I was on my long run today. I had to figure out 16 miles to go and how to get there. So I began at the Capitol and then went over to 11th Avenue, then up to the fire station. Then I turned around and then went back down 11th and then straight up City Creek Canyon all the way to the bitter end of the Rotary Park picnic areas, #30 to be exact. I looked at my GPS watch and it said 10 Miles. Nicely done Dave. So now it was down hill and back to the capitol building.
Inspector Clouseau was in my mind - with his Franch Accent and was lecturing me on the finer points of overshooting your goal distance. He was right. On the way down the canyon I got to Mile Marker 3 and an epiphany struck. "Dave." my thought started out. "do you realize that if you add three miles to the current mark, plus the one that you run back to the beginning stop sign that you will not run 16. Y0u will actually go further than planned." The thought was right. I ended up with 16.6 miles.
So are you ready for my running thoughts for the day? My first one is that sweat is just fat crying out for help. Each drop is like a little plea for help. SOS from that pork chop with the extra gravy. DOT DOT - DASH DASH - DOT DOT DOT DOT DOT (translated "Good Hell he is running again and all we have left down here is this Lemon Meringue Pie from 99'") Your body is scrambling, searching, digging, and discovering new little gems that have been overlooked for some time. I think my body found the secret Reese's Peanut Butter Cup that I downed a few weeks ago and sacrificed it to the furnace of desire that fuels the run.
Each drip powers another step and each of those steps draws you closer to the goal. When I was at my goal distance I found that there was a little bit left in the tank. I was already out there and running anyway. What is another 0.6 miles when your body is on fire, sweat flinging off your visor, and your legs have given up their protests because they know you won't listen anyway? That last 0.6 of a mile takes the last full measure of courage to keep the feet going, digging for that last ounce of desire. After all - you can do whatever you want for 0.6 of a mile. And when I ask myself what I want to do for the last 0.6 - I might as well run because the fat fears me.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Grinder Runs
This morning I was doing what comes natural to fat men everywhere. Trying to justify staying in bed because it was nice. My wife was asleep, I was asleep. My fat white cat was asleep. It could have stayed that way but no. No, in the back of my mind I looked at the clock and the clock is not merciful at all. The longer I stay in bed the longer it takes for me to get out and run. Longer it takes for me to put on my shoes. Procrastination of the highest degree takes hold and then you start to dream of going down to the breakfast buffet and drinking a gallon of maple syrup just because you can.
The minutes that you waste now beat on you every step of the run later. I have found this out. In the winter training portion of life it is all good to wait a few minutes because it may warm up from negative 32 below to actually a livable temperature. In the winter your body goes into shock when you step out the door and the temp is not quite San Diego.
In the summer it is a totally different thing. What happens is that if you wait a minute it does in fact get warmer and warmer. It is a little known fact that death waits for us all if we run too late in the day. There is a reason that birds and squirrels hide out in the middle of the day. It is because it is too hot to actually live.
Today is what I would consider a "grinder run." Let me explain what that means to me. A grinder run is one of those runs that has to be done and has to be completed or you will die later on a longer run. All runs count and all are accounted for in the muscle memory. A grinder run is one of those runs that you don't really want to do. But in the end you do anyway because the consequences are steep.
You run because it matters, you run because you need it, you run because your psyche needs to be cleansed, you run because you have addicted yourself to the slapping, ticking, marching, and deliberative addition of numerals that mean something and only mean something to you. Your fat needs the run. Just ask it.
The minutes that you waste now beat on you every step of the run later. I have found this out. In the winter training portion of life it is all good to wait a few minutes because it may warm up from negative 32 below to actually a livable temperature. In the winter your body goes into shock when you step out the door and the temp is not quite San Diego.
In the summer it is a totally different thing. What happens is that if you wait a minute it does in fact get warmer and warmer. It is a little known fact that death waits for us all if we run too late in the day. There is a reason that birds and squirrels hide out in the middle of the day. It is because it is too hot to actually live.
Today is what I would consider a "grinder run." Let me explain what that means to me. A grinder run is one of those runs that has to be done and has to be completed or you will die later on a longer run. All runs count and all are accounted for in the muscle memory. A grinder run is one of those runs that you don't really want to do. But in the end you do anyway because the consequences are steep.
You run because it matters, you run because you need it, you run because your psyche needs to be cleansed, you run because you have addicted yourself to the slapping, ticking, marching, and deliberative addition of numerals that mean something and only mean something to you. Your fat needs the run. Just ask it.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
"I have not yet begun to fight"
John Paul Jones - in response to a British taunt in the midst of a naval battle "I have not yet begun to fight."
That is how I felt today. I realized that anything worth attaining is all uphill. I was running in City Creek Canyon - and if you have run in there before I will tell you how it goes. Mile 1 from the state capital to the ranger station is mostly flat - and at times uphill. Mile 2 is uphill. You wind through the trees and wonder when the marker is coming along. I think at times the rangers move it and hide in the bushes laughing at me. Mile 2.5 is up a roller coaster of hills. Mile 3 is up a steady incline. Then more climbing, twisting, garbled running and then you think that you might be going downhill a bit and then BAM more uphill and then you reach mile 4. Luckily God decided to have some of the return trip on a downhill instead of changing the topography randomly to torture those of His Running Sons.
So - to revisit the point. Nothing that is worth anything is ever given to you without a fight. If something is given to you then you don't appreciate it. Think of my dogs. If they fight over breakfast they like it better. When I am running up a hill that bugger is making me work for every foot. I have not yet found an escalator to take me to the top. All personal effort. I also have not run into anyone that is going to operate a rope tow to get you to the top. All you, all your power, all of it fed right from the brain to the bottom of your shoes.
Giving up makes you slower. Stopping is not an option. Guts, dredging around in your desire every day to make up the difference in distance between where you are and what you want to be. How deep is the well of your desire? How hard do you grip the ropes on your ship of life and yell out to your opponent no matter the situation and if you are winning or losing: "I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT!"
That is how I felt today. I realized that anything worth attaining is all uphill. I was running in City Creek Canyon - and if you have run in there before I will tell you how it goes. Mile 1 from the state capital to the ranger station is mostly flat - and at times uphill. Mile 2 is uphill. You wind through the trees and wonder when the marker is coming along. I think at times the rangers move it and hide in the bushes laughing at me. Mile 2.5 is up a roller coaster of hills. Mile 3 is up a steady incline. Then more climbing, twisting, garbled running and then you think that you might be going downhill a bit and then BAM more uphill and then you reach mile 4. Luckily God decided to have some of the return trip on a downhill instead of changing the topography randomly to torture those of His Running Sons.
So - to revisit the point. Nothing that is worth anything is ever given to you without a fight. If something is given to you then you don't appreciate it. Think of my dogs. If they fight over breakfast they like it better. When I am running up a hill that bugger is making me work for every foot. I have not yet found an escalator to take me to the top. All personal effort. I also have not run into anyone that is going to operate a rope tow to get you to the top. All you, all your power, all of it fed right from the brain to the bottom of your shoes.
Giving up makes you slower. Stopping is not an option. Guts, dredging around in your desire every day to make up the difference in distance between where you are and what you want to be. How deep is the well of your desire? How hard do you grip the ropes on your ship of life and yell out to your opponent no matter the situation and if you are winning or losing: "I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO FIGHT!"
Monday, July 26, 2010
When the watch fails, and it is all on you...
This morning I got up at 545am and started on my run. It was only going to be five miles. Only five miles that would kill a normal man. But not the Fat Man.
So on my way out of the house I grabbed my GPS watch and turned it on. It said low battery. Great. Low battery sometimes means it will go for 30 minutes or for an hour. So I just went with it. Chat was with me because he gets lonely if I don't take him with me. In fact he is quite put out that he does not go out with me to find new things for the day. He might miss Bambi or thumper or some other woodland folk that he might want to love with his mouth. But I digress.
So on the way up the hill the Fat Man looks at his watch and realizes that it has shut off and thus he cannot time himself. NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) tracks Santa (http://www.noradsanta.org/) but they also track me on a secret site. They like to see how fat moves and in which directions. It is apparently part of some secret experiment to see if they get Osama Bin Laden fat enough he might die of heart disease and thus quit recording messages for the CIA to get confused about. "Send the jelly doughnuts on the second yak... the bird flies at midnight." But I digress.
The liberating thing about not running for the numbers is that you are just running for the fun of it or in my case to keep Doug the doughnut from recruiting evil allies. Chat and I went up the canyon in record time because we don't quite know how fast we were going. Sometimes I look at my feet and try to figure out how fast I am going by my form. Mostly my feet curse at me and wish I would die painfully while delivering poisoned Jelly Doughnuts to Osama.
But today the numbers did not really matter because it was just me, chat, the birds, some ground varmits, and the air around me. Sometimes running is not about the numerals quietly pounding away on your wrist. It is about the journey from point fat to point not.
So on my way out of the house I grabbed my GPS watch and turned it on. It said low battery. Great. Low battery sometimes means it will go for 30 minutes or for an hour. So I just went with it. Chat was with me because he gets lonely if I don't take him with me. In fact he is quite put out that he does not go out with me to find new things for the day. He might miss Bambi or thumper or some other woodland folk that he might want to love with his mouth. But I digress.
So on the way up the hill the Fat Man looks at his watch and realizes that it has shut off and thus he cannot time himself. NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) tracks Santa (http://www.noradsanta.org/) but they also track me on a secret site. They like to see how fat moves and in which directions. It is apparently part of some secret experiment to see if they get Osama Bin Laden fat enough he might die of heart disease and thus quit recording messages for the CIA to get confused about. "Send the jelly doughnuts on the second yak... the bird flies at midnight." But I digress.
The liberating thing about not running for the numbers is that you are just running for the fun of it or in my case to keep Doug the doughnut from recruiting evil allies. Chat and I went up the canyon in record time because we don't quite know how fast we were going. Sometimes I look at my feet and try to figure out how fast I am going by my form. Mostly my feet curse at me and wish I would die painfully while delivering poisoned Jelly Doughnuts to Osama.
But today the numbers did not really matter because it was just me, chat, the birds, some ground varmits, and the air around me. Sometimes running is not about the numerals quietly pounding away on your wrist. It is about the journey from point fat to point not.
When the Drips Return....
So this weekend I had a long run in St. George, Utah. Some would question the sanity of the whole thing. But, when the run beckons all with shoes, socks, and adequate water must answer the bell.
Thursday night I was wondering which way I would go for 16 miles. I thought that I would just run up to Cedar City and back but that was too far. So I looked at www.mapmyrun.com and plotted my destiny.
The run began at my in-Laws home in St. George - and went out Sunset - then through Santa Clara, then past all of the old Pioneer homes, Jacob Hamblin (who I might add should have bartered harder with the Indians) and then it went up this hill, past Ivins, and then continued on for another three miles into the desert.
I think that the drips returned sometime between mile 5 and 8. And then they continued till the very drawn out, up hill battle to the finish line.
I think the drips, which originated in my head - and then traveled out my visor, and then splatted on me, the concrete, or sand were my past fat visiting me. You see every time you eat something that your body really craves - like a jelly doughnut. It is stored as fat. Which is then lurking there, clinging to your bones, waiting to clog your heart. The only way to get rid of this is through the sometimes painful dripping process.
Some drips get pried off with a crowbar, and others fight to the bitter end. At mile 12 I think I shed a doughnut that had been lurking in my posterior for several years. Something like that gum I ate in 3rd grade. I will call the doughnut Doug. Doug and I have been friends for some time. But now Doug had to go. He was not needed anymore. The fat man needed Doug. But this time it was for the furnace of affliction that happens sometime between death and dripping to death. Doug was sacrificed to the furnace. Doug was my friend. Doug will not be missed.
Thursday night I was wondering which way I would go for 16 miles. I thought that I would just run up to Cedar City and back but that was too far. So I looked at www.mapmyrun.com and plotted my destiny.
The run began at my in-Laws home in St. George - and went out Sunset - then through Santa Clara, then past all of the old Pioneer homes, Jacob Hamblin (who I might add should have bartered harder with the Indians) and then it went up this hill, past Ivins, and then continued on for another three miles into the desert.
I think that the drips returned sometime between mile 5 and 8. And then they continued till the very drawn out, up hill battle to the finish line.
I think the drips, which originated in my head - and then traveled out my visor, and then splatted on me, the concrete, or sand were my past fat visiting me. You see every time you eat something that your body really craves - like a jelly doughnut. It is stored as fat. Which is then lurking there, clinging to your bones, waiting to clog your heart. The only way to get rid of this is through the sometimes painful dripping process.
Some drips get pried off with a crowbar, and others fight to the bitter end. At mile 12 I think I shed a doughnut that had been lurking in my posterior for several years. Something like that gum I ate in 3rd grade. I will call the doughnut Doug. Doug and I have been friends for some time. But now Doug had to go. He was not needed anymore. The fat man needed Doug. But this time it was for the furnace of affliction that happens sometime between death and dripping to death. Doug was sacrificed to the furnace. Doug was my friend. Doug will not be missed.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Things You Might Not Think I Think About
Today was a 7 mile day. 1 hour 11 Minutes.
You might be wondering what would get you to the seven mile mark without thoughts of suicide or worse, Oprah episodes while strapped into a chair and unable to leave. Which I might add is a violation of the Geneva Convention, and the Man Code. But I digress.
My friend Sally told me of a way to distract yourself while running. It was to count things. You can pick the thing that you count. There is not a guide book "How to Count things to distract yourself from the pain shooting up through the bottom of your feet and ending in your brain stem." So since there is no guide she began by counting dogs. Sally is a dog person, loves dogs, thinks dogs are good and holy things that help you. I tend to agree with all of that. So she counts dogs.
Vikings count other things like: Towns that they have been to, but not plundered. Pretty low count and thus it would not distract you from the possible breach in your lungs. Second one to focus in on is Stink Bugs. You may not think that there are many Stink Bugs on the run up to 12 miles, but I will witness to the fact that without a magnifying glass I was able to count 110 Stink Bugs on one run. That is a lot of Stink Bugs. I did not count them on the way down for fear of ruining my very accurate statistical count. Some of them were squished so I counted them too. Some were mating - but I counted them as two because it was a two-for-one Stink Bug day.
So a few days ago during a mild-long run I began to count pill bugs, or rolly-polly bugs or little oblong bugs or whatever you call them. I got to 55 of those. Some were squished too but I counted them. None were mating. And I did not count the bugs on my way out because that might have resulted in double counting of bugs. Not good.
So today on my seven mile run I was thinking of things to count. Did the pill bugs. Stink bugs have all gone into hibernation for the year. Bicyclists make me mad and I scream at them. I did see three cross country skier people. One male and two females. I thought - "how bout you count the blue flowers on the side of the road. Bad idea. I started to count and had three - and then came across a least a billion of them so that was trashed. So I guess that was good and distracting to figure out that I could not count anything today. I could have counted how many guys are old, should not be cylcing with their shirt undone, and look to be about 80 years old. But that would have been only one.
As in my previous posts you find that no matter if you count things or listen to your ipod - dwell on world peace - it is all just you. The other guy on the trail can't run for you and you have to do it yourself. It is an individual effort with the trimmings of personal sacrifice and pushing it until you beat the black numerals for your personal best effort.
You might be wondering what would get you to the seven mile mark without thoughts of suicide or worse, Oprah episodes while strapped into a chair and unable to leave. Which I might add is a violation of the Geneva Convention, and the Man Code. But I digress.
My friend Sally told me of a way to distract yourself while running. It was to count things. You can pick the thing that you count. There is not a guide book "How to Count things to distract yourself from the pain shooting up through the bottom of your feet and ending in your brain stem." So since there is no guide she began by counting dogs. Sally is a dog person, loves dogs, thinks dogs are good and holy things that help you. I tend to agree with all of that. So she counts dogs.
Vikings count other things like: Towns that they have been to, but not plundered. Pretty low count and thus it would not distract you from the possible breach in your lungs. Second one to focus in on is Stink Bugs. You may not think that there are many Stink Bugs on the run up to 12 miles, but I will witness to the fact that without a magnifying glass I was able to count 110 Stink Bugs on one run. That is a lot of Stink Bugs. I did not count them on the way down for fear of ruining my very accurate statistical count. Some of them were squished so I counted them too. Some were mating - but I counted them as two because it was a two-for-one Stink Bug day.
So a few days ago during a mild-long run I began to count pill bugs, or rolly-polly bugs or little oblong bugs or whatever you call them. I got to 55 of those. Some were squished too but I counted them. None were mating. And I did not count the bugs on my way out because that might have resulted in double counting of bugs. Not good.
So today on my seven mile run I was thinking of things to count. Did the pill bugs. Stink bugs have all gone into hibernation for the year. Bicyclists make me mad and I scream at them. I did see three cross country skier people. One male and two females. I thought - "how bout you count the blue flowers on the side of the road. Bad idea. I started to count and had three - and then came across a least a billion of them so that was trashed. So I guess that was good and distracting to figure out that I could not count anything today. I could have counted how many guys are old, should not be cylcing with their shirt undone, and look to be about 80 years old. But that would have been only one.
As in my previous posts you find that no matter if you count things or listen to your ipod - dwell on world peace - it is all just you. The other guy on the trail can't run for you and you have to do it yourself. It is an individual effort with the trimmings of personal sacrifice and pushing it until you beat the black numerals for your personal best effort.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Two Drips on The Visor of Life
I was out running on Saturday. Earlier would have been better. Sans Dog because where I was going would not have worked for the four-legged friends. Something about city ordinances and the fact that nobody likes an outdoor peeing mammal.
I decided to go up the canyon. I needed 14 miles to get my limit of the "Airborne Shuffle" for the day. Going up the canyon is a bit tricky for fat men. Some of the skinny runners I know just plow up and over the hills and up and over into some far off nirvana that only skinny people know of.
The Fat Man does not know such nirvana. I hearken back to the quote from Gladiator "If you find yourself riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled because you are in Elysium and you are already dead!" I have figured out step by step that things don't kill you.
When I played high school football I figured out that I was not going to die out there on the practice field. I may have wanted to after doing several dozen wind sprints. But I was not going to die. Humid, 98%, with 100 degree heat. Does not kill you. So 14 miles in the 80-100 degree range would not kill you either.
So back to my two drips. About 3/4 of the way up the canyon I had sweat through my little visor and it began to drip on me. First the left side, then the right side, or both at the same time. I got all the way up to where the Sidewalk Ends (omage to Shel Silverstien) and discovered that I was beyond where normal runners go. Normal runners run past the same garden gnomes that they always go past. This was an Undiscovered Country (not as bad as the same movie by Star Trek) and I was about to go beyond it. Rattlesnakes, bears, moose, and something else that was unsavory waited beyond.
Drip Drip I went up the trail and into the unknown. Across a few bridges and then my watch told me to turn around. It was a long way back home from there. Drip, Drip, Drip Drip Drip.
I don't know if the drips had names - for they came unbidden from the deep dark wells of fat and moisture. Maybe the fat cells screamed out "OH NO THERE GOES BETTY!" as they were dragged into the furnace of my affliction. Betty Deserved it.
I decided to go up the canyon. I needed 14 miles to get my limit of the "Airborne Shuffle" for the day. Going up the canyon is a bit tricky for fat men. Some of the skinny runners I know just plow up and over the hills and up and over into some far off nirvana that only skinny people know of.
The Fat Man does not know such nirvana. I hearken back to the quote from Gladiator "If you find yourself riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled because you are in Elysium and you are already dead!" I have figured out step by step that things don't kill you.
When I played high school football I figured out that I was not going to die out there on the practice field. I may have wanted to after doing several dozen wind sprints. But I was not going to die. Humid, 98%, with 100 degree heat. Does not kill you. So 14 miles in the 80-100 degree range would not kill you either.
So back to my two drips. About 3/4 of the way up the canyon I had sweat through my little visor and it began to drip on me. First the left side, then the right side, or both at the same time. I got all the way up to where the Sidewalk Ends (omage to Shel Silverstien) and discovered that I was beyond where normal runners go. Normal runners run past the same garden gnomes that they always go past. This was an Undiscovered Country (not as bad as the same movie by Star Trek) and I was about to go beyond it. Rattlesnakes, bears, moose, and something else that was unsavory waited beyond.
Drip Drip I went up the trail and into the unknown. Across a few bridges and then my watch told me to turn around. It was a long way back home from there. Drip, Drip, Drip Drip Drip.
I don't know if the drips had names - for they came unbidden from the deep dark wells of fat and moisture. Maybe the fat cells screamed out "OH NO THERE GOES BETTY!" as they were dragged into the furnace of my affliction. Betty Deserved it.
Friday, July 16, 2010
before the break of dawn.....
So I was thinking of the fat man running. Early in the morning - when a Viking like me is on the cusp of waking. My mind is a blur of weird dreams and interesting thoughts. When the dawn comes you either run or you don't. It is that simple. What you have is either the desire to go out and explore the depths of your psyche and mine the lower levels of your desire - or you don't.
I have gone through somewhat of a change mind you over the last 7 months. In the beginning I was a slave to the run. If I did not run then I knew that the end of the equation was a crushing mass of pain, anguish, and misery. In the middle of the training for Big Sur - I experienced a loss of a whole week of running. The demons were lurking, laughing, craving the broken bones and weeping soul.
I survived the Big Sur - the bucking, twisting, curling, 95% grade.
Each day that I run is a good day. Some days are better because my mind is wrapped into what I am doing. The trash is getting taken out and disposed of in a prompt fashion. Things click and lock into place and the miles melt before you, until you are at your goal for the day and you are done.
The race is before you and you know that you can do it. Your demons have been put into a rest home and are sipping out of straws because of the beating you have administered on your way to reaching your goal.
That is the glory of the run, that is the road of gold paved in the burnt shoe rubber of the every day run. That is the brilliant streaking fireball of desire that grows with each step until it is all consuming.
Snatching, grabbing, clawing, sweating, goo-eating, rubber burning, muscles screaming, pedal to the metal, grinding, exalting run.
That is how the fat man does it.
I have gone through somewhat of a change mind you over the last 7 months. In the beginning I was a slave to the run. If I did not run then I knew that the end of the equation was a crushing mass of pain, anguish, and misery. In the middle of the training for Big Sur - I experienced a loss of a whole week of running. The demons were lurking, laughing, craving the broken bones and weeping soul.
I survived the Big Sur - the bucking, twisting, curling, 95% grade.
Each day that I run is a good day. Some days are better because my mind is wrapped into what I am doing. The trash is getting taken out and disposed of in a prompt fashion. Things click and lock into place and the miles melt before you, until you are at your goal for the day and you are done.
The race is before you and you know that you can do it. Your demons have been put into a rest home and are sipping out of straws because of the beating you have administered on your way to reaching your goal.
That is the glory of the run, that is the road of gold paved in the burnt shoe rubber of the every day run. That is the brilliant streaking fireball of desire that grows with each step until it is all consuming.
Snatching, grabbing, clawing, sweating, goo-eating, rubber burning, muscles screaming, pedal to the metal, grinding, exalting run.
That is how the fat man does it.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
In the quiet pounding of feet...
Running is a release for me. Sometimes it is a burden. But when you scrape away the harsh reality of going many miles at a time there is solitude underneath. I am not one to invite friends along with me to run. I got smoked by both Paul Welsh and his wife running in the canyon yesterday. I once even had a very in depth conversation about life and goals and direction with my wife Mollee as she and I ran from the capitol building to the Firehouse on 11th Ave.
Although the road is lonely and at times reclusive, I think that is what I really need. Time to sort out what I need to do and what really needs to be done. Once in a while I will look at my watch and realize how the seconds and the minutes have slipped away and you cannot gather them back up. That is when I begin to run in earnest and pound harder. I am not competing against you or anyone else - just myself and the men in my head. One of them says "Quit being a baby," The other says "what else do you have to do today that is harder than this?" A new guy started to roost yesterday while Chat and I were burning calories and time. He was saying "you can do anything you want for 10 minutes, how bout you cut that mile down to 8 minutes?"
The running, organizing, debating, trashing, moving, rubber burning waltz of the run continues as does the Fat Man in running shoes.
Although the road is lonely and at times reclusive, I think that is what I really need. Time to sort out what I need to do and what really needs to be done. Once in a while I will look at my watch and realize how the seconds and the minutes have slipped away and you cannot gather them back up. That is when I begin to run in earnest and pound harder. I am not competing against you or anyone else - just myself and the men in my head. One of them says "Quit being a baby," The other says "what else do you have to do today that is harder than this?" A new guy started to roost yesterday while Chat and I were burning calories and time. He was saying "you can do anything you want for 10 minutes, how bout you cut that mile down to 8 minutes?"
The running, organizing, debating, trashing, moving, rubber burning waltz of the run continues as does the Fat Man in running shoes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)