enough.  Don't argue.

Act one:  5:39
Act two:  5:38

The lungs and legs are starting to respond.  Instead of ridiculous Look-At-The-Fat-Guy-Run huffin' and puffin' I've been doing this Spring, I managed to maintain pretty good composure and form while making my orbits.  Laps of 1:22, 1:25, 1:25, 1:22 bringing an Act Three time of:

5:34

Still trending in the right direction!

But still a long ways to go to 5:20.

Happy trails.

Broccoli Starburst

There are some days when I’m in the mood for one of my notorious epic length blog posts.  This is not that day.  Here, one thought from the morning, in short form…

My filly can be very insightful when she’s not worrying about how big her nose is compared to the other 4^th graders.  (It’s the year of body image for a growing girl.)  She’s consuming some fruit for breakfast this morning and matter-of-factly states, “Everybody likes fruit because it tastes good.  No one likes vegetables.  They don’t have broccoli flavored Starburst.”

True.  Starburst and Skittles both radiate their spectrum of rainbow colors and flavors trumpeting the sugary manufactured “fruitness” of their flavors.  I don’t remember seeing a vegetable in that spectrum.  Could the orange represent carrots?  How about red being a radish?  Dark green is green beans?  And light green is broccoli?  Can a fella get a yellow rutabaga in that rainbow?!?

Let’s face it.  No one “wanted a V8” despite what their commercials said.  It wasn’t until they came out with the V8 Fusion – adding the fruits and hiding the vegetables – that kids suddenly thought, okay, maybe I’ll have a V8 if I can’t get a Slurpee.  Notice how the picture on the bottle really pushes the vegetables….somewhere??

Vegetables are little anti-oxidant and energy powerhouses.  Athletes of all shapes, sizes and seriousness need lots of them.  That’s why I drink cabbage juice regularly.  And it ain’t easy to squeeze juice out of a cabbage.

I don’t subscribe to old axioms like “you are what you eat” because, frankly, I’ve never eaten an asshole yet I’m called that all of the time.  I do eat carrots constantly, which explains my orangish hue.  We need to find some way to package vegetables successfully the same way that fruit has been pushed. 

How about a Skittles garden pack?  Skittles: Taste the Garden.

Someone with more interest, get on that.  My filly is waiting for inspiration.

Happy Memorial Day!

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It’s Memorial Weekend here in the U.S.!  You all can enjoy your hot dogs, potato salad, and beer.  We’ll be sitting around the pitch, along with 700 other teams, for the annual *near* end-of-the-year soccer tournament.  Should be nice….only 90 degrees!

Sadly, my colt’s shutout streak came to an end in Ohio in the wet, morning dew grass.  After 4 games – and nearly a 5^th – the goalie slipped and fell on a fairly routine shot with 3 minutes to play to let in a goal.  It was Ohio (and it was an open field) so it very well could have been lubricant.  Either way, the shutout ended in a 1-1 tie. No 5th shutout in a row.

Meanwhile, the filly scored one goal and rattled another off the cross bar so hard that, if you listen closely, it is still humming a vibration to this day, in a 6-3 victory.

Rest assured, soccer ends in a few weeks and you'll hear no more about it...for a few weeks after that.

What I Learned During My Limbo Run

I don’t learn lessons real well.  I tend to be pig headed and try to bend reality to match my pre-determined world view.  It’s not a unique concept.  There’s an entire cable news network devoted to this.  It’s also why I’ve watched Toy Story 3 exactly 138 times (and counting) because, dammit, there is NO WAY Andy goes to college and gives away the toys.  (Note: Preceding sentence contains a spoiler alert.)  If I watch it again, he might change his mind.  It’s also why I drink so much beer.  I mean, in my mind, beer shouldn’t taste that delicious.  It’s not right.  So I keep opening another to see if this is the one that’ll taste horrible.  The search continues…

So I was pleasantly surprised to learn a new lesson on my limbo run on Thursday.  I thought I knew everything about limbo runs seeing as I invented the term.  To refresh, Tuesdays are my track intervals day and Thursday is a tempo run or limbo run, whatever the mood strikes as I lace ‘em up.  Long time F.M.S. readers know that a limbo run, known as a “progressive run” by the running glitterati, involves me running each mile progressively faster after starting with a comfortable warm-up mile.  Limbo run is a much more descriptive term than progressive run and I expect it to catch on like wildfire – eventually – in the running community.  Just remember where you heard it first.

A smart limbo runner gently accelerates through each mile.  You may drop 4-8 seconds per mile.  Heck, even one second gets you under the line for a successful limbo.  It would be nipple tickling but….it works!  If you go too low, too early, well, it just makes it harder for the subsequent miles.  Be a smart limboer.

As the original limboer, I’ve had some close calls but always managed to judge my pace enough to beat the previous mile.  But, yesterday, I almost knocked the bar over.

The plan was a 7 miles.  After a relaxed warm-up, I started my gentle downward sloping limbo:

7:14 –warm-up

6:52

6:48

6:47

So far, so good.   Miles 2-4 only saw an overall decrease of 5  seconds and, believe me, I noticed that I was limbo slacking a bit.  I prefer to knock off a nice 5 or 6 seconds per mile.  So I picked up the pace for mile 5 and found myself in the LDL Zone.

6:19

Oh, shit.  I dropped 28 seconds and, for the first time, found myself in the Limbo Death Leap (LDL).  I dropped too quickly, too much.  Like bad cholesterol, a high LDL is not a good thing to have. 

But press on I must:

6:18

Okay, let’s bring it home.

6:09

And done.  Against all odds, I limboed to keep my streak of needless braggadocio alive and well.   But Nitmos does what Nitmos does. (shrugs shoulders, feigns nonchalance)  I was tired and my mouth was dryer than a reused dryer sheet.  Truth be told, I ain’t in shape for that kind of limbo.  Give me a few more weeks.  If a DJ with a tenor voice smoothly chanted at me, “How looow, can you go?”, I would have responded, “6:09.  That’s it buddy.”  It wouldn’t have mattered how much – or how loud – the calypso drums or Hasselhoff played.

Lesson learned:  When limboing, don’t create a huge LDL or you’ll knock the bar down.

So I guess I can learn new things.  And maybe Andy won’t give away his toys and there’s a beer that doesn’t taste good. Run and learn.

Limbo wisely, my friends.

Happy trails.

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Garmin don't lie:

7.0 miles

46:26

6:38 per mile

Randumbery Assembles An Ass Line-Up

There are a lot of weird things going on lately.  It must be an election year.  Let’s get right into our random listing of dumb things….lovingly called Randumbery.

Have You Seen This…Ass?

Okay, minimalists, enough is enough.  First, the shoes are just too much and had to go.  Now things have carried to their inevitable conclusion: naked running.  That’s the agenda of all minimalist runners; don’t let them fool you.  They won’t rest until we are all running naked.  Just wait until McDougall comes out with his sequel to Born to Run - Born to Free Ball? - promoting the natural, centering, free gravity effects of running without shorts…that Big Pant has actually altered our natural waist movement and thrown off our natural running form.  Should be a hit.  Nike, Asics, Brooks, New balance, to your labs to create a lightweight, invisible, near nothing running short!*

In Colorado, home of hippies and intermittent slack bloggers, Carbondale is ground zero in the War on Minimalism.  Rampant packs of naked, trail running men have been spotted on hiking trails.  The Garfield County Sheriff’s Office has received several complaints.  Sheriff Lou Vallario has the situation under control. 

At a press conference yesterday, however, Sheriff Lou Vallario stated the naked men shouldn't deter outdoor enthusiasts from going about their business as usual.

"Be a little more aware, take some precautions... but you need to do what you enjoy in life,” said Sheriff Vallario in a Grand Junction Sentinel article.

Apparently, except running naked.  Right, Sheriff Lou?

Click the link and enjoy the descriptions of the four specific incidents cited.  Do you see something missing from those descriptions?  I know if I did some naked trail running, the first thing described to the police wouldn’t be my hair color or height but the size of…my their amazement.  (insert rim shot!)

Also, does one of these runners NOT sound like the others?  Note incident description #4.  It says nothing about running but maybe he’s taking a Gu break?  Can a fellow get a rim shot up in here?!?

There will be an ass line-up soon to identify this minimalist terrorist:

This is Colorado right?  Hey, has anyone seen Ian?

He must work out.

Had a Bad Run?  Eat More Sugar

Here’s another newsflash from some brainiacs at a sciencey place.  They’ve gone and studied more rats and projected their findings onto human beings again.  What they found this time is that “people who eat large amounts of sugar for as little as 6 weeks experience a sharp decline in learning and memory ability.” 

"Our findings illustrate that what you eat affects how you think," lead researcher Fernando Gomez-Pinilla said in a statement. "Eating a high-fructose diet over the long term alters your brain's ability to learn and remember information.”

The article didn’t specifically mention fudge stripe cookies and jelly beans so I don’t think I’m affected by this.  In fact, the article seems to be sponsoring a form of Sugar Minimalism which, I believe, is an offshoot of shoe minimalism and thus a part of the larger War on Minimalism.

Mmmm, little gobs of bite size goodness.

What does this have to do with running?  Well, first of all, it doesn’t have to do anything with running.  This is my blog and I can rant if I want to.  Second, there is, in fact, an important conclusion here for runners:  Eat lots of sugar and forget about how awful all that training is for the marathon.  At least, that’s my takeaway.  Jelly beans, start shivering in terror!  I figure I eat enough sugar and who remembers the calf cramp pain during that 20 miler?

Bikes 1, Genitalia 0

Another study from ‘The World is Round’ crowd.  This time they tell us that cycling leads to decreased genital sensation in women, numbness, poor sperm morphology in men, and erectile dysfunction.  They also ominously state that “female cyclists had less genital sensation than female runners.”  I didn’t know decreased genital sensation was a byproduct of running.  I guess that marathon medal you received has a double meaning, eh?  Congratulations, you finished the marathon!  And now your hooha is damaged!

I still ride a sweet 1998 Huffy Snakerock** but, let me tell you, I agree with these findings.  I lovingly refer to my Huffy as "The Eunuch Maker".

Just some more food for thought for you ardent cyclists or, as I now call you, Genital Minimalists.

Can We Make It Five?

You thought you were going the whole week without a Nitmos’ kids soccer update?  WRONG!  My colt will be invading northern Ohio this week to go for his 5^th win in a row.  And 5^th shut out in a row as well.  No kidding…their last four matches have ended in the following scores in order: 1-0, 2-0, 3-0, 4-0.  Anything other than 5-0 and we will not be pleased.  It shouldn’t be a problem as, again, he will be in Ohio.  I believe Ohio is known more for pay-for-play college football players rather than youth soccer.

But maybe he’ll get a tattoo while there.  We’ll bring an extra jersey to barter.

In the land where boys don't have blue faces.  But DESTROY 4-0!

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And that’s how we do Randumbery.  Thanks for playing!

* Expected retail:  $109

** Actual retail: $49 (Walmart, 1998)

The Only Good Llama

One of my meditation routines is to try to relax, contort myself in a sacrilegious way – called "The Perineum Tickler" - and come up with an appropriate conclusion to the meditation mantra, “The only good llama is…”

I can puzzle over this for hours.  I can puzzle over this until my perineum is sore.  So far, my best conclusions are: “…one spit-roasted and served over a bed of greens with steak fries.”  I also like “…one with its skull cleaned out and placed on the head of a staff as I stand over a pit of bleating, terrified llamas and ask them to slather the ointment on their skin or else they get the hose again.”

Admittedly, neither is real catchy.  That’s why it’s a good meditation mantra.   There’s no bad answer (as long as the llama ends up dead.)  But then I see this uplifting story of a llama given a prosthetic leg so that it could walk again.  T' hell?

Do you know how many hours I’ve spent devising this animals destruction to then have to suffer this “feel good” story?  The same people that made the prosthetic tail for Winter the dolphin (as seen in Dolphin Tale movie) are behind this.  Here I thought they were the good guys.   What do you call a llama with only three legs?  A good start. Or 3/4ths of a waste of space but getting better.  Or, one dinner down, three to go.  I imagine llama meat is very succulent and lean.  I hear their cold, dead black eyes taste like cherries.  Why aren’t we eating these animals?  Why aren’t we using their long necks for a line of llama neck bed lamps?  And what’s the deal with those necks?  It’s like a llama is a glued together donkey body on a half giraffe neck.  They should be called a Halfraffekey.

At the very least, let’s stop fitting them with cheetah striped fake limbs so they can walk again and continue their menacing existence.  We don't do that for a half smushed cockroach.

Next thing you know, the filthy beasts will want to run and race.  What do you do with a llama with a prosthetic limb?  It’ll be like Oscar Pistorius all over again.  Can he run in the regular Llamalympics or will he have to go in the Parallamalympics?*

No cheetah stripes.  A shame.

I might just be a little ornery today.  Due to a busy schedule and other personal reasons (possibly related to my meditation pose), I’ve been unable to run for 12 days.  It feels like 12 years.  I feel like I should be on The Biggest Loser.  It’s the longest non-running streak I’ve been on in over 6 years.  It’ll all come to an end tomorrow as I’ll be able to hit the road for several miles but, man, it’s been tough.  And then to see the whole MIRACLE WALKING LLAMA thing…

In the meantime, I’ve come up with an exciting and delicious recipe for roasted llama souls to share with you.  Best served with a fruity cabernet. 

1. Kill 15 llamas and harvest their souls.
2. Drink a fruity cabernet.

Feel free to use “The only good llama…” as a starter for your own meditation mantra.  Be careful, don’t get lost in the double ll’s – presumptuous beast, ohhh, I need TWO L’s in MY name because One.Won't. Do. – and split open your perineum.  You’ll be (theoretically) on the shelf for 12 days.

If the Hangar Clinic isn’t too busy working with the wonderful, can-do-no-wrong llamas, it'd be nice if they could come up with a prosthetic human perineum.  Don’t want to bother them with all of their useful and important llama work though.

Your turn.  Get into The Perineum Tickler and consider:  The Only Good Llama is….(fill in the rest)

KummerLama.

Happy trails.

* Admit it, that was fun to say. 

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Based on the poll results so far from my last post, the leader seems to be concern for my lack of fixing the lattice fencing pieces.  You would think that, with 12 days away from running, I’d get that done.  You’d be wrong.  And I see many of you are bashful about calling yourself a "race-ist"...at least in the comments.  Don't worry, I know who you are.  And, Danny, don't worry, I can't possibly drive any more readers from this blog.
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Happy Birthday dear Nitwife!

Are You a Serial Race-ist?

Are you a race-ist?  Are you one of those people that begin unintentionally race-ist sentences by saying “I’m not a race-ist but….” and then finishing it with “…I really want to run another 5k this weekend.”

Do you find yourself signing up for every Tom, Dick or Beardsley race in town?  5k’s, 10k’s, relays, walk-a-thons, costume runs, virtual runs, it doesn’t matter to you.  Admit it.  Some of you are serial race-ists.  You sign up for EVERYTHING.  I read blogs.  I know who you are.  You have more “race reports” in one calendar season than I’ve had in six years of blogging.    I’ve seen more photos of you with your head tilted to the side, mouth agape in a frozen WOO-HOO!  cliché camera cheer than pictures of my own kids playing soccer.

I’m not a race-ist.  In fact, I can barely match a race with the fingers on one hand during an entire year.  Usually, I have a few fingers left over.  Why are some of us serial race-ists and others barely notice things such as race?  Is it congenital?  Are non-race-ists inherently better people?*  Do race-ists need to diversify their hobbies?**  Am I just being jealous?***

For me, I’m kinda picky.  I’ve got to really want to run a race before I’ll sign up.  I might hear about one, check out the race website, and investigate the course and location.  I might let a year go by before the seedling sprouts into full blown desire.  Then I have to carefully count my dollar bills and triple-check the kids’ soccer schedule.  Maybe I check out the website 2-28 more times and then, if I still want to run it, I go ahead and register.  It’s an exhausting process - almost as exhausting as the training itself.  In fact, by the time I hit ‘submit’ on the registration, I feel like they should just mail me a medal and, let’s not kid ourselves, an age group award and we’ll skip the rest of it. 

I’ve never signed up for a race with less than two weeks prep time.  And I've only got as close as two weeks once and that was for a 5k.  Normally, I sign up for races 3-4 months in advance. 

In my area of the world, there’s a 5 or 10k seemingly every single weekend.  I’m often asked “Are you running the race this weekend?” and my response is usually something like, “No, what’s it for this time?  The VHS to DVD Low Income Transition Assistance 5k?” 

But some of you don’t seem to care what a race looks like.  Like a Pavlovian dog, you hear about a race and your legs automatically start trotting.   

There’s a 5k this weekend?  Ohhh, sign me up!

A costume run?  Honey, is my costume back from the cleaners?  Go get my moisture wicking pumpkin costume HOORAY!

A Sandwich 10k?  A Cupcake 5k?  An Ass Slapper 5 miler?  All good.  I’M IN.

Face it, you are a race-ist and it’s exhausting to the rest of us.  I know, I know:  Once you’ve gone weekly 5k, you never cease to pay race fees.  I’ve heard the ole race-ist saying a thousand times.  Now, I love to run.  I rarely miss a scheduled run.  I just don’t race that much.  I only race when I feel like I’m good and prepared and ready to give my best.  I don’t need to pay $25 and up for a half-ass effort.  I can just go out for a normal Sunday run and save myself the cash.  Who needs to eat rapidly browning bananas off a folding table at 8:30 AM?  Do Fig Newtons somehow taste edible after a race?  And who needs another race shirt? 

If you are not sure if you qualify as a race-ist, check yourself against these guidelines:

YOU ARE A RACE-IST IF:

(1) You’ve run more than 10 races in a calendar year.  –or –

(2) You have more than 4 photos on your blog of you with a #1 pointy finger and a WOO-HOO! scream for the camera. – or 

(3) You entered a costume 5k dressed as a giant hot dog (or equivalent). – or –

(4) You considered playing the banjo during a marathon.

It’s time for self judgment.  Be honest.  I know it’s not easy to call yourself a race-ist but if the glove fits…

To be truthful, there’s part of me that would like to race more…to not care about PR’s and general preparedness…to acquire a sickening amount of race shirts.  But it’s hard to justify this when I’ve been staring at the same busted out piece of lattice fencing in my backyard for 4 years.  If I don’t have time to go to Home Depot and buy one 2x6 foot lattice replacement piece, can I really justify dressing up like a giant baby in a wicking bonnet and disgustingly real looking diaper for the local Kiwanis Club costume run?

Maybe a day will come when we’ll judge a race by its content rather than the color of its shirt.

Until then, I guess I’ll just live my racing through your seemingly weekly reports.  WOOO-HOOOO!  Just don’t move next door to me.  Race-ists drive my home value down.

Happy racing.

*Yes

**Yes

***Perhaps

Anatomy of Annihilation

Yup, soccer weekend again!  For the 76th consecutive weekend!

The colt typically plays left defender though he moonlights as left forward.  Here, watch the action unfold as the colt, who relishes physical contact, blows up another attacking striker.  The colt finished the weekend with 2-0 and 3-0 victories making the third consecutive clean sheet for the defenders (and team).  Watch the action unfold as Momarazzi snaps away. (As usual, click to make like a prostate and enlarge.  My artwork is amazing.)

50/50 ball.  It sure looks like that striker would like to get it.  Does he want it bad enough?

Oh, no, here comes the defender.  I can haz ball?

Uh oh, Spaghetti-o's, I must practice my sense of balance for future match.  DEFENSE SMASH!
Annihilation. 3-0 win.  Lesson: Don't bring a rubber clavicle to a shoulder fight.

Meanwhile, the filly had to settle for a 2-2 tie against a clearly inferior opponent that packed the entire team into their defensive goal box (and then got lucky on the offensive end).  The filly attacked all game but couldn't break through.  No donuts for her this weekend.  Next time, Blue Face Group, your day will come!

Next:  Back to your regularly scheduled running nonsense!

Happy trails.