Contemplation.

I've been staring at this logo on the Goodlife Fitness Victoria Marathon page for a good 10 minutes.

The kids are starting to wonder if I've had a seizure or something. (Trust me, I'm okay.)

With how much I've enjoyed my Half Marathon Training and the results from it, coupled with the exuberance and emotion from Triple T's Marathon training, means I'm seriously contemplating doing the Full in Victoria on October 7th, 2012.

Let's be honest - I already knew I was going to do the Half that weekend. I've already booked the time off work. I'm going to be there already. I just have to decide which race I'm going to do.

If I do the Full, I've already got my training picked out: it's a 20 week program that caps out at 45 miles in it's heaviest week. It has one training run of 26 miles right before you start your taper - this program is not just to finish the race, but to do it in a goal time. (If I do this, I want to beat my 3:28:20.) If I do the Half, I'll probably follow the training plan I just did and just up my required pace.

I'm on the fence - as much as I want to do it, I know it's a big commitment in both time and energy for me and my family. Doing the Half would be a lot easier - I don't have to start training so soon, the training is less, the time invested is smaller. Training for the Full during the summer is a HUGE chunk of time. We don't have any far-flung vacations planned, so it is wide open.

The Wife kinda knows I'm thinking about it, but we haven't really discussed it. I think I might wait until she's drunk or something.

If I'm going to do this, I have to start training in seven weeks, and then register as soon as I can.

Decisions, decisions...









Later.

In a Nutshell

My day, so far, has gone thusly:*

Sleep.

Run

Eat. (Eggos: because I'm to lazy to make the real thing)

Housework: Real Men clean their house.

Sleep again - because Real Men also need a nap.

...and now it's time to go get the kids from school.

There was also a lot of coffee involved throughout all that - but that goes without saying, doesn't it?









Later.


*Blogger's spellcheck didn't like "Thusly" - fucking hated it. But fuck you, Blogger - I looked it up, it's a real word!

I Feel:

- That the plus of working in the sticks is that the local radio station signal sucks, so big city radio gets all the airtime.

- That the only downside is our French-Canadian office lady singing along loudly at the top of her lungs. You haven't heard Lady Gaga until you've heard it backed by a 50+ woman with an accent so thick you'd think she shits poutine.

- That with running, the gym, work, and life in general, I'm waaaaay behind on my pop culture - haven't read Hunger Games, haven't seen Mad Men, missed every single episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter - its like I'm living in a cave.

- That even though I say I'm not going to push really hard at my 15k race this weekend, if I'm close to a good time, I'm going to run my fucking ass off.

- That even though I haven't been at this location for 4+ months, people come up and ask if I was on vacation. A 4 month vacation? I'd never quit the job that provided that. Hell, I'd shank anyone who tried to take my job.

- That now that I know celebrities respond to Tweets,(I know two people) I'm deciding which star I want to overwhelm with my "irresistible charm and wit".

- That although the office lady has a French accent, if you mention her singing she develops a very German attitude - if you know what I mean.

- That when someone tells me their favorite movie "from when I was a little kid" is Titanic, it just makes me feel old.

- That I console myself with the fact that at least it wasn't Pearl Harbour.

- That I just might take a chance and nap on the work couch for the rest of my lunch hour...

Later.

The Couch

Behold, all Ye,
The Couch at work.
It is not much,
But it's a perk.

It is where I rest my cheeks,
After dealing with the wild and meek.
Of customer service I do speak,
Helping people find what they seek.

Upstairs is where the couch doth lay,
In a corner, tucked away.
Shaded by a plant that's fake,
But in my mind, it's by a lake.

A lake, you see, so cool and blue,
Where no one tells you what to do.
Where no one wants to bitch and ache,
Because they can't find the Shake n' Bake.

The couch, while it does the best it can,
Does not compare to the Gym and a Tan.
Sure, it's good for a brief rest,
But how do I work my calves and chest?

Of this couch, I do fear,
What goes on when I'm not here.
If it was used for knockin' boots,
I'd not want to sit there, that's the truth.

But sit there I do,
And rest my feet,
While eating my lunch,
I'm quiet and discrete.

Where it came from,
I do not know,
But I think I saw a wet spot,
And now it's time to go.

I think I'll go downstairs,
I won't be angry or meaner,
I'll just go down the household aisle,
And get the upholstery cleaner.

I will not clean the spot I saw,
I'll put the cleaner by the door.
You see, there's a teenager working tonight,
And that's what he is for.

I would like the couch to be clean,
As clean as best we can,
So I can rest my weary head,
And dream I'm a Kenyan.

In my dreams, I'd run so fast -
Of my speed there is no doubt.
Unfortunately when I wake up,
I'll still be on the couch.

Later.

Morning Drive.

This was my morning drive today:

You can see why wanting to be at work is an issue.

There's one problem, though - traffic's a bitch.

Sure, its not big city gridlock, but you'd think some of these assholes never saw the ocean before. C'mon guys, it'll still be there tomorrow, but I have to get to work today.

If you want to look at it so bad, pull over and take a picture: instead of doing it at 60 km/hr like I did.




Later.

In the Long Run: A Matter of Time

Another installment of the ongoing discussion of mine and Triple T's Long Runs.

My Long Run this week wasn't like Triple T's - it didn't have a purpose.

Right now I'm "in between" runs - my Half Marathon is done, and I have a 15km race this weekend - so I'm not following any type of dedicated training plan. (Going to start a maintenance plan until my training for my fall Half (or Full) Marathon starts.)

But because I had to compete with the 3 hour, 50 minute monstrosity that Triple T was running, I busted out a 10 miler this weekend.

When TTT and I were talking after, she mentioned her pre run routine - and as alike as we are as runners, THIS is an area in which we differ.

She stretches, rolls, straps on, attaches, clips, ties, and puts things on before she runs.

Me? I get up, make sure to put clean underwear on, (Mom always said to) get shorts, shirt, shoes, hat, Nike+, shake out any kinks and run.

It helps that:

a) I'm a guy. Not to make this gender related, but Triple T says no matter what, she brushes her hair and maybe puts mascara on. The ball cap and stubble that I sport not only saves time, but it adds to my macho appearance.

b) I don't listen to music when I run. No iPod, no headphones, no searching for the right playlist. Once again, precious seconds saved.

c) I don't stretch. (Gasp! I know.) That's kind of a lie, because I do take the time to make sure my right calf and PF muscle are feeling good. So like, 3 minutes, tops. I do my stretching afterwards - if I have time. If you ever go into a grocery store and see the Dairy Guy stretching out his Hip Flexor, you know you're in my workplace.

d) I don't carry any ID or cash when I run. I'm in a small enough town that I can either turn around and go back, or I'll see someone I know who can lend me money or identify my body, whichever is needed at the time.

e) I don't pack any water or gels or anything else when I run. I drink a cup of water before I head out the door, and I hydrate when I get back. Not having to pack/prepare all of that means I'm out the door quicker.

(In reading what I've typed so far, I've realized that I ignore half of what the running books tell you about getting ready for a run. It's amazing I'm still putting one foot in front of the other.)

So for me to get ready takes all of 15 minutes, maybe 25 if you count the bathroom break before I hit the road. (We are alike in that - the fear of shitting oneself is great.) My thought when she told me what she does before a run made me think "If I had to go to that much effort to get ready for a run, I wouldn't make it out the door."

You have to admire that kind of dedication.

Sure, she has me beat in the fact that after her Long Run she can maybe catch a nap or crash, and I usually have to go work 8 hours on my feet, but I make up for it in the ability to hit the road before my body knows what's happening to it - I'm at least a mile in before I'm fully awake. That has to count for something.

My way of looking at it is that no matter what we do pre- or post-run, the important part is that the majority of the time is spent running - and that is a metric fuckton better than just sitting on the couch.**







Later.





*I came up with the title while listening to the Foo Fighters. 'Cause they rock, and so do we.
** Holy shit that sentence makes me sound badass. Like some macho Running God.

Observational Period.

Things I've learned in the past two days:

• Having a heart-to-heart with my 9 year old on the drive down to my youngest's hockey tournament (We were in a different vehicle) is an awesome experience. Talking about random stuff over coffee & hot chocolate makes me realize how like me, and yet not like me he is.
• Watching (and hearing) another Dad from another town bitch throughout the game about his son's performance on the ice enrages me. If the Wife hadn't been there I probably would have punched him. These kids are 6, man - it's not like the NHL scouts are there - it's about having fun, asshole.
• That putting in the last shift at the old work location before I move to the new work location (tomorrow)is draining. Trying to drum up any enthusiasm is pointless. I'm just doing my job, my stuff's complete, and now I'm just watching the clock until I'm done.
• That I put a lot of thought into what goes onto the Driving-to-work CD now that my commute has gone from 4 to 20+ minutes. If I time it right, my "Powersong" should end just as I get there. (Nike: Please don't sue me for the use of the word "Powersong" - I couldn't think of anything else)
• The plus about the Wife staying overnight with the kids at the Tourney and me coming home due to work, is that last night I got to watch 2 movies that she just hates. No guilt about making her watch something I no she doesn't like, and now I don't have to watch some retarded Rom-Com to make up for it.
•  That being the first guy at the gym is great, until you see some douchebag you just can't stand walk through the door.
• That no matter what, I always have my best blog ideas when I have no time to type them out. (Is my lunch break over already?)
• That I hate to say it, and I will deny I ever typed it if I have to, but no matter how much I say I like peace and quiet, the house is waaay too silent with just me here. Maybe the Wife will break down and let me get a cat. (I'm dying to name it something Tweet-worthy.)

Later.

Malarafication.

Once again, I shamelessly steal someone else's picture.

I'm sick of Blogger's Word verification.

It pisses me off.

At first it was cute.

"Please prove you're not a robot." It said.

Then it would give me a word. Just one word.

(Much like Sean Connery's "One Ping Only" in The Hunt for Red October - this has no significance to what I'm talking about, but it's what came to mind when I typed "Just One Word." See? That's how my mind works, people - all over the place.)

Even though it was only one word, it was at least a word I could understand. I could find it in a dictionary. It was harder to type than "cat", but easier than "Supercalafragilisticexpialidocious". That should fool just about any robot, right?

For the last while now, Blogger has gone to two words in their verification system. I'm okay with two words, as long as they make sense. I always looked at it as expanding my vocabulary while getting my opinion out there. I do comment on some blogs quite a bit, so if I have to type "Dog" and "Bountyhunter" after reading a particularly witty post, I'm okay with that.

But now blogger has taken that away from me.

They've started using words that have no meaning - and that drives me nuts.

What kind of word is "decith"? How about "donfo"? (Actual words from when I tried to comment this morning) I tried typing them into Google to see if they were actually anything, but nothing showed up. "Decith" sounds like a guy with a lisp trying to say "desist", and "donfo" sounds like an Asian waiter asking how long I want my eggs poached.

("How long would you like them donfo?" He would ask, and my reply would be, "Until they're done.")

So what's next, Google? What do I have to do to prove I'm a real human being with an opinion? Will it be three words? Four? Why not make me type out " The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" before I hit "Publish"?

Or even better - Math! Have me do long division (and make sure I show my work). Maybe some word problems would weed the Spambots out from the herd. They don't have time to figure out how long it would take Mr. Green to get to Cleveland by bus at 50km/h if his wife was on the beach in Florida - they need to skip that shit and sell more Viagra.

I'm waiting for the day when I type a witty, charming, insightful response on someone's blog, and the next thing I know, my DVD drive on the laptop pops open and I have to give blood, urine, and "other" samples before hitting "reply".

Just wait - it'll happen.

And then my laptop's going to be a mess. Great.








Later.

I Feel: Google News Edition

I'm starting this morning like I start every morning before work: Coffee and Google News. Here's what I think:

• That I find Peyton Manning's 5 year, $96 million contract so astounding it's inconceivable - I can't begin to comprehend that much money. I bet the Waterboy is going to be pissed if he asks for a raise and is turned down.
• That since the iPad 3 heats up to about 116 degrees, I guess it means I won't be resting one on my nuts. (I don't own one, but now I can add "How hot will it make my nuts?" to my Questions-to-ask-the-salesguy list if I ever go tablet shopping.)
• That, as an outsider looking in, it seems to me that Mitt & the Boys are all just racing to see who will come in second when the Election starts. Still, the politics down south are way more entertaining to watch than our own. 
• That the possibility of an Angry Birds Theme Park both interests and terrifies me. All I envision is kids lining up to catapult themselves at other kids. I bet there won't even be protection, unless you're playing as one of those Pigs with a helmet.
• That stating that the Kony2012 director was "Psychotic during his nude meltdown" seems like the most obvious headline of all time. No shit, really? I figured he ran around waving his nutsack in a calm and rational manner.
• That it's impossible not to click on a headline that screams "Horny VIKING MICE". 
• That I know Google is following what I do online when it links to Beer and Sports on the front of my News page.
• That for some strange reason, I now want to have a Beer cocktail while watching the Canucks/Blackhawks game tonight.

Fuck - coffee's empty and it's time to go to work.

At least I'm informed - now if any of my customers want to talk about Horny Viking Mice, I'm all set.






Later.

The Shirt on My Back.

I've got a policy when it comes to running shirts: I won't wear a shirt from a race I haven't ran.

My Wife thinks I'm crazy.

Whenever we go to a Race Expo to get the Race Package (Shirt, swag, information, etc) we always take a moment to go through the sales area and see what the merchants have - you can usually get some pretty good deals on gear or whatever.

Every single time, my Wife stops by the rack of previous year's race shirts and asks if I want any of them. They are nice shirts, and deeply discounted, but she can't understand why I don't want to wear the 2004 Half Marathon finisher's shirt.

I'm sure other runners understand what I'm talking about - to me, wearing the shirt says you finished the race. If I see someone with a Las Vegas Rock n' Roll Marathon shirt on, I'm going to ask them how it was, what they thought, and how they did. If I get a blank stare back, I know that they haven't run the race, and just like cheap shirts. (Either that, or they're an asshole.)

My shirt rule also applies to the race you are running. We picked up my Comox Valley Half Marathon shirt on Sunday before the race, and the Wife asked if I was going to wear it during my run. I'm hoping my puzzled/ewww face conveyed my thought on the matter.

It's inconceivable.

Wearing the race shirt for the race you are in is just bad karma waiting to happen. It's like wearing the medal and that silver blanket they give you afterwards at the start line instead. What if you DNF'd? I've never had it happen, (and hopefully never will) but I know if it did, that shirt would go into the closet or drawer and never see the light of day again. (I'd probably burn the thing - along with my shoes, hat, and possibly whatever underwear I was wearing that day.)

So am I crazy, or what?

It's not like it's some sort of weird fetish where I have to have my shoes tied by left-handed midgets from Ontario before I run, it's just that I believe wearing the shirt says you did it - you ran it, and can now proudly show it to everyone. (I'll admit, I did wear my race shirt to the gym today.)

C'mon, Internet - tell me it's not just me.








Later.

In the Long Run: Race Report

I run like this, but chunkier.

This is the latest installment in the ongoing documentation of mine & Triple T's long runs.

Today was race day for me at the Comox Valley Half Marathon.

I'll be honest - after not having run a race since October 2010, I was nervous as hell and slept like shit last night. I tossed, I turned, I woke up at 5:30 am and forced myself to go back to sleep for another 2 hours.

There were a couple of things that bothered me when I did get up:

• The race wasn't scheduled to start until 11am. I'm a guy who does his best when he rolls out of bed at 5am and hits the road. The waiting and waiting until it was time to leave was maddening.
• I checked the weather report and it called for temps up to 41 with a possibility for snow. Yes, you read that right - Snow. Now I know this is Canada, but there's 2 things I'm terrified of running in: snow and a moose stampede.

My Wife asking me seventeen times "Are you nervous?" on the way there didn't help much either.

Once we got to the race area, I was back on familiar territory - I've ran this race twice before, so seeing the same reception Area, the same registration people, and the same Start/Finish line made me feel a lot more comfortable about what I was about to do.

Pre-Race - I'm happy.

 Eventually, 11am rolled around and the race started. The Comox Valley Half Marathon is an out-and-back over roads that range from pristine pavement to that crumbly, crappy shit you imagine hasn't existed since the 30's. It's mostly hills going out, and then you get the advantage of the downhills on the way back. I'm not sure if it's an advantage or not, because you do have to run the hills first. I guess it's better to get them out of the way, because if it was all uphill at the end, I'd say fuck this shit and just go somewhere and eat donuts.

I started out and didn't even look at my watch - I just went with the flow and what felt comfortable. When I looked at my watch at the 2km mark, I found that my pace was 7'30" - I was running waaaay faster than I had planned for. It was at this time that I made a decision: I was going to keep my pace anywhere from 7'30" to 8'00" as long as I felt good. If the Hip and the Foot were fine, I'm going to keep pace.

I'll admit - ever since Triple T bought her flashy kicks, I'm always looking at other runners shoes. My strategy for the race was to look ahead to the brightest pair of shoes I could see and then catch them. As soon as I passed that pair of shoes, I looked for another to chase - it kept my mind from thinking about what my legs were doing, and it also gave me something to do so I wasn't checking my pace every 5 minutes.

The water stations were handing out Gatorade, water, and Gels. Even though I'm not a fan of gels, I did what I normally do and grabbed one for mental support - it's better to have it and not need it then to need it and not have it, right?

The first 5K was easy - as I passed that mark I figured "Only 3 more of these? This will be a breeze!" Even a the 10K mark I was still feeling really fresh - my pace was good, my Foot and Hip felt fine, and the sun was shining on the course - the fact that there wasn't going to be rain or snow made me settle down into a nice rhythm as we rounded the Halfway point.

 - And that's when I got the stitch in my side - that painful feeling right in your ribs that saps your energy and makes you come out of the Zone and actually feel your body again. I slowed down a half step and just focused on my breathing until it was gone - it only took about a kilometer and a half, but what the hell, right?

It was at this time that I saw a runner I knew up ahead - she's a customer who shops in the store, and we usually talk running and such when she's in. I felt a bit of elation at that moment, just because I knew that if I was in the same finishing group as her, I'd be doing fine - she used to finish just behind me in most of the races I'd ran before.

I caught up to her and we chatted (as best you chat at a 7'40" pace) - she felt she was doing well, and was hoping to come close to her PB. I guess it meant that my thoughts of barely making 2 hours weren't going to be a reality.

There was one last big hill before the gradual downhill of the last 6km, and I left her behind to tackle it. My approach to hills is to keep my pace, shorten my stride, and just push through - it's worked in the past, and it worked again today.

After the hill, she caught up to me again - I'll admit that the last big one had taken a bit out of me and my pace had dipped closer to, and probably over, the 8'00" I had hoped to stick to. I was starting to feel my energy drop. I still had the Gel from earlier in my hand (Vanilla - blech!) and said I was contemplating taking it. She said she had the same, and ripped hers open and squeezed it down her throat.

The disgusting explosion as she puked it all up caught me completely by surprise. To her credit, she did not slow down. After offering my condolences, I told her that in light of her experience, I wasn't going to use my gel, and just hold on to it for later. (Yeah right - that thing is still sitting on my coffee table, unopened, right now.)

I picked my pace back up and finished the next 5km pretty smoothly - I guess watching someone spew vanilla Gel all over the road makes you realize you aren't that tired after all. Everything was going great until I hit the 20km mark.

You'd think that having strained my right Hip Flexor in the past, and having had Plantar Fasciitis in my right Foot, the area of my body that would start to feel pain would be on the right. You'd be totally wrong, but it makes sense why you'd think that way. I did too, until my right Hamstring/Glute (that's leg and ass for you non-runners) started feeling realllllly tight. Cramping tight. Painfully tight.

I did what I do in every race situation at this point - I sucked it up and kept running. Fuck me, it's only 1km - if I started walking, I'd feel like a pussy. I looked for a pair of fast shoes to follow and just kept going.

There's a bridge you go over when you're heading out that's just under 1km from the start - as I crossed over that bridge going back, I knew I had it in the bag. I'm not going to say I sprinted, but I picked it up just a little bit more as I scanned the crowd for my Wife and Kids.

I don't run like a gimp - I'm trying to High-5 my 6 year old.

After I saw them, I turned on the jets for the last 75 meters or so. The race was also having a competition to see who could do the fastest 100m sprint at the end, but fuck that shit - I just ran a Half, I'm crazy, but not fucking retarded. I just saw that the numbers on the Finish Clock were still in the 1:30's and hauled my ass over the line.

It only took me a minute to catch my breath afterwards, and a minute after that to realize I hadn't shut off my Nike +. (Fuck! I always forget that!)

But I was done.

Final results:

1:38:41 Gun Time
1:38:30 Net Time
20th out of 30 in my age group.
131st out of 431 finishers.

And one happy (and sweaty) runner.

Triple T spoiled me this week - she said it could be all about my race - to see how she did on her Long Run, look here.







Later.

Reward.

I run my Half-Marathon this Sunday.

Afterwards I'm having a reward.

What is it, you ask?

I'm going to eat like a pig.

You see, on this run - this 13.1 mile jog I'm doing - I'm going to burn approximately 1800 calories. Combine that with  the 1500 or so my body usually burns in a day, and you have a fuckton of calories to use up.

Some of those will go toward a pre-race snack, and some will surely be used up by Chocolate Milk (the GREATEST post-race beverage ever), but the rest? The rest I plan on using up eating greasy, nasty food.

Not nasty in taste or appearance - I don't swing that way - just nasty in the sense that I enjoy it and it's so bad for me. Those of you in the big city, with access to fine dining and gourmet chefs, are going to laugh at my next statement.

I'm going to Applebee's.

Yes, Applebee's.

There's one in Courtenay (where the race is held), so after I've stretched, cleaned up, and changed, we are heading over there so I can eat my favorite burger on their menu: The Philly Cheesesteak.

Heaven on a plate.

This is beef, peppers, onions and cheese cooked to perfection and served up with my 3rd favorite beverage: Gravy. Having never been to the City of Brotherly Love, I imagine that this is is what a Cheesesteak is supposed to taste like.


Afterwards, I'm going to have this: The Maple Blondie.

Sex on a sizzling platter.

Ice cream, pecans, some sort of magical brownie made by drunk angels who sing of merriment and wonder, and served on a sizzling plate with maple butter cream syrup poured on top. I'm not going to eat the whole thing to myself (I'll split it with the Wife), because then I would pass out from orgasmic bliss.

There might even be beer involved - I'm not sure.

The biggest reward is going to be actually finishing the race, and knowing that the months of training have worked.

But this? This is going to taste good.

I also consider this Fatty-Me's reward for actually giving up and letting me get back in shape - the chubby bastard needs some recognition for all the work I've done to get rid of him.

I hope he enjoys it - it'll be his last for a long while.







Later.

Two in the Bush.

See this little fucker?

Tonight, him and his twin brother flew into the store and acted like little fucking shitheads while me and another guy tried to shoo them out.

They can't stay for obvious reasons (Hello, eating stuff and shitting everywhere), but mainly because with them there, I can't set the alarm and go home - the motion sensors won't let me.

We used brooms, and were gentle, but if it had taken 10 more minutes I would have just turned on the ceiling fans, cracked a beer and watched the feathers fly.

Assholes.







Later.

No Rest for the Wicked.

Lately, sleep has been a bitch for me.

Not falling asleep - that I have no problem with - it's staying asleep.

Going to bed is easy - usually between 9:30- 10:30pm I start to get tired. (Being up at 5, hitting the gym or road, working, and having kids will do that to you.) When I do hit the sack, I read for about 5-10 minutes and then blissful slumber overcomes me.

(Unless the Wife wants to keep me up, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink.)*

So most nights I fall asleep for a good hour or so - until I wake up at about 12am...

And then 2am...

And then the alarm goes off at 5.

The last one I'm okay with - I want to get up at 5. There are the days, however, when I wake up juuust before then - long enough to watch the alarm go off. I can even take those days in stride - if it wasn't for 12 and 2.

When I wake up at those times, it's not for any specific reason - I'm not my Dad, having to pee 3 times a night - it's just that I "wake up". I roll over, look at the clock, groan, and then take about 5 minutes before dreamland (and the Supermodels it contains) comes back. I'm always surprised at the time when I do wake up - because it feels like I've been sleeping for a lot longer than I actually have.

I just had a recommendation for Magnesium supplements - which I'll try, after this weekend's race. My main fear is that the magnesium will course through my body and force me to align with the magnetic poles - meaning I'll be pointing Due North while I'm sleeping. (This is a problem because the Wife is a South-by-Southwest sleeper and she won't let me re-arrange the room.) It'll be interesting to see if my watch or random spoons stick to me as well.

It's not a major problem yet - I'm not a complete bag of shit when I wake up, and I am able to function in society - but I just want to tackle it before it's an issue and I end up looking like Christian Bale in The Machinist. (By the way - that is a completely awesome movie.)

If worse comes to worse, I know almost to the pint how many beers it takes to put me to sleep. (And trust me, it's shamefully low.) Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

You never know - after I've gotten this off my chest, maybe I'll sleep like a baby tonight - and I don't mean crying and shitting myself. (Let's hope so, anyway.)





Later.


*If you don't know what I mean, I suggest you look up Porn. Go ahead, Goggle it. I'll wait.

Train 'o Thought.

• After Monday's crazy, hurricane-like windstorm, Yesterday's beautiful sunshine, and then Today's horrendous wind/rain/trying to snow combination, I've come to the conclusion that my Country is bipolar, and needs to take it's Meds.
• Today is March 14th - Steak & a Blowjob Day. (The Male Valentine's Day) Congratulations to any man who gets both. Hopefully only the Blowjob is well-done - I prefer my steak medium-rare.

•  Looking outside makes me wonder how my Half-Marathon time is going to be - what's the record for running in a Hurricane? No reason - just curious.
• Yesterday I ran 5 miles, re-shingled and patched part of my parent's roof, cleaned up my yard, and skated for an hour with the Youngest Boy's hockey practice. At 9:30 pm last night I felt like I could have slipped into a sweet, happy coma.
• Did I mention that last night was also the first time I've had McDonald's in the past 4 months? That Grilled Chicken Bistro Burger might have had something to do with my body wanting to shut down.
• I think that Denny's Restaurant should just change it's name to Breakfast All Day. I have never been in a Denny's at any time where 99% of the people aren't eating a breakfast meal. That includes the 3am stop after the Bar closes.
• I had a haircut yesterday - how come the shorter my hair is, the greyer it appears? I'd call myself the Silver Fox, but I'm just too modest.
• Right now I'm wondering whether or not I should get ready for work and have my shower now, or wait until the power goes out just for the challenge of doing it in the dark.
• I've learned from Monday's mistakes in regards to power outages - I'm bringing the biggest fucking thermos of coffee with me to work. It's times like this I wish I could wear a Camelbak on the job.
• That my customer service skills would be outstanding if I could wear the Camelbak full of coffee and "Irish" it up a bit.
• I'm kind of envious of the Irish at this time of year - they are always portrayed as a passionate, fun-loving, hard-drinking people. (Ie: the "Irish" up a coffee remark) - no one ever wants to "Canadian" up something - what's wrong with adding some mangled french and politeness?

I'd write more, but as I tried to save this, Blogger had a brain fart and deleted everything - I think it's just best to quit while I'm ahead. Besides, that work thing is calling my name...






Later.

Blacked Out.

Yesterday, after the worst storm in memory, we went without power from 5am until 8pm at night.

Just a small breeze, really.

In the community of 30,000 that I live in, 23,000 didn't have power.

Finding coffee and a way to keep your phone charged were top priorities. (I know, First World Problems, right?) I stood in line at the only functioning Tim Horton's for 20 minutes and was tempted to ask if they could just hook an I.V. up and pipe it directly into my arm.

I view the person who handed me that steaming goblet of caffeinated goodness as something akin to a Saint.

Amazingly enough, I was also able to get a run in on my lunch hour.

Overall, the day worked out well, and the lights are back on.

However, after being stuck indoors with the kids and no power, the Wife will snap if she so much as glimpses a board game. (Who knew playing the Game of Life with a 6 and 9 year old would cause such rage?)

I've hid the Jenga - so I think everything is going to be okay.








Later.

In the Long Run: Taper Madness.

Gather round for another tale of the tribulations of Me and Triple T, as we both train for our upcoming races.

This week was the start of my taper before my Half Marathon on March 18th.

It's kind of driving me crazy.

I know the taper is designed to allow my body to recover from the rigors of training, but someone needs to tell my legs/brain that.

I'm still running the same amount of days, but shorter distances and at about 70% effort  - but it's the shorter distances that are bothering me.

(Is it a sign of dementia that I was disappointed that this week's run was only 8 miles instead of last week's 12?)

It just feels wrong to not be pushing to go farther - and if you combine that with the nervous energy of knowing my race is less than a week away, and you can imagine how much fun I am to be around.

I went into this week's run thinking that I would break from training a little bit and do the distance, but at a slightly faster pace than the Long Slow Run usually calls for. That way my disappointment about the lack of distance could be offset by trying to get my pace up.

Sounds cool, right?

Well it was, right until my brain started to do the worst possible thing: I started to think.

"What are you doing?" I asked myself. "Why are you going to potentially fuck up weeks of training because you feel you can push it a bit more?"

"But 8 miles just doesn't feel like progress - and training is all about progression, right?"

"You're going to progress yourself into a fucking injury if you don't slow down, you retard."

"It'll be fine - don't be such a pussy. Besides, maybe we can make sure we get closer to a good finishing time.."

"Are you completely fucking idiotic? I didn't think we were shooting for a time - I thought this was all about doing it right, following the plan, and just running it for the sake of the race?"

"It is..but wouldn't it be cool?"

"Shut the fuck up and run, asshole - and slow down - If I so much as feel that foot or hip tighten up, I'm giving you nightmares for a week."

"Whatever."

 "I'm not kidding - do you want to dream about running it naked? Surrounded by grandmothers? In bikinis?"

"Okay, okay - you win."

Now imagine that conversation repeated about 12 times during the course of my 8 miles and you can  probably see why my pace was so up and down it looked like I was doing fartlek.*

When I got home after the run, I looked at what next week's runs had in store for me - and disappointment set in again. To give you a hint, if you add up the distance of three of my Taper Week runs, it barely equals a Long Run from a week ago.

Shit.

It's called Taper Madness for a reason - because no sane person would bitch about having to run less.





Later.

*I love using the word Fartlek - just for the fact that whenever a non-runner sees it, they wonder what the hell we're talking about. It kind of just rolls off the tounge. I sometimes just want to run around an Ikea whispering "Fartlek" to everyone I pass.


Triple T is weeks away from even being close to a taper - but I'm pretty sure she's in a cut back week. She how she handles it here.

Coffola.

Fatty Me used to love this stuff.

Combining coffee and Coke may seem like some sort of gross miscarriage of justice, but take it from me - this shit was tasty.

Not-so-Fatty me thinks that if this came in a Diet or Low-Cal version, it would be a great I've-worked-my-ass-off-and-deserve-a-treat reward.

Plus, the bottle looked fucking cool.

C'mon Coca-Cola, get your shit together and make me happy.




Later.

I Feel:

- That sitting in the breakroom at work eating an apple with a knife makes me look like:  a) Crocodile Dundee, b) a total Badass, or c) an accident waiting to happen.

- That, as much as I like their clothes, wearing an Adidas track jacket to work on casual day was a bad choice - I've been asked 3 times if I'm in the Russian mafia. (Is it the stripes?)

- That after doing a heavy chest workout yesterday, I should get bonus points today if I can get my arms above my navel.

- That since the Kony video hit, everyone is an expert on Africa - yet no one can find Uganda on a map.

- That the minute you can prove to me that changing my Facebook status actually accomplishes anything, then I'll start using it for more than running updates and dick jokes.

- That the crazy, always-laughing-at-something coworker sitting across from me has no idea how much her voice makes me want to throat-punch her. (Luckily, I'm a peaceful man.)

- That the day I forget to bring my coffee from home is, of course, the day the work coffee pot decides to implode. If I don't get some caffeine, it won't be the only one.

- That people who don't take their stuff out of the microwave should be punched each time it does that annoying "reminder" beep. I'd implement this at home, but the Wife has bony fists that really hurt.

- That trying to reconcile a customer complaint when they obviously don't understand math, weights, or the metric system can be a challenge..

- That thanks to my sweet interpersonal skills, there's one more uneducated person out there who thinks I'm fucking great.

- That Canadian politics are so dull - even our scandals are boring. Robocalls? Really? I like my politics dirty and full of hookers and cocaine.

Later.

Face, Meet Pavement.

Standard Crappy Cellphone Pic.

On my weekend of Hockey and Drinks, I had a little accident.

As the group of us were leaving a pub to go for dinner at the swank restaurant, I tripped. With my hands in my pockets and some drinks under my belt, my face got to know the pavement on a personal level.

Luckily the restaurant was close, and one of the guys I was with is apparently some sort of Boyscout - we got into the bathroom and he started pulling First-Aid supplies out of his pockets. Gauze, alcohol wipes, band-aids - I thought he had robbed a hospital.

With a band-aid firmly in place, we had dinner and went to the game - although the home team lost, we still had a great time. (If you've never been to an NHL game, you're missing out.)

Can't beat the view.

Explaining my face at work the last couple of days has been a real treat - people who know me ask how drunk I was when I fell, people who work with me ask me if someone punched me (Supposedly I can be quite sarcastic at times?), and customers - well, customers are the best of all.

The customers who don't recall me from my heavier weight all ask if I hurt myself doing something active: Mountain Biking, Rock Climbing, Trail Running, etc. I'm totally taking it as a compliment, and am starting to think I should skip the truth and say that I scraped a mountainside while BASE jumping. I was going to say wrestling a Honey Badger, but I'm not sure if that's completely legal - even in Canada.

The customers who remember me as being heavier ask if I fainted or was jumped - as if my lack of size has made me frail and unable to take care of myself. (I will admit that my story that evening was that I was jumped by Ninjas, but that's only because no one would have believed Somalian Pirates.)

Every single one of them asks if it itches now that it's healing. Which it totally doesn't, until someone asks if it does. Then I feel like I want to scrape the left side of my face off.

I'll admit, tripping and falling when you're 6 or 9 is totally socially acceptable and easily explained - no one questions when my kids trip or stumble. Explaining it when you're 39? Everyone knows there's a story involved.

And they won't believe you no matter what you say.

I'll have to put up with the questions for at least another week or two - it's healing quite well - and then I can forget ever meeting pavement up close.

Thank God.








Later.

With a Little Help From My Friends.

For a guy who kind of puts his life out there for you to read, I haven't talked much about my weight.

I know I keep going on and on about all the miles I run, but there's been a big plus to overcoming the injuries of the past year and "finding" running again.

Since January 2nd, I've lost 27 pounds.

I know to some people that might not seem like a lot, but when you are 5'10" and pushing 40, it means quite a bit. I had put the weight on after stopping running (because of the Hip and PF) and eating like I was still doing 30+ miles a week. (Okay, I'll admit - donuts were involved.) Do that for almost a year and see where your pant size ends up.

There's a huge difference between 205 and 178.

How have I done it?

Here's some "Friends" that helped me:

Not pictured: The Smell.

 My Shoes:  If it weren't for them, I'd be sitting on the couch complaining about running in bare feet. I love these shoes. I've used them on treadmill, road, track, and trail and they've never failed me. They aren't flashy kicks, but they get the job done - and the white makes my pale-ass legs look darker.

I usually wear the Sportband on my wrist.

Nike+: I don't want to sound like a corporate shill, but the nerd in me loves my Nike+ Sportband. (I'd also like to say that the hat has been with me for the past 4 years and most of my races) The information it gives, the ease of use, and the reliability are huge factors for me. If it keeps working, the least I can do is keep running, right?

My Fitness Pal: I downloaded this app on January 1st, and I think it is what has made a huge difference in the weight that I've lost. I find it easy to use and stick with, and the fact that I can see and keep track of what (and how much) I'm eating makes thinking about correct food choices easier. It doesn't tell you what to eat: just lets you know what calories you're taking in and what you are expending. Your mileage may vary, but since I'm a geek who has his smartphone with him at all times, this works for me.

Triple T: I'm going to say that all the people I know through Blogger and all the encouragement you have all given me have helped, but I'd like to thank Triple T for being such a huge motivator. I'll admit - there are days when I don't want to go to the gym or hit the road - but knowing she's out there slogging through the Chicago weather so we can write about our runs makes me get my ass out of bed. I don't understand her fascination with Dog the Bounty Hunter, but I do understand what drives her to run. My Race is coming up soon, but you better believe I'll be doing my long runs well into May to help with her race.

My Wife: She doesn't complain when the alarm goes off at 5am. She makes sure I know ingredients and amounts in everything we eat. She even washes my Running gear if I haven't thrown it in the laundry. Having support like that is absolutely indescribable. If it wasn't for her, I'd still be a puddle of flesh sitting on the couch - and she'd love me anyways.


As you can see, with Friends like that, it's no wonder I'm looking and feeling better.


Here's to continued improvement!






Later.

In The Long Run: Feeling It.

Here's another installment in the ongoing documentation of mine and Triple T's Long Runs.

This last run was the longest that I'm going to do before my Half Marathon in two weeks. (March 18th) It was 12 miles, which is the farthest I've ran in at least a year.

Normally at the end of a run I have that happy, tired-but-still-gas-in-the-tank feeling. I'll admit that after this run, I was fucking exhausted - and honestly, I wasn't even going that fast. (It's called a Long Slow Run for a reason.)

Did I feel good about the run? Absolutely. Making that distance, after just 2 months of training, is a big boost - but how wiped I was has me a bit concerned with how I'm going to be after running a longer distance at a faster pace.

I've heard of leaving it all on the race course, but I don't think they meant my corpse.

I guess that feeling the effects of the run mean that I've pushed myself, and that is always a good thing - you can't get better if you never try harder, right?

I'll admit - In my head I still gauge my training and progress by how I used to be two years ago, before injury and everything afterwards. After I finished this run, I thought about how I used to do 22-23 mile training runs before my Marathon and then go and work 8 hours - the fact that I did 12 and still made it to work made me feel like a hero.

I guess it's just part of being that Middle-Aged Runner, which is way better than being that Middle-Aged-Guy-Sitting-On-The-Couch.

(The irony that I'm sitting on the couch as I type this is not lost on me.)

Triple T had a longer run than me this week, (As I think she does every week) go see how she felt about it here.





Later.

Scheduled Interuption.

So far, there are 3 things that have made my day today:

Coffee - Nectar of the Gods.

Don't knock the Vitamin D, y'all.

I was wearing 2 of these.

(Not necessarily in that order)

What didn't make my day? Being cut of by some ignorant parent pulling out of the parking lot at school, having to swerve onto someone's lawn, and getting a giant fucking rock wedged under my car. The Fuckerhead who cut me off didn't even notice what they had done and drove away blissfully - I was too concerned with making sure the kids were okay (They are) to get a plate number so I can hunt them down and kill them later.

Luckily I was so full of caffeine and endorphins that I was able to stay cheerful throughout the procedure of jacking up the car and removing the boulder. 

Now I get to go to work and start the countdown.

The countdown to what, you may ask?

Oh, just this:

Tomorrow I head to the Big City to see the Canucks take on the Sabres. 

For those of you who are from south of the border, this may seem as interesting as watching Women's Basketball of Midget Golf,

Trust me - for a Canadian guy, this is a big deal - especially one who lives out in the sticks like me.

So..

You probably won't hear from me (aside from Twitter) for a couple of days - If I have enough brain cells left, I'll have my Long Run blog post up on Monday.

If it's just a picture of shoes and words that look like kjghlfkjguigysgb,mfglgf - you'll know how my weekend went.

Later.