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.

Spellacious Nightmare.

I was typing up another post, (not this post, but a different one - waaay funnier, believe me.) and I noticed something that bothered me.

My fucking spelling has become atrocious.

For a guy who likes to think he's quite verbose, (c'mon, I just used "verbose" and "atrocious" in, like, TWO sentences - it's like I was born with a dictionary in one hand and a thesaurus in another - Mom was VERY uncomfortable that day.) this shocking inability to correctly type whatever words my brain is spewing out is very disconcerting.

Seriously - the preceding paragraph had so many spelling errors that Blogger's spellcheck wanted to put me into "Crayon" mode. Now that's scary.

Blogger would prefer me to use this method.

Right now I'm blaming it on the tiny laptop keyboard, too much coffee and the fact that while my mind moves at approximately 213mph, my fingers move considerably slower. (Don't worry about the fingers, ladies, they do just fine...)

If I combat the coffee with NyQuil, and maybe actually learn to touch type, then the mistakes will not be so glaring and I won't see smoke billowing from the back of the laptop when I hit the "Check Spelling" button. (It gets tiring seeing those squiggly red lines under every second word.)

We'll see.

For now, just know that the glory you read everyday is all natural, but like the abs of the Spartans in 300, there's been just a bit of digital enhancement.

It's also what I wear when I type - you're welcome for the visual.

Later.

Mabel & The Seven Treadmills.

I ran into a Mabel today.

I'm sneezing and sniffling, so for today's run I packed up and headed to the gym to hit the treadmill. I'm not going to risk having a cold or worse fuck up my training for the Half - I'm selfish that way. (Or a wuss - call it as you see it.)

The thing about my gym, if I haven't mentioned it before, is that it only has 7 treadmills - and much like the seven dwarves, each of them has a different "personality" that can be summed up in what I call them:

• Oldie - This treadmill was born during the jögging (Scandinavian pronunciation) phenomenon of the 70's. When I run on it I get the feeling that it wants to tell me about how running was harder "back in the day" and tell me to "hit the sauna" afterwards.
• Corpse - This is Oldie's brother. I have never seen this one in working order - I swear the "Out of Order" sign on it is older than my kids.
• Skipper - Although it sounds like Barbie's younger sister, (don't ask how I know) this machine is can only be used successfully by either a double-dutch team or the ghost of Terry Fox.
• Grinder - Grinder is deceptive - When he's set at walking speed, he's quiet as a mouse. The second he goes to any sort of faster pace the sound of gnashing metal teeth and screech of protests are enough to make everyone in the gym stop and stare. Grinder became who he was by having a 6-foot-4, 245 pound slab of muscle pound on him at 9.5 to 10mph about 5 days a week - if there's a hell for treadmills, Grinder's there.
• Looker - there's nothing wrong with Looker - perfectly fine treadmill, if you like being directly opposite the huge fucking mirror. I know it's weird, but I can't watch myself run - I have a vision of perfect posture, excellent stride, and flawless complexion when I run. Seeing the sweaty, flawed realism takes me out of my game.
• The Mistress - This is the newest treadmill at the gym. works good, bright and shiny, has all the bells and whistles. I would run the shit out of this one of it wasn't for...
• My Baby - My Baby is the cremé de la cremé of the gym treadmills - perfect position (can't see myself run), on the end of the line (no squeezing in between treadmills), and has never broken down or missed a day. (I have busted out a 12 mile run on this thing in the dead of winter - this treadmill is connected to my soul.) I guess because of where it is, not a lot of people like to run on it - except me - and most people know it as "my" treadmill.

Well, everyone except Mabel, that is.

I don't know if her name is Mabel and I don't care - she's 100 years old (Ok, maybe 60) and all she does is walk on the treadmill. - no incline, no increase in speed, no effort exerted at all beyond hitting the "Start" button.

And she was doing all of this nothing on my treadmill.

You think that she would have gone for Oldie - I'm sure she probably knew the original designer - or even tried out Looker for a better view of herself and the TV's - (did I mention that she was watching 100 Huntley Street? I think I should.) but no, she chose My Baby for her leisurely stroll.

I sucked it up and only ground my teeth a little as I went to The Mistress and did my run. It's a good treadmill, but it's not the same. And with Karma being what it is, Mabel's walk finished at exactly the same time as my run. I estimate that she maybe did one mile to my four - I was tempted to go run a couple miles on My Baby just to let her know I was there.

I appreciate that Mabel is getting out there and trying to stay in shape - if she had even attempted something more than a walk I'm sure that my bitterness would be much less. I swear if she had been reading a magazine while walking I don't think I would have been able to contain myself.

Does that make me crazy? Is that intervention on the way?

Whatever - I'm going to give it one more chance tomorrow - but if she's heading to the treadmills at the same time I am, I can't be held responsible for my actions.








Later.

Seat of All Knowledge.

I post more pictures of toilets than I do of my kids.

In the circles I travel in, I'm kind of known as a bright guy. Not Einstein-level smart, but the type of guy that people usually come to with questions because I either know the answer or know how to find it. I'm that guy you know who knows a little bit about a lot of stuff.

(Remember that roommate you had who kicked your ass every time Jeopardy was on? That's me.)

I have a secret to confess - it's not schooling that filled my head full of information;

There were no long hours of study in the library;

I don't peruse Wikipedia on a daily basis;

I just have a huge collection of Bathroom Readers.

You remember books, right? The thing people used to take to the bathroom before smartphones were invented?

While I don't have every single Bathroom Reader - I have a lot. What started out as a inside joke for a stocking stuffer at Christmas years ago has turned into a twice-yearly easy gift for anyone that knows me. It's a guarantee that if there is a wrapped, brick-like object under the tree or beside the cake, someone has bought me a Bathroom Reader. (Unless, you know, they bought me an actual brick - but that would just be weird.)

I usually break convention and read them outside the confines of the bathroom, but I'm still able to soak up all the information - I don't think there's a direct correlation between the two.

I like them because they wrap up useful information in a format that is entertaining and not strenuous to read - I guess they figured if you were reading their books in the bathroom, you were straining enough already. They also cover a wide variety of topics that I wouldn't normally read about. Sorry to disappoint any Americans out there, but most of what I know about your history comes from these books and Hollywood.

For years, I thought this photo was pretty accurate.

There is one drawback to the knowledge that gets gleaned from these tomes: it's running into someone who knows the same information because they got it from the same source.

I was having a conversation the other day at work, and the subject got around to Bananas - I work in a grocery store, what do you expect? - we were talking about crops, rotation, suppliers and such, and I quoted a couple of statistics and facts that I had read about in the Bathroom Reader I got for Christmas.  As soon as the words left my mouth, one of the guys I work with looks a me and says "Hey - I was just going to say that! I've got that Bathroom Reader too!" - we had a pretty good laugh about it.

So the next time you come across some who seems to be a bit of a know-it-all, don't hate them or be in awe of their intellect - just understand that they read something other than US Weekly or the shampoo bottle while they are going about their business.







Later.

*Uncle John's did not pay me or give me anything to write about Bathroom Readers - if they want to, I'm totally cool with that. I believe the term is "Blogwhorin".

You are Legion.

Are you one of the people in this picture?

I just want to say thanks.

Thanks for stopping by and listening to whatever rambling train of thought I have going on. I'm a stat junkie, so knowing there are 100 people out there who took the time to follow this blog is kinda cool.

(I'm sure a couple of you are spam bots, but whatever, welcome to the party.)

So be you Jobe or Bish from Victoria, The Homeoffice in Ontario, Steve in Portland, TripleT in chilly Chicago, or whomever at The Kroger Co. that keeps coming here (us grocery retail types have to stick together, right?) just know that I'm glad you stopped by and took the time.

For those of you I missed, I'm sorry - there's just so many of you now!

It's hard to see, but I'm smiling like a fool.






Later.

Odiferous Prostitute.

Today was a clean-and-organize day.

 About as much fun as you'd think.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that my house is now indexed and cataloged like an OCD librarian's lingerie drawer - it's not even close. But I did make an dent in the list of things to be done.

I took care of the bathrooms.


Exciting, eh?

Before I got down to the scrubbiness, I started rearranging my section of the medicine cabinet, and that's when one thing became abundantly clear:

I'm a cologne whore.

To be fair, I like smelling good. Working with the public for as long as I have has taught me that if you are going to be in close proximity to other people throughout any part of your day, it's your obligation to make sure you don't smell like a rancid goat. (If you work with rancid goats, my apologies and please disregard the previous statement.) I've encountered staff and customers who smelled worse than I would if I'd ran a marathon in +45 degree weather (104 Fahrenheit, for my American readers) with a half a cabbage under each armpit. I'm sure that's a recipe for some type of Eastern-European soup or something. (I'm sure my pits would be more effective than some crock pots.)

So let's just say personal odor is important to me.

I guess I just never noticed how much.

Smellin' like a sexy athlete in just two sprays.

Is seventeen bottles excessive? Is that over the acceptable level?

Just for clarity, I don't wear them all at once.

I have some standards scents that I wear more than others, but I do follow a loose rotation so I don't run out of my favorites (I don't have a chart up or anything, I'm not that obsessive). Most days I just grab a bottle, take a wiff, and go with what appeals to me.

It wasn't until I got them all together that it hit me how many there were. It looks like I could go into a department store and sell them stuff.

I think I should try a different one each day and see if anyone really comments.

Customer: "Hey, weren't you working here yesterday?"
Me: "Yes, I was."
Customer: "How come yesterday you smelled like an ocean breeze with a hint of vanilla and citrus, and today you smell like sandalwood and musk?"
Me: "Ummm..."

I'm not sure, though - isn't the point of cologne be that you don't really notice it?

Doesn't matter - all those bottles sure look pretty all lined up in a row.

Remember - if you come across a guy in the Grocery store who smells like perfection and talks like an angel, it's only me.







Later.

I Feel:

That my ability to hold back from punching ignorant, rude, and stinky people is the hallmark of my career in customer service.

That the main reason I don't is because these hands are made for lovin', not fightin'.

That in order to balance out workouts, housework, work, the things I want to read and write, and have an actual sleep schedule, I'm going to need the day to be extended by about 6 hours.

That with starting my Half-Marathon training, I've become reacquainted with my old Nemesis, chafing. Someone start praying for my thighs.

That the weather phenomenon known as a "Pineapple Express" is shittier than the movie of the same name, and lazier than James Franco's eye. Enough with the rain already - can't it just be Spring all the time?

That watching The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King on television instead of DVD is an exercise in couch sitting of world-record proportions.  I almost made it too, but I couldn't sit and watch the homo-eroticism of Hobbits jumping on a bed at the end. Halfway through that movie, I just wanted Sam and Frodo to get a room already. I'm not one to judge, but I don't want to watch.

 That with the fact that I'm either fiercely hot or freezing cold, I'm starting to wonder if there is such a thing as Male Menopause, or maybe God's just fucking with me.

That if we're being Honest, the only reason anyone would go to the Winter Classic is for the spectacle of it all - because really, those seats would be shitty for watching hockey.

That my deisre to go home and workout is going to have to compete with my desire to go home and sleep. Pillow versus weights: let's see who wins.

That unless I try really hard, I can never make it to 10 on these....

Later.

Of Rice & Men.

This is what the fuss is about?

I'm not much of a chef (outside of Bar-B-Que season) but I'd like to try making Risotto.

The Wife watches a lot of cooking shows (Top Chef, Iron Chef, Chopped, The Next Food Network something) and if there's one thing I've picked up in my moments of half-watching these shows while on the laptop, it's that risotto is either the most difficult dish ever created or so fucking easy that if you mess it up it shows everyone else in existence that it was foolish to let you play near the stove.

I'm having a hard time figuring it out.

See, On Hell's Kitchen when some poor schmoe brings Gorden Ramsey a risotto that is anything less than perfect he reacts like you kicked him in the balls and called his mother a slut. He berates and belittles the offending chef so much about fucking up the risotto that it's like me getting mad at the Kids for improperly wiping their ass.

Me: "How do you mess up wiping your ass?!? What were you thinking?"
Kid: "I did my best Dad - I really tried!"
Me: "So then why is it all over the wall? Let's get your brother in here and see if he can do better!"

However, when you;re watching some competitive cooking show like Chopped or Top Chef, and some guy attempts to make risotto in under 30 minutes, other contestants who are in the cooking business themselves shake their heads at this maverick genius for even attempting it, and award him(or her) mad props if they pull it off.

So like I said - it's either easy-peasy simple or harder than I could possibly imagine.

So what's it gunna be, Risotto?
You and me, man-o et rice-o, at the flagpole stove after school?

I'll kick your ass.






Later

606,000

Not My Legs

606,000

That's a big fucking number.

But let's break it down:

• 606,000 steps /2000 steps to a mile (Approx) = 303 miles.
• 303 miles /12 weeks = 25.25 miles a week.
• 25.25 miles a week / 4 days = 6.31 miles a session.

Subtract the 13.1 miles for the Half Marathon I'll be running at the end of it, and the numbers look even smaller. See? Not so bad after all, eh?

Due to injury, I missed running the Comox Valley Half Marathon last year - I'd ran it the previous 2 years, and missing out on it really bothered me. I'm determined that through organization, proper training (including actually stretching after runs!) and sheer determination, I'm going to finish the training and have a successful race.

Do I expect to beat my 1:33:50 Half Marathon PR?
No.
Do I expect to beat my 1:37:00 PR for this race?
No.

The last time I ran a Half and didn't PR was in Victoria 2010 - it was the first time I didn't improve on my time and it really crushed me. I went into the next training session like a madman (for Comox 2011) and only ended up injuring myself and not running at all. This time I'm going to run just for the sake of doing it - I think the time will take care of itself.

That's a big step for me to take - changing my outlook like that - I've always been a competitor with myself and others when it came to running, so breaking that outlook will be difficult, but I'm doing it one step at a time.


605,999 and counting...





Later.

Change it Up.

Since my foot is still an issue, I've switched from Running to Biking in an effort to get my cardio fix in - it's not too bad, but there are some differences I've noticed:

1. It's easier on the feet, but tougher on the balls.
2. As a runner, it seems to me that cars tend to give you a wide berth - on a bike, it's like cars fucking hate you.
3. The plus with riding a bike is that the breeze cools you off - the downside would be the sweat gushing out of every pore the minute I stop.
4. I don't know about you, but I don't have to wear a helmet when I run, so getting used to that is going to be a bitch. (If you do wear a helmet while you run, I suggest you join a different running club - you may have inadvertently signed up for the Special Olympics.)
5. Going downhill on a bike? Waaaaay fucking easier on your quads.
6. I think I'm going to need gloves as the grips on the bike are hurting my palms - and I really need those. (I gotta take care of what takes care of me, right?)
7. It's hard to appreciate female bikers like female runners. Same amount of spandex, but the women on bikes are all hunched over..
8. Did I mention it hurts my balls? 

No matter the differences, I kind of like the change - and even when my foot feels better and I can start logging miles again, it's still going to be part of my routine.

I'll just make sure to take the helmet off if I'm riding the bike in the gym.




Later.

Tattoo Goo.

Yeah - that's my leg.

You can tell by the muscular definition in the calf...and the freckles.

So I just got it done today, and it was an excellent experience. My last Tat was done when I was 19-20, so it's been a while since I've been in a shop. But completing my first marathon deserved something, and I think this was it.

My plan now, for future runs, is to put a small mark of some sort - ( a runner or if I want to sell out - a nike swoosh) under my time for each other marathon I run. Considering I'm doing 2 next year, I think the leg will be seeing some work.

Excuse the shitty, bleeding look to the pic.. remember - it's fresh.

Would ya believe I'm already contemplating my next one? Tattoos are almost as addictive as running. (Almost.) Thank God I'm in control of my addictions.. (Those of you who know me can start laughing now.)


Later.

Station Identification.

Just so the world doesn't think I've died, I thought I'd update.

A lot has happened since I last wrote anything down here.

Most importantly, I lost my Father-in-Law - he was a great man and I was saddened by his loss and honored to be chosen to give the eulogy at his service. Trust me, I'm a talker, and getting up in front of those 350 people was both humbling and terror-inducing. From all accounts afterward, I did a good job , and everyone said he would have been pleased.

The two weeks preceding, I was single-dadding it - with all that had happened, my wife stayed with her mother, and even though it's on the same town, I didn't see her at all for 14 days. Juggling the kids and my OCD complex with the house was a challenge but I did it.

And if you think I got a lot of runs in, you're dreaming - check my Twitter - I haven't done much at all. Thank God it doesn't show yet, but I'm just glad to get back to the routine so I can get my shoes back on and just get out there. I'm still planning on Vancouver in May, and Vic again in October - with the Comox Half , Merville 15K, and any other run I can scrounge thrown in there. You have no clue how bad I'm aching for a 10 miler.. does that make me crazy?

Coming up, I have the Sidekick in town soon, and we're going to see the Trews at the Tidemark on the 23rd. (Yes, he's explained how coming to the sticks to see a concert is completly wrong, but he's still coming..)

And in 2 weeks and 2 days, I get my Tattoo. Totally looking forward to it.

Well you've been topped up with the meat and potatoes of my life - and yes, there's tons I'm not telling - but that's probably another post at another time.

Trust me, I'll be back.
(You can't keep a good man down - so a guy like me can only be kept down about 75% of the time.)


Later.

10K, A-Okay.

I ran my last race of the year today.

I finished the Miracle Beach 10k with a blazing fast 44:28 - 5 minutes off my time from last year. I still placed fourth in my age group, which just means the other old bastards (M35-39) have gotten faster too.

It was a great race, and I felt fantastic throughout. I probably could have even pushed a bit harder, but with doing Victoria last Sunday, I didn't think it wise to punish my legs further.

As always, the weather turned out great for the run - I always seem to luck out that way. (Knock on wood if you can.) It was sunny, cool, and the perfect weather to kick ass in.

For most of the race, I was running with a couple of guys, not paying attention to my pace, just running what felt right. It wasn't until one of them commented that we were clocking a 4'30" k that I started to check my pace, and even slowed down a bit - got to have gas in the tank to be able to finish. (Running's like sex - if you start out too fast, you just fall apart at the finish - never a good thing.)

Still, I was well ahead of where I wanted to be - at best I hoped for a time somewhere around the 45 minute mark, so to beat that even by just 30 seconds is a great thing. And as always, having them call out your name at the awards is great, even if it is just 4th place.

I say it's my last race of the year just because of the fact that I know of nothing else that's coming up. I'm contemplating the Vancouver Marathon, but that's not until May - and even then, I can incorporate the Comox Half and the Merville 15K into my training plan. ( I haven't really talked to the Wife about Vancouver - she already thinks I'm nuts, and telling her I want to do 2 Marathons and at least 1 Half next year will have her calling the guys in White Coats.)

So for now, it's back to just running for running's sake. I'm going to be hitting the gym for three days a week and running on the off days. I know there's a six-pack hiding under that last layer of fat - I'm determined to find it.

(Plus - and I won't make any promises - I should be able to blog more, now that I'm not going to be running 5 days a week. Believe it when it happens.)


Later.

Tattoo You.

I'm going to get another Tattoo.

As most of you who read this blog have come to understand, I have become slightly obsessed with running. ("No Shit!" You say - "Tell us something new!")

And as some of you may know, I already have a tattoo - the Japanese symbol for "Love" on my chest. As that Tattoo was wrought from pain and anguish (some of you even know that story), so this Tattoo will rise from pain and success.

I've decided to get the Roman Numerals for 26.2 (XXVI) tattooed vertically down my right calf, and at the bottom have my finish time for my marathon.

"But wait!" You say, "The Roman's didn't use decimals, you schmuck!". I know - I'm going to get a smaller "II" symbol tucked in beside the "I" - Trust me - I've drawn it out already, and it'll look cool.

And though it may seem crazy and weird to get a running tattoo on my leg, my reasoning is thus: I did it - I accomplished what few do, and no matter what else happens in my life, I will have that to be proud of. And it doesn't matter how many more I run, or whether my time improves or decreases - this was my first, and I want to remember it. (The only other thing I might ever get would be something involving my kids, but that's about it.)

The only thing that sucks is I have to wait until November 26th to get it done - the only reputable Tattoo Artist in town that I would trust my skin to is booked up until then.

I'm sure I'll describe the procedure and post photos when it happens.. But for now, I can't wait.


Later.

A Long Day.

Today was my Long Run Day.

Technically, it's supposed to be tomorrow, but really - when you set out to run 22 miles, does it really matter what day of the week it is? Didn't think so.

The thing that weirds me out about my long runs lately is that I start out in the darkness of the morning (6:30), and before I'm even two-thirds done, the sun is up and the day has completely changed. Sometimes it almost feels like I've been running from one day to the next.

To tell the truth, I'm disappointed in my long runs. Last week, I was supposed to do 20 miles, and came up three-quarters of a mile short because my hip flexor was bugging me, and this week I was 1.5 miles short because of a leg cramp. (I know it was a hydration issue, but it just kills me.) The fact is, after 20 miles, I think my body just says "What the fuck are you doing?'

My Body's going to learn that I'm the one in charge.

I don't have anymore long runs until the Marathon on October 11th. The longest I run is 12 miles. (Ha! Two years ago I would have called you crazy to think I'd run 12 miles. Now I don't consider it "Long".) So now's the time to rest between runs, and just try and stay healthy and injury-free.

As for the Marathon, I'm still hopeful of my time - still want under 4hrs, and as close to 3:30 as possible. I'm confident in my training, and know that between that and adrenaline on race day, I'll do just fine.



Later.

The Inconsistent Blogger.

An Anonymous source has said that Micro-Blogging via Twitter isn't nearly as interesting as Blog posts.

And they couldn't be more right.

Trying to tell an interesting story via Twitter is like someone trying to write Fight Club via Facebook status updates. ("I am Jack's Wall - help me in Farmtown")

So then what's the deal with the lack of posting, you ask?

Just plain laziness and the inability to tell a story. Oh, I can talk a story - trust me. Nobody bullshits better than me. But trying to find something that I want to say and than making the time to say it seem to be my downfall right now.

I think I'll try and change that.

I do miss this place. It used to be my refuge,my place to shout out into the darkness and see what echoed back.

But after such neglect, if I shout is there anyone there to listen?
If you Blog and there's no one to read it, is it really a post?
Welcome to my digital tree - I'm going to chop it down and see if it makes a sound.

Later.

Band -Aid.

My Nike+ Sportband is starting to give up the proverbial ghost.

It works fine, syncs well, and the calibration and everything are all right. The problem is that the display is starting to fade - all the numbers/letters on the left are illegible, and it's only getting worse.

Luckily, Nike knows about this and has the product covered under warranty - I contacted them, and was told that they'll replace it free of charge. I'll even get lucky, as the old, not working Sportband has been discontinued and I'll get one of the new, Version 2 Sportbands.

Because of my training for the RVM in October, I was concerned about sending it in and having to wait for the new one to get here - but Nike said if I went to where I bought it, I'll be able to exchange it there.

After talking to the people at Intersport, (Where I got it) I'm convinced I have the best of both worlds. The new Sportbands aren't out yet, but they have me down to do an exchange as soon as they get in - and until then, I can still use my old one for recording all my miles and such. (Which is great, because I'm only about 76 miles away from my 1000 mile mark - wooo!)

I can't wait.

I think that a big part of the success and continuing motivation I've had with running is because of the Sportband. Being able to see all the information I need right away, along with the tracking on the Nike+ website, make it easy for a Nerd like me to stay interested and challenged.

I hope the new one lasts for at least another 1000 miles. (Or until I go completely running obsessed and get a Garmin 405.)


Later.

Maintenance is Key.

I have high standards when it comes to my DVDs.

Maybe not in what I watch, (ask the Sidekick, and he'll say my copy of The Princess Bride proves that) but in how I take care of what I have.

So it drives me nuts when I see people treat their DVDs like shit.

I had a guy at work lend me Wild Hogs. (Not my choice, but the Wife liked it.) He brought the disc in for me and when he handed me the case I was appalled.

The outer case was scuffed, the cover slide was ripped, and it still had the price tag on it. It may sound trivial, but I don't need to know that he paid $24.95 for Wild Hogs - if he did, he needs to get a refund. I was almost terrified to open the case and see the disc.- I figured it would look like cats played hacky-sack with it.

I just don't understand how people can treat their stuff like that, especially if they are willing to lend it out to other people. Bad enough that you're going to get judged on your viewing choices - but to hand out beat up, badly treated stuff? It just tells me you can't take care of your shit.

And if you don't take care of your stuff, why would the people you lend it to bother to take care of it? They know you don't give a shit, so why should they? When I hand someone an immaculate disc in packaging that looks like I bought it yesterday, that's how I expect to receive it back.

Do I go overboard? Probably. But to present my things, and by extension, myself as uncared and unkempt is just unacceptable to me.

I'm going to end it at that.
I gotta go dust my collection anyways.


Later.

All In One Shot..

I bet everyone thought I forgot about this place. Hard to believe I used to bitch at the Sidekick for posting so haphazardly, and then I become almost as bad as him.

I've come to realize that some days there just isn't enough time to juggle everything. Between work, the Kids, family/social obligations and running, by the time I do sit down in front of the monitor, I'm wiped and unable to focus a coherent thought - unless you want to hear about my latest run or maybe the annoyance of Ball Sweat.

I also feel that sometimes I just don't care enough to comment. Do I have thoughts on Michael Jackson's death? Sure I do, and they are probably the same as every other guy my age: Micheal Jackson died years ago, halfway through recording Bad, and was replaced by a pasty white guy I don't know anymore. Why bother commenting on something that everyone is sick of hearing about anyway?

I'd talk about Hockey, but it's no fun making cracks about the Leafs when my Avs are acting like all the high-level decisions are being made by Corky from Life Goes On, and he's using a dartboard with suggestions from Mike Millbury pinned to it.

Ranting about the economy doesn't do any good: I'm still poor. Bitching about the shitty drivers in Campbell River doesn't work - if they can't read road signs or speed limits, they aren't reading this blog. Plus, on the days it's too hot, I just can't get worked up about the little things like the elections in Iran or Obama smacking a fly and pissing off PETA.

I swear to God (like he/she is listening) I'm gonna post more. But think of me more like a posting Ninja: you're not sure when I'll strike, but when I do, you'll know.


Later.

I Feel:

1. That I just don't sit in front of the monitor that much anymore.
   
2. That being told I look like Edward Norton isn't such a bad thing. (At least they didn't say fat Edward Norton.)
3. That being told someone from your company is going to run with the Olympic Torch, but it isn't going to be you, sucks.
4. That having a Full House and losing out to a higher Full House on the river sucks almost as much as not running with the torch.
5. That after a massive Crossfit workout yesterday, riding the Quad with the Boys last night, and running 7.5 miles this morning, my legs feel pretty good. I can't get up from the chair, but they do feel good.
6. That my son talking to me about Ben10 all the time is just payback for me talking to my Dad about The A-Team when I was 6. ("And then B.A. drank the milk and Murdoch got him on the plane.")
7. That some days I just want coffee pumped into my system intravenously, so I don't have to wait for the caffeine to kick in.
8. That some days it only takes 15 seconds for my kids to go from normal to batshit-crazy.
9. That they must get that from their Mom. (ha - she'll kill me if she reads this.)
10. That it must be disappointing to not see an update for 5 days and then come back to an "I Feel" list...

Later.