21 Run Salute

After all of these years, there’s still something about that 20 – or 20+ - mile run.  It still seems like something special.  At times like this, I wish I was a real wordsmith to describe my feelings.  Instead, let’s all collectively envision James Earl Jones standing on a baseball field wearing suspenders, an uncomfortably itchy hat, and waxing poetic in his sonorous baritone about the magic of twenty mile training runs.  While you’re at it, go ahead and read this entire post with JEJ as your inner narrator.  He really ups the classiness of this shit box, I think.  (You don’t need to have your inner JEJ say “shit box” if you don’t want to.)

Sunday was the day for my high-water distance 21 mile NYC Marathon prep training run.  I always try to do three runs in the twenty mile range before a marathon.  Usually something like 20 miles, 21, then 20.  Sometimes I do three, sometimes I do two but three is always the plan to begin with, at least.

After my first 20 miler two weeks ago and the leg destroying 15.5 trail running last weekend, I was as curious as all of you about how this would turn out.  My right shin was still a bit tender from the trails at DwD last weekend and both quads had been complaining like sweatshop workers from this week’s track work.  And like a good sweatshop supervisor, I ignored them and told them to work harder anyway or get turned out on the street.

Once you've built up your stamina and overall conditioning for regular 17-18 mile runs, you know that the first 15 miles of a long run are no sweat.  Well, not no sweat literally but figuratively.  I’m a sweater by nature.  I sweat a ton.  Sometimes I have to change my shirt after going #2 in a poorly ventilated restroom.  Three miles in to any distance, I look as if I've been dipped in magic waters.

But the hard part comes in those last 5 miles.  Everything else is just biding time until you get to about mile 15-16 and then the legs want to start chiming in with their opinion about this whole twenty mile run business.  Funny thing is…it is never the cardio that gets me.  My breathing is nice ‘n easy; my hair, moist but impeccably well-coiffed; pecs, buoyant and inviting.  Legs?  That’s where the trouble starts.  The one constant through all the years – somewhere around mile 17 – has been the soreness in the legs.  Marathons have rolled by like an army of steamrollers.  They’ve been erased like a blackboard, retrained, and erased again.  But leg pain has marked the time.  The entire preceding paragraph is all my invention by the way.

 Twenty miles is the distance that exposes your body’s weak spots.  For most of you, that probably means your jaw or looks or sense of humor hurts.  For me, that right shin and left hip and quads were aching.  When you enter the twenty mile zone, it’s payback time for any pre-existing weakness you were able to cover up on shorter distances.

As I limped into the house and barely managed to stop myself from curling up on the floor and sucking my thumb for an hour, I poured a nice tall glass of chocolate milk.  There is nothing better tasting after a long run than chocolate milk.  It’s like having Blatz beer injected directly into your veins.*  Try it and see.  As I gulped it down, I noticed my daughter peering at me strangely, as if I was James Earl Jones that just wandered into the house.   I was seated at the table rocking back and forth and stamping my feet.  Oh, the right shin wanted to cramp out and I was battling by the second to keep it stretched and loose.  I've had a shin cramp one other time – during the marathon leg of the Goofy Challenge – and it took out the calves and feet with it as my entire lower leg turned into a pretzel.  I smiled meekly and croaked “I’m fine” in between convulsing and stamping feet.  I must have looked like a Crystal Blatz addict.

But the 21 miles were accomplished.  After a half hour of torturous leg pain, my body gave in and me and my stupid marathon plans won again.  In two weeks time, as I set out for my last 20 miler, I’m sure I’ll have completely forgotten about this run.  So load up the canon and fire off the 21 Run Salute!  Stand on an aircraft carrier 8 years prematurely and declare Mission Accomplished!  Crush a case of Milwaukee’s finest!  Whatever your preferred form of celebration.**

But the celebration shall be short-lived.  The marathon waits for no one.  It does not care about your tough training runs or leg pain.  It cares only about the distance and the people who dare to run it.  It reminds us of all that was once good, and that could be again.  And people will come, reader, people will most definitely come.

I came up with the preceding paragraph entirely on my own.

/jamesearljonesvoice

Happy trails.

* "Crystal Blatz"

** For me, it was actually standing around a soccer pitch and watching the filly knock in 4 goals (and hit two other crossbars, arrrgghhh) in a 5-1 victory over one of the better club teams in southeast Michigan.  Like how I added a soccer update in there?!  Buried it right down here in the asterisks so you’d have to work to get it this time.  Clever, no?  Don’t worry, soccer season ends in less than three weeks.

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Ian introduces himself at Bottle Fed Parents today.  You might remember him as the guy who used to call himself Vanilla and leave snarky comments here before I chased him out of run blogging.  Go there and give him a gentle pat on the back and a "Nice job Buddy!" like people do to the slow kid.  Go ahead and pop over for a visit to the BFP.

A New Blog in Town

I know most of you read this blog and, while thoroughly entertained, think to yourself ‘Nitmos is a fascinating person and philanthropist but just what are his views on parenting and family life?  I wish there was an avenue with which I could learn more from Sensei Nitmos’.

Your prayers have been answered.

Through almost no action on my own – other than a ‘sure, I guess’ reply to an email begging me in the most pandering and embarrassing possible way to join – a blog has been established for a small band of folks to discuss kids, parenting, family life and whatever else is annoying us that particular day.  Don’t worry, I plan to take on Honey Boo Boo and people who say “I had to get up at the BUTT CRACK of dawn” in landmark posts.*  Ian, Razz, Amy and Niki will probably spew out some drivel as well. 

The best part of this new blog is that, since it is a group effort, I won’t have to write as much to keep it going.  Considering how much I’ve been posting lately, this should be right up my alley.  This affords me maximum laziness with none of the feelings of guilt.  Plus, you may not get as many soccer anecdotes over here as you are used to.  I can dump them over there and not feel off topic at all.

The site is called Bottle Fed Parents and I think you are all clever enough to get this hilarious joke right there in the title. 

If you don’t like kids or don’t have kids or don’t want the ones you’ve got, don’t be afraid to come on over.  I have a feeling we’ll be specializing in the downside of parenting…the side that can only be cured with a stiff drink sipped through tears of shame and regret.  If you’ve ever looked at an innocent, cherubic, screaming-until-the-snot-drips-into-their-mouth child and thought ‘what the fuck is that kid’s problem?’ then you should be a good match for the new blog.

Please to join us?  Head on over NOW and leave us a comment.  Bookmark us.  Favorite us.  Add us to a Reader.  Twitter us.  Facebook us.  MySpace us.  Fax us.  Ham radio us.  Latin us.  Sanskrit us.  Whatever.

If you don’t like the banner, blame Ian.

Happy trails.

* Using the phrase “butt crack of dawn” is one of my personal redneck identifiers.

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P.S. I will still be posting here.  This is “in addition to” rather than “in place of”.

Bad Out of Hell

Well, that was an experience.

Dances with Dirt 100k relay was Saturday.  Here are the important parts in summary:

•           It was chilly and alternating between sun and rain storm throughout the day.
•           When I ran, it was sunny.  When I had to stand and wait, it rained.
•           I would rather it rained during my run.  Standing in the rain sucks.
•           Our first runner twisted an ankle.
•           My legs were of 6.1, 2.55, and 7.1 miles (nicknamed Potto, Bad Out of Hell, and Vertigo respectively.)
•           I did not get a river or mud pit crossing.  They stuck me with the long distances involving lots of technical trail/hill running on a single track path through the woods.
•           No blood (for me anyways).
•           No puke.
•           One beer.
•           We started at 7:30 am and finished around 6:30 pm. 
•           We were not the fastest team….by far.
•           Our vehicle smelled like dysentery anus by the end.

Dances with Dirt has been around for a number of years.  It takes place in the appropriately named Hell, Michigan.  If you live where I do, you know about it.  If you don’t live where I do, you should learn about it.  There’s a 100k team relay as well as 50 mile and 50k ultra trail runs.  But this isn’t running on flat surfaces or even pleasantly packed dirt trails.  It’s log jumping, trail twisting, knee buckling, hill climbing, hill descending, mud bog traversing, river crossing fun.  It’s stupidity for the stupid.  My shoes are caked in cow shit.

I was invited to join an existing team and that’s about the only way to get in on the team relay.  If you want to do the 100k, you can’t simply form a team and sign-up.  If you ran the previous year, you get auto-entry for the next year.  And, guess what?  No one gives up their entry.  So there are never any open spots (well, maybe not never – but it’s hard to come by, for sure.)  I was asked to join each of the last two years but declined.  I wasn’t going to decline again when the call came this year.

 Despite my first and third legs involving over 600+ feet of ascents and descents within each foresty leg, the toughest had to be Bad Out of Hell and its seemingly “easy” 2.55 miles.  Maybe because of the distance I was fooled into thinking I’d sprint right through it.  Instead, I was switching back and forth and up and down tightly packed trails.  There were long stretches where I couldn’t see anyone else.  But then I’d discover someone was only a few feet in front of me.  You can’t lift your eyes off the trail or risk a horrendous face plant so you just kinda come up the back of someone as they enter your peripheral vision.  This was severe technical trail running at its finest.  I finished slightly humbled which, if you know me, is a hard thing to do.

With the concentration required to maintain balance, I quickly decided during my first leg to distract myself by counting the runners passed along the trail.  Passing is not an easy proposition since the trail is single track and the sides are often scooped from the beaten down path and covered in brush, poison ivy, rocks, mud, or all of the above.  A few kind souls stepped off to allow me to pass.  Others stayed the course so I was forced to jump in the brush and bound past. 

My leg totals for passed runners was:

Potto = 65

Bad Out of Hell = 22

Vertigo = 46

I was not passed.  Some huffy puffy runner was coming up my ass during the final mile of Vertigo but I managed to hold him off.  With the completion of my last leg, our next team member held a beer aloft as a prize.  Mmmmmm, despite it being a Labatt’s Blue Light, it tasted pretty darn good at that point.  But I believe I could have even savored a Blatz after all that hard work.

A great event and, if I’m invited, it’ll be hard to say no to next year.  I ended up taking the longest 7.1 mile leg for our ankle injured runner, which was his final leg originally, so I completed the day with 15.5 miles (roughly) instead of the 12.5 I had been planning.  Drained.  Exhausted.  But not defeated.

A great group of guys, a great day, a smelly vehicle but this was not much of a “rest” week for NYC training.    I'll call it...quality "hill work" for those NY concrete jungle bridges.

If you have a chance, I suggest you enter a nice trail relay.  The harder the better.  (Yeah, I know, twss.)

Now, I sit back and wait for the poison ivy to start itching.

Happy trails.  (Yes, they were.)

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An announcement of an exciting new venue for entertainment coming soon.  Stay tuned!

Dirt Dancin'

Well looky here, the calendar on my wall tells me it is Dances with Dirt eve.  That’s the second biggest day of the year besides NYC Marathon eve!  I’m supposed to run a 100k tomorrow.*  Am I prepared?  As Sarah Palin would say, you betcha!

At least, I prepared to run the distance for which I’ve been assigned.  I’m not sure I’m prepared for the “trail” aspect of this trail run.  I run on perfectly maintained sidewalks.  Sure, every now and then that sidewalk has a crack or an edge that was pushed up an inch or two due to an ornery tree root and I have to hop over it.  Every now and then I have to dodge a pine cone or a pile of dog shit that people inexplicably let their dog do IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK but that’s about all I normally have to contend with.  Does this make me “trail ready”?  You betcha! (wink)

What could go wrong?  The one and only time I did a trail run was back in 2007 and it was a ten miler.  At least, the race claims it was a ten miler but I’m pretty sure I ran around 20-25 miles based on how my calves and ankles felt afterwards.  At some point in that race, I recall briefly considering dropping out and finding a hole to burrow in to just live off the land like a Ramboesque hobo.  It was that bad. 

But five years is just long enough for me to forget about all of that.  So, tomorrow, I look forward to piling into a van with four other sweaty men (in college, this was called “experimenting” – now it just seems unnatural) and rolling around the fields of central lower Michigan like a traveling testament to uncleanliness.  I look forward to the dirt and the rocks and the mud and the water “features” and the body odor and the beer (yes, the beer) and the smell of death by a thousand sweat pores.  Can one die due to over stimulation of the nasal glands?  I'll soon find out.  Considering there is not typically a lot of nasal related deaths at a Renaissance Festival, I figure that I should be alright.

Oh, and did I mention I’m highly allergic to poison ivy?  Mmmm, look forward to that gooood itchin’ next week!  I just hope I keep my body intact as I’m in peak mileage training for New York.  Feets don’t fail me now.

Happy trails.  Literally this time.  HAPPY TRAILS.

*As part of a relay team but why tell you that in the text?  It sounds way more impressive to let people believe that I’m doing the entire 100k by myself when, really, it’s a team of five and I only have about 12-13 miles.

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New York Marathon training is ongoing!  Twenty miles last weekend at around 7:20 pace.  Dances with Dirt this weekend counts as a step back week.  Then, 21 miles next weekend.

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Hey, you haven’t heard about my kids and soccer in awhile.  My colt’s junior varsity team is 6-2-2 and have conceded only 2 goals in the last 7 games.  He is a defender.  That is his score sheet.

The filly continues to roll.  As team Striker, she has now knocked in 12 goals in the last 5 games – three tourney games and two regular season games – and she is off to a 2-0 start in league play (including a victory over one of the best club teams in the state!)  This was a goal:

As was this:

I Broke Two Hours in the Marathon!

To the best of my recollection, I once ran a marathon in just under two hours!   I believe it was something like one hour and fifty-something.  High “ones”, anyhow.  At least, that’s what I told my relatives at a recent family gathering.  They were incredibly impressed.  Even more so when I explained that I was suffering from severe adolescent acne at the time.

But then a friend of mine reminded me that it was closer to three hours – more than three hours in fact, but who’s counting? – and that no one has ever beaten two hours in the marathon.  He might be right.  It was several years ago and who can remember personal marathon times?  Heck, name me one single runner that can rattle off a PR marathon time right off the top of their head?  It’s obscure knowledge that no one really memorizes, let’s be honest.

That’s why I don’t really understand the hubbub over congressman Paul Ryan’s, the budget numbers guy,  recent slip up that he had run a sub three hour marathon time only to find out that, in fact, it was over four hours.  I once told a prospective employer that I had a GPA over 4.0 (when it was actually just under 3.0) and they never batted an eye.  And why should they?  4 - 3 = 1 and 1 is the least amount you can be on the whole numbers scale besides zero.  One is adjacent to zero.  And adjacent to zero (ATZ) is de facto zero in my book.  Inconsequential, really. 

If people are going to run around and fact check all our self posted PR times, then I’ll need to do some serious blogger editing.  Not much…maybe adding back a 1 to the tens place of my listed 5k and half marathon times…maybe a 1 to the hour column of my marathon PR.  But nothing more than a small, one digit bump to one of those places.  Just a minor ATZ adjustment.  Inconsequential, really.

So whether I tell you I ran a sub-two hour marathon or sub-three hour marathon (or sub-four hour marathon, which is only a mere two ATZ’s removed from ‘true zero’), what’s the difference?  The point is, I’m incredibly fast if a bit imperfect at math.  Don’t judge Mr. Ryan and I if we don’t get our numbers exactly right.  Focus on the awesome finish times instead!  Being terrific at math is not a requirement to run a marathon.  It just helps with the self reported finish time.  Let’s leave the ‘perfectly reported race times’ to the Nerdilators with their abacuses and protractors.  Beer!  Beer!   Beer!  

Don’t be a numbers nerd.

So, let me tell you about this wonderful 117 mile* long run I completed this Sunday along the gorgeous Leelanau Trail…

Happy trails.

* +1 ATZ, hundreds place, implied
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UPDATE:  Thanks to Lindsay for providing the hilarious link that follows.  According to the new Paul Ryan Time Calculator, my current marathon PR of 3:12:19 converts (ATZ) to a much more pleasing 2:19:24.  I am now only 15:46 away from setting a new world marathon record!!

Calculate your new PR time and enjoy!  (For those with a limited sense of humor, (a) why are you here? and (b) here's a different link to enjoy.)

I Can't Wait to Finish Second Again

Since when did this turn into a family soccer blog?  Maybe because I’ve been running and writing about running for five plus years now and I’m looking for new source material.  Anyway, as usual, I’ll loosely connect this post to running so stick with it….if you care at all about puppies and orphans.

Soccer season is in full bloom around these parts.  My colt hasn’t even started high school yet – first day is next week – but he’s already played four junior varsity games, committed a fairly flagrant – but uncalled – tripping penalty in the box, and been knocked to the ground with a two-handed shove WWE-style by a frustrated forward.  There’s been a severe verbal altercation between warring school tribes in the stands enough to bring security over.  And a rousing victory with a goal scored with one second on the clock!  The season is off and rolling.

And he hasn’t even begun to play with his eyes open yet…

Meanwhile, my cantankerous filly started her season with tournament play.  And a new position.  To take advantage of her speed and aggressiveness, she’s been moved from center midfielder to striker.  Since her favorite Team USA players are AbbyWambach and Alex Morgan, both strikers, this fits nicely. 

After a lethargic 4-0 loss in game 1, the team destroyed the tourney’s hometown club 11-1.  Proving once again (are you listening Mrs. Nitmos?) that size DOESN'T matter, here's an image captured of our team competing - and destroying - the slow, lumbering Jolly Green Giants: 

Her head wouldn't fit in the frame.

Then they took down a previously undefeated squad 2-1 to march their way into the finals for a rematch with the team they lost to in game 1.

She was up for the rematch.  Ninety degree heat be damned…

It was a battle.  She was literally physically tackled twice as she continually split the defense with her speed and the opposing team was left to trip and grab to prevent a run at the goal.  A 1-0 lead evaporated to a 1-1 tie.  Outside of a 3 minute rest break in the first half (30 minute halves), the filly never left the field and repeatedly pounded away at the opposing teams D but just could not break through with a goal.  The opposing goalie made a jumping two handed save to stop her 15 yard blast with about 8 minutes remaining. A game saver, as it turned out. 

The perpetual in game scowl….

A regulation tie led to a ten minute overtime. In 90 degree heat.

The teams remained tied.  Unbelievably, the ref blew the whistle to end overtime as my filly stood alone with the ball at her feet 20 feet from the goal.  No breakaway continuation, ref??  Seriously??  Onto a shootout.

Which was lost 3-2.  The team has finished runner-up in three consecutive tournaments.

I’ve won a few race day age group awards in my time.  Whether it’s 1st or 5^th, I have no problems celebrating the award, caressing it, being slightly unnatural with it, lording it over everyone’s head and just generally being obnoxious.  This, truly, is the Nitmos Way you all know and love.  But, for my filly, anything less than first never seems to be good enough.

She grumbled and pouted for half the drive home.  And then, from the backseat, we heard her exhale and sarcastically mutter, “I can’t wait to finish second again in the next tournament.”

Suddenly, my age group 2^nd place coffee mug doesn’t seem so cool anymore.

Happy trails.

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Filly’s totals = 7 goals (of team’s 14) in four games, two crossbars, and one accusation from an opposing player’s mom of “choking her daughter”.  Good times, good times.  

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17 miles on deck this Sunday along the Leelanau Trail.  Nice!

NYC Marathon Train is Busy Training

So, have you all been behaving since I’ve been gone over the last MONTH?  Yes, I haven’t posted in five weeks.  Missed me?  The Olympics have come and gone since then.  Quick recap #1:  Bolt is still fast.   Phelps can still swim.   American women are still pretty good at soccer (much to the inspiration of my filly.)  Also, Ian has posted three times (?!?) since my last post (though it appears he has returned to the safety of his group home now.)

When I last left you, I mentioned that I take so much vacation because I earn so much vacation.  I was pretty snarky about it, in fact.  Rest assured, I don’t earn that much vacation.  My employer would probably say I don’t "earn" any vacation but they are contractually bound to provide the days that they do, God bless ‘em (and state laws).  The fact is that I got caught up in the summer lazies where writing a blog post just seemed like too. much. work. 

But I have been running.  Oh, I’m always running.   Who needs a blog for motivation and accountability?  Probably the same recreational amateur runners that are hiring other recreational amateur runners as coaches, I guess.  Nope, I run and that never changes no matter how much I post.

I haven’t raced all year.  Wow, unbelievable.  That streak will be ending soon.  The Dances with Dirt 100k team relay is a month away.  Then, the BIG EVENT FOR 2102: the New York City Marathon! 

Training for a marathon is like boarding a train.  It pulls from the station slowly but then it gathers steam and starts barreling down the tracks uncontrollably.  Just hang on and hope it doesn’t flip you off over a ravine Tony Scott style*.  Days go by, mileage increases, toe nails blacken, gauntness appears in the bathroom mirror….and it ain’t gonna stop until the train reaches its destination on November 4^th in Central Park.

It has taken me awhile to get my body back in shape this season.  I’m just now starting to see the times and distances I expect.  Maybe it’s because I’m 41?  Maybe it’s because of the unnatural heat this summer?  Maybe it’s because I need a coach?  Maybe it’s because I downloaded this Vampire Weekend album to my iPod on a whim and then listened as it systemically destroyed a run with its odd syncopated beats?  Weird shit.  I didn’t know if I was listening to calypso-disco or goth-necrophilia.  Ever want to rip the ear buds out of your ear out of frustration while cranking some mile repeats?**  I returned to the safety of some Social Distortion at the very next break.

The long run train is in the 14-15 mile range now.  After a step back long run this weekend, we’ll move along to a nice 17 miler along the Leelanau Traverse City-to-Suttons-Bay trail over Labor Day.  I love this run.  It winds through the country up along the West Traverse Bay peninsula near Madonna’s Dad’s wine farm.  His grapes are fresh and unspoiled.  I like to touch them so they are touched for the very first time.  And when I say “grapes” this is not a euphemism I actually mean grapes.  If I was talking about Madonna's Dad's euphemistic grapes, I would probably have used 'raisins' instead.  Somehow, her Dad failed to cash in on the obvious marketing crossover of cone-shaped wine bottles.  Missed opportunity?  I think so.  Tsk tsk.

Meanwhile, when I’m not hanging onto the NYC train, I’m resting aching muscles along the edge of a soccer pitch somewhere in middle mitten Michigan.***

Quick recap #2:  I’m training for a marathon.  I’m watching copious amounts of youth soccer.  I’m ragging on amateur running coaches.  Heck, I might even end this post with a cliché “Happy Trails”.

Yup, the more things change around here the more they stay the same.

Happy trails.

*Too soon?

**Do they make black eye liner that won’t run under heavy sweating?  Or moisture wicking black combat boots?

***The colt is on his high school soccer team now.  Yes, I have a high school aged kid.  How did that happen?  Incidentally, they won their first game of the season a few days ago by scoring a goal with ONE SECOND remaining on the clock.  We, the parents, felt like we should riot or, at least, burn something in the bleachers but no one had a lighter.  Another missed opportunity...

2 x Chicago Intervals

My week of Chicago intervals is over.  We did '2 x Chicago' at a comfortably hard pace.  The first interval was accomplished fairly easily without the kids.  Fortunately, I took a camera during my laps.  Here’s some sights, sounds and smells from the first interval….mostly sights…

• Did you know that every boat moored in Chicago must say ‘Chicago’ on it? (click to prostate enlargen any photo)

• Mrs. Nitmos and I took a nice morning run down the beautifully endless lakefront path.

• Then watched the sunset from the deep blue Lake Michigan.

• Then took photos of each other like complete tourist jackasses.  But isn’t she lovely?

The first interval lasted two days and boy are my arms legs tired.  Believe me, I hydrated and hydrated well.  In fact, it seemed like I was hydrating from the time I got up until the time I went to sleep.  There are certainly a lot of “hydration stations” located throughout the city.  Goose Island, the local crafted beer?  Blech.  Pitooie.  Try again.

We stayed at a music themed hotel and slept below the creepiest photo I’ve ever seen in my life.  The man in the picture was especially disapproving of everything that went on in that room.  In fact, he was downright seething at some of the things to which he bore witness.  If I didn’t already know Mrs. Nitmos’ dad, I would have thought it was he. 

Can you identify this rocker?  There’s an obvious answer but, if you look closer, it may not be who you think it is.  I’m not going to mention my guess because it my taint yours.  Sorry for the camera phone quality photo.  Help us out here, who is this?  And where is he so that he can be properly arrested?  Those eyes are either pre-murder, pre-rape, or pre-arson eyes.

During our rest lap in Traverse City, we went for a awkward family photo at Old Mission point.

Then the filly kicked butt (3^rd girl, about 8th overall) at a one mile Fun Run led by some construction guy from Extreme Home Makeover.

The second Chicago interval involved the kids….and soccer, of course.

• Chicago Fire vs. Vancouver White Caps.  Fire win 1-0 (what other score did you expect?)

• What would a professional soccer match be without a fire in the stands?  Or an attempt at self immolation two sections away?

• And karate chop kicks to the face?

That’s our 2 x Chicago week.  Now, back to work…for two WHOLE weeks before my next week off.  Why do I take so much vacation?  Because I earn so much vacation. 

Happy Chicago.

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.