Happy Thanksgiving

I’m thankful that four years ago

A running neighbor said, “Let’s go!”

“A mile or two?  Sure.  Bring it on!”

“Well…actually – a marathon.”

I’m thankful that with glacial pace,

We somehow finished that first race.

(14:31- you know…

The definition of “mad slow.”) 

 

I’m thankful for my scrumptious hat.

Not baklava?  Well how ’bout that!

I’m thankful that sweet Yak Trax action

Provides (and keeps me out of) traction.

I’m thankful for my Body Glide

‘Cause scabby nips I can’t abide.

I’m thankful for the Chinese peasant

I’ve cheap shoes – his life: unpleasant.

 

I’m thankful Mile 16’s so rough

It lets me know I’m slow, but tough.

I’m thankful for Mile 25

Euphoria!  I’m still alive!

I’m thankful that I have BQ’d.

Now on the couch my ass is glued.

My New Running Partner: Old Man Winter

The oppressive heat wave just recently broke, and we Frostburggians are now in the midst of winter, our one other season. You probably knew that, though, given that ”outrageous snowfall” is part of our town acronym – “Few Residents, Outrageous Snowfall, Tenuous Balance of Unwashed Rednecks and Guardians of Goodness.”   (That’s right, people – I will NEVER stop rewriting that cumbersome acronym until I’m certain that a goodly percentage of my eleven readers have cross stitched it into a sampler and hung it prominently above their computer desks.  So get stitchin’, you indolent bastards.)

I’ve kind of been in a running slump since my last marathon six weeks ago.  My weekly mileage has decreased from fifty to about fifteen.  For the first time in my four years of running, I’m without a schedule and without a goal. And then Old Man Winter arrived! Yahoo!  Time to strap on the old Yak Trax and pit myself against the elements! (Screw writing, the wheel, penicillin and the underwire bra.  I maintain that mankind’s greatest invention is none other than Yak Trax. I LURVE these things.) Yesterday I ran 10K (I told you my mileage was shamefully low – I’ve now resorted to reporting it in kilometers.  I feel so inferior lazy Canadian.)  in 53:39.  My 10K PR is 47:00, but I swear that yesterday’s run was every bit as challenging, despite taking me six and a half minutes longer.  

You Southern pussies runners pussies might not know this, but winter running can be both wonderful and god awful, often during the same short run. Marcy recently posted about the positives of winter running, and I especially loved “Dog shit freezes.”  She’s right – it does!  And even better – dogs freeze.  Never, ever, ever have I been menaced by mean ass dogs during a winter run.  I’m sure this just means that slathering, rabid canines have the sense to hunker down out of the elements while I do not. It was pretty bad out yesterday.  I find it absolutely exhilarating, though, to dodge snow plows and to squeeze my eyelashes together with my frozen fingers to break the ice crystals. Seriously…I really do.  I feel rugged and hard core and pretty damned intrepid. I get lots of waves and beeps from drivers, far more so than I do in the decent weather.  When I wave back I’m thinking, “Thank you so very much for maintaining control of your two thousand pound vehicle on these icy, slick roads.  That requires attention to detail and the use of responsible driving techniques. My family and I truly appreciate your concern for my safety.”  When they wave, they are likely thinking, “Fuck outta  da road, moron!!!” 

One thing missing during yesterday’s run was my baklava. M. bought me this a couple of years back and it is the quintessential take-me-to-Cuba hat.  It covers my entire face, including ears, nose and neck, keeping my facially warm and toasty.  What’s that?  Mr. Moose is ranting some nonsense about how baklava is actually a tasty Greek pastry comprised of phyllo dough, honey and walnuts, while the word I seek is “balaclava.”  Um, Mr. Moose? STFU!!  If I want to wear pastry on my head, then so be it.  It’s hard to carry and unwrap Power Bars in the bitter cold, you know, so high carb foods worn in close proximity to the mouth just makes perfect sense.  PERFECT sense, do you hear?

I’ll likely grow tired of winter running well before the snow all melts (in June), but for now I really am enjoying it. All in all, Old Man Winter is a pretty decent running buddy.

Foolish, foolish, Mr.Moose.  This IS what i wear on my head during winter runs.  Balaclava, indeed.

Boston Schmoston

Listen up, people.  The goal was just to QUALIFY for Boston, not to actually run the damned thing.  Somehow, though, everyone from relatives to colleagues to packs of random strangers (none of them runners, btw, and some of them professional laze-abouts) feels compelled to shout at me,”You MUST run Boston.” They say this with such intensity and urgency, that it’s a bit disturbing.  Because WHY must I run Boston? In fact, why must I run at all? I’m ashamed to admit that since my last marathon five weeks ago, I’ve hardly run at all.  (Insert shocked gasp here.)

I don’t know what to do with myself now that I’ve finally met my goal. For the past four years and eight marathons, Boston has weighed heavily on my mind. Initially, it was “Damn!  26.2 miles sure is a fuck of a long way.  Sure wish I had an enormous Boston cream pie to pass the time and make me feel better. Or even a pack of those Boston Baked Beans candies…’cause candy bearing an uncanny resemblance to deer shit sure would go down good right about now.”    Later, though, after I had a few marathons under my belt, I began to think of Boston less for its culinary namesakes and more for its historic marathon, which was not an option for slow pokes like me.  It was after my fifth or sixth marathon that I began seriously toying with the idea that, under ideal circumstances, I might possibly qualify for the Boston Marathon.  (Every runner knows that by “ideal circumstances”, I mean, of course,  the complete and utter neglect and avoidance of all family and professional responsibilities…and a willingness to sacrifice both my toe nails and my previously mud-free drawers…and the eager acceptance of FIRST as my new deity.)

Five weeks ago, all that neglect, avoidance and heathenry finally paid off – and I’m still completely elated and flabbergasted over my BQ. But now that I’ve finally met my goal, I’ve no idea what to do with myself.  I know that some people would be actively establishing a new goal – one that is loftier and more challenging.  Maybe they’d consider a triathlon or a fifty-miler.  Or… call me crazy, but they might actually consider running the Boston Marathon! Not this moose, though. Instead, I’m just sitting on my ass in my mud stained shorts sucking down some Boston cream pie.  Yummmy.

Thanks a Lot, You Veterans

Veterans Day rocks.  I am a fan of freedom and democracy (when I’m not busy hating on the former and fearing the latter), so I’m all about a day that encourages us to remember and to acknowledge the sacrifices of our service men and women.  I’m thinking, though, that our veterans could have put just a leetle more thought into this whole arrangement. ‘Cause what’s the use in having the day off from work in November ?  November weather in Frostburgg is cold, dismal and prone to hail storms.  This makes running a bit of a challenge.  That’s why it seems just a mite inconsiderate of those vets to have crossed the Delaware and/or trounced the dirty rebs at Gettysburg and/or cured sick and injured colonial animals in November… 

What’s that?  Mr.Moose is bellowing some nonsense about Veterans Day actually being the day that the Armistice was signed, November 11, 1918, thus ending World War I.  He thinks that simply because he has more military history books than the Library of Congress, along with a genius IQ and some dusty yellowed paperwork stating “Honorable Discharge” that he is some sort of authority on this matter.  But I have seen commercials for The History Channel, people, and I once stole bought one of those heinous orange tissue paper poppies from a withered, wizened veteran, and so I maintain that I  am the authority.  As I was saying, when those silly veterans defended the pass at Thermopylae, they should have done so in a month known for kinder, gentler weather.  Because my run this morning was decidedly uncomfortable. It was 39 degrees and cloudy when I left home, but before too long the temperature dropped and the hail started falling.  Screw those old vets who drone on and on about storming the beaches at Normandy!  And to hell with those wussies who think they had it so tough with the Vietcong.  Hail hurts, people!  My face was stinging, and my Vic got all wet.  Also, the road became very slick and slippery…far more slippery than the blood soaked soil at Antietam, I am sure.

So be sure to thank a veteran today…but kindly suggest that their next heroic and noble act take place sometime in the early summer.

The Politics of Running

If you are a creature more sentient than fungus, then you are aware that Election Day is Tuesday.  (I know, because my usually silent phone and empty mailbox are now getting more play than Vanilla’s right hand as he dreams of “running” with Nicolette Sheridan.  You are a righty, aren’t you, Vanilla? ) 

I don’t know about you, but I’m excited about this year’s election.  You might hold firmly held convictions about which candidate is the obvious choice, and far be it for me to attempt to sway your decision. (Although if you’re voting McCain/Palin please know that I am actively hoping that the only PR you achieve at your next race is Public Ridicule, as a violent assplotion sprays both butt gravy and discernible corn kernels down your dirty Republican thighs.  Just sayin’.)  

Just for a moment, please, let’s put aside thought of both McCain and Obama. I’m thinking that the only logical choice for these here United States and America is, of course, a runner. We runners have a unique insight into each of the major issues confronting the next American president:

1)  Health Care. We runners know just how important this issue can be.  So let’s elect a president who will immediately legislate free Bio Freeze, Body Glide and Imodium for the masses.

2) The War. We runners know how to keep the peace. Rarely do we give in to our urge to beat to death the ignorant civilian who asks, “So how far was that marathon you just ran?”

3) The Economy. It’s crucial that our next president knows how to tighten the belt so that we are able to maintain sufficient funds for essential programs. We runners are GREAT at this. We know, for example, that race registration fees must ALWAYS be paid before one even considers buying milk or meds for ailing offspring.

4) The Environment. While it’s true that we runners are responsible for an inordinate amount of debris in the form of crushed water cups, empty Gu packets and the aforementioned shitcorn gravy, we also know how to recruit volunteers to clean up after us.  So it’s all okay.

 Okay – enough already.  Get out there Tuesday and vote…

 

 

….Democrat.