Dogs. 7
Women. 29
Men. 15
Worms. 2
Babies in strollers. 3
Deer. 1 Mother Bambi, 2 baby Bambis = 3 total Bambis.
Today I set out on my own little piece of hill climbing extravaganza. While most fat men were accumulating more fat and theorizing that running might solve the conflicts in the Holy Land - I was out there proving that running actually does not solve conflict. It just pits you against a lot of hills and personal development opportunities. The UN will have to deal with the bombs, guns, and Holy Wars as I have found out that diplomacy is better left to those that don't do much but espouse avoiding conflict. I believe that is why I don't see that many politicians strapping on the running shoes and getting in touch with their inner demons. But again, I digress.
I must admit that I was supposed to be running the Top of Utah Half Marathon today - but that did not happen because I, like a typical man, procrastinated till the bitter end and then the race closed. Such is my luck. I thought I would be doing a gradual downhill grade and coasting into the finish line surrounded by those disappointed few that were expecting to see a skinny Nigerian cross the line. But alas they get left with me. A white man who has no claim to speed or skinny.
So, I thought this week was going to be easy. Nope. It was not. I had to form my own little marathon of the half. So where did I go? All inquiring minds wanted to know. I went and visited my friend. City Creek Canyon. Not downhill. Not a gradual descent. Not a gradual ascent. In fact you go from 4500 feet above sea level to around 6500 feet above sea level. And all along the way your fat is wondering where the nearest doughnut shop is, and your feet respond "Aye matey it tis be around that corner and up the hill a ways...." The feet know where you are going. The new fat on the block is unaccustomed to such arduous punishment. You see none of the old fat is there to tell the new fat that all it has to do is sit back and make friends. The old fat got kicked out last week during the 20 mile debacle up the same road. The new fat was acquired through some chocolate milk and barely got its bed made before it was called on as a sacrifice to the volcano.
You might recall that some volcanoes need a sacrifice to keep the island safe. Preferably a virgin sacrifice. Well all I got on board was the chocolate milk - nasty way to wake up and pound it out of you... But I have a marathon to get ready for and no fat gets left behind.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The week of the Bigger Hammer...
Today - the tough part was getting out of bed. Choir went late last night. Mollee had some words left over for me and wanted to talk. At 1030PM. Women's brains function on an entirely different plane than man. Women will crunch the numbers, think it through, and then BAM out comes the idea that will change all mankind.
Men grunt, swear, sweat, and then get a bigger hammer.
This week has been a week of the bigger hammer.
On Monday I arose for the 4 mile run. Yes, just four. Up the road to mile marker 1 and back to the capitol building. Not a lot of miles. But, I am on what runners call the "taper" side of training.
Tuesday was a rest day. I can tell the days are getting shorter - or I am getting older because I can get up later and still just barely get ahead of the sun.
Today is Wednesday. 7 miles. I don't think my body really wanted to go out today. I had a twinge in the lower back. I had a couple of bad pieces of cake (read fuel) last night and well I was just tired. I think that if I had a choice between running and freeing Tibet - then I guess Tibet would get serious thought this morning. My dog chat was just there. He, I believe, would get up at midnight with the chance of actually chasing something that moved.
Today was one of those - "I need to do the run, but (sniff sniff) I am fat..."
To which I replied - "I MIGHT be slower, I MIGHT add 2 minutes to my seven mile time. But BY BLAZES my fat will not WIN!"
Men grunt, swear, sweat, and then get a bigger hammer.
This week has been a week of the bigger hammer.
On Monday I arose for the 4 mile run. Yes, just four. Up the road to mile marker 1 and back to the capitol building. Not a lot of miles. But, I am on what runners call the "taper" side of training.
Tuesday was a rest day. I can tell the days are getting shorter - or I am getting older because I can get up later and still just barely get ahead of the sun.
Today is Wednesday. 7 miles. I don't think my body really wanted to go out today. I had a twinge in the lower back. I had a couple of bad pieces of cake (read fuel) last night and well I was just tired. I think that if I had a choice between running and freeing Tibet - then I guess Tibet would get serious thought this morning. My dog chat was just there. He, I believe, would get up at midnight with the chance of actually chasing something that moved.
Today was one of those - "I need to do the run, but (sniff sniff) I am fat..."
To which I replied - "I MIGHT be slower, I MIGHT add 2 minutes to my seven mile time. But BY BLAZES my fat will not WIN!"
Monday, August 23, 2010
Something Fat This Way Comes
Sometimes I think that the forest dreads my runs. I will tell you why. On Saturday - you know, the day that you get ready for Sunday, I was to embark on my 20 mile run. Now for you out there that are faint of heart - 20 miles is something that you prepare for weeks and months in advance. If you don't then you end up crippled by the side of the road and people laugh at you.
Mostly the grandmas jog past you and kick you because you should have died years ago but immunizations have kept you alive. But I digress.
So you get your oatmeal ready in its two cup Pyrex measuring cup. Get your water bottles filled and loaded into your pack. Shoes ready. Smelly socks from the week are OK. Shoes should be polished up from the previous week. Visor. Tunes. Could not find my sunglasses. Oh, and Mountain Dew Goo for those tough moments betwixt mile 15 and mile 20 when you body now believes that insanity has set in. You start to look for things that you could justify as an honorable death. Falling into a stream. Eaten by a cougar. 14 rattlesnake bites. So you eat the goo and your body feels better. Again I digress.
So I ran from the capital building - up 11th Avenue, down Virginia, up Federal Heights Blvd, and ended up over by Primary Children's Hospital. Then I turned my lard booty around and went back the way I came. I had a brief conversation with a guy wearing "five fingers" running moccasins and then continued down 11th Ave - took a right into City Creek Canyon, and then just when my body figured out that I might go home and take a nappy. But, no. My body knew that there was more pain on the way. Yes, the mind wanted the body to obey. The body however knew that the mind was full of ambiguity.
You head up into the gaping, laughing maw of City Creek Canyon. And yes you run run run. And you keep going and looking once in a while at your watch. Seeing how far you have gone and how much you have left. At one point my mind did not do the math and could not add 15.93 and 4.0 together and come up with 20. I had to stop, think about it, and begin running again.
20 miles is not the fascinating part of the goal. It is the fact that once you get there - you have done something else that other people cringe to think about. I should know - when my wife would go out running when training - I would cringe and go back to bed. Now, I cringe if I miss the run - and the run cringes because I, fat man, have come out to prove that I can do it again. That is why the forest dreads my run. Determination cuts through despair and pain. The fruits of that determination are the finished product.
Mostly the grandmas jog past you and kick you because you should have died years ago but immunizations have kept you alive. But I digress.
So you get your oatmeal ready in its two cup Pyrex measuring cup. Get your water bottles filled and loaded into your pack. Shoes ready. Smelly socks from the week are OK. Shoes should be polished up from the previous week. Visor. Tunes. Could not find my sunglasses. Oh, and Mountain Dew Goo for those tough moments betwixt mile 15 and mile 20 when you body now believes that insanity has set in. You start to look for things that you could justify as an honorable death. Falling into a stream. Eaten by a cougar. 14 rattlesnake bites. So you eat the goo and your body feels better. Again I digress.
So I ran from the capital building - up 11th Avenue, down Virginia, up Federal Heights Blvd, and ended up over by Primary Children's Hospital. Then I turned my lard booty around and went back the way I came. I had a brief conversation with a guy wearing "five fingers" running moccasins and then continued down 11th Ave - took a right into City Creek Canyon, and then just when my body figured out that I might go home and take a nappy. But, no. My body knew that there was more pain on the way. Yes, the mind wanted the body to obey. The body however knew that the mind was full of ambiguity.
You head up into the gaping, laughing maw of City Creek Canyon. And yes you run run run. And you keep going and looking once in a while at your watch. Seeing how far you have gone and how much you have left. At one point my mind did not do the math and could not add 15.93 and 4.0 together and come up with 20. I had to stop, think about it, and begin running again.
20 miles is not the fascinating part of the goal. It is the fact that once you get there - you have done something else that other people cringe to think about. I should know - when my wife would go out running when training - I would cringe and go back to bed. Now, I cringe if I miss the run - and the run cringes because I, fat man, have come out to prove that I can do it again. That is why the forest dreads my run. Determination cuts through despair and pain. The fruits of that determination are the finished product.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
"It's a grind in there," he said. "You have to be a tough kid ... You've got to be strong, got to be stout."
Today was 8 miles. Chat saw a ground squirrel which knocked off a few seconds on my time. Also he saw a kitty luxuriating on the bench on the way to the run. Lets just say Chat had an entertaining time.
The quote from my day comes from Redshirt freshman D.J. Tialavea, a Defensive Tackle for Utah State University. (You can now hum the Scotsman)
"It's a grind in there," he said. "You have to be a tough kid ... You've got to be strong, got to be stout."
Life is a grind sometimes. This morning the air inside the bedroom was cool and calm. No painters, contractors, lions, tigers, or bears were stopping by. No tornadoes to whisk my now-gray home away to Oz. Quite peaceful. I was almost lured into the cuddle - when the run came knocking. Oh, if you a runner, which some fat men claim, the run waits outside your back door. It patiently hums your death march and looks in the window to smile as you peacefully sleep away your fat accumulating life.
When you arise - the run is angry - angry with you because you waited - angry because the sun is coming up and it can roast you alive. Oh yes - the run wants to dominate you. It wants to slow you down. It wants you to stop and smell the roses. You have to beat the run. It is your nemesis. I had a tool on board that helped me this morning.
You might ask:
"Was it the shoes?" (Homage to Spike Lee and Michael Jordan)
or
"Could it be his dog?"
or
"Might it be his attractive running socks?"
I would say to all of those. No.
It was the cake.
Not a normal cake. Caramel Triple Chocolate Fudge cake with Chocolate Frosting, Duncan Hines of course.
Man needs food. Cake = Fuel. Fat men run on that of which they partake. Sushi is OK for the normal man. But give a fat man a piece of cake and thus he has the wings upon his back to beat the miles back and keep on coming.
Or so the cake box claims.
The quote from my day comes from Redshirt freshman D.J. Tialavea, a Defensive Tackle for Utah State University. (You can now hum the Scotsman)
"It's a grind in there," he said. "You have to be a tough kid ... You've got to be strong, got to be stout."
Life is a grind sometimes. This morning the air inside the bedroom was cool and calm. No painters, contractors, lions, tigers, or bears were stopping by. No tornadoes to whisk my now-gray home away to Oz. Quite peaceful. I was almost lured into the cuddle - when the run came knocking. Oh, if you a runner, which some fat men claim, the run waits outside your back door. It patiently hums your death march and looks in the window to smile as you peacefully sleep away your fat accumulating life.
When you arise - the run is angry - angry with you because you waited - angry because the sun is coming up and it can roast you alive. Oh yes - the run wants to dominate you. It wants to slow you down. It wants you to stop and smell the roses. You have to beat the run. It is your nemesis. I had a tool on board that helped me this morning.
You might ask:
"Was it the shoes?" (Homage to Spike Lee and Michael Jordan)
or
"Could it be his dog?"
or
"Might it be his attractive running socks?"
I would say to all of those. No.
It was the cake.
Not a normal cake. Caramel Triple Chocolate Fudge cake with Chocolate Frosting, Duncan Hines of course.
Man needs food. Cake = Fuel. Fat men run on that of which they partake. Sushi is OK for the normal man. But give a fat man a piece of cake and thus he has the wings upon his back to beat the miles back and keep on coming.
Or so the cake box claims.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sponsors.
I have been thinking about what companies sponsor my fat. I mean really. Lets think about this. Is it Pizza Hut Stuffed Crust Pizza? Check.
Hostess (fill in the blank)? Check.
Twizzlers. Check.
Black Forrest Brand Gummy Bears. Rodger that.
Any thing with "Gummy" in the name? Bingo.
I think I will make shirts to run in that have a bunch of corporate logos on the back and claim that they have encouraged my fat to fuel my runs. It is a symbiotic sacred relationship that most Americans will agree with, let alone set down their Hebrew National Nally Chilly Dog with Extra onions and Sauerkraut to give me an Amen.
I don't think that any of the aforementioned brands claim to cause instant skinniness by partaking of them. I don't think that Hostess Raspberry filled doughnuts cause weight loss... Pick your poison and it will get stored somewhere on your body, and in my case be sacrificed to the flaming pit of desire to run faster harder and reach the end of the run before the ambulance or the Twinkie The Kid lookalike.
This morning was a glorious gut run. I was wondering what good thing I had done, or old person I have helped that allowed me to go 5 miles in under 50 minutes. But I must have been good. Mostly because before the dawn cascaded over the mountains and filled the canyon with a blaze of glory, blue flowers, miniature yellow sun flowers turning their heads toward the dawn, there was a fat man. Not any ordinary man - one powered by desire to conquer himself.
To sit his flat cracker butt down in the chair of the running tutor and learn about himself. How deep is the well of his desire? How much power can you push from your soul into the rubber on the pavement? Only the fat man knows. Each step is one closer to meeting his own personal goal. Dig down. Dig deep. The run awaits.
Hostess (fill in the blank)? Check.
Twizzlers. Check.
Black Forrest Brand Gummy Bears. Rodger that.
Any thing with "Gummy" in the name? Bingo.
I think I will make shirts to run in that have a bunch of corporate logos on the back and claim that they have encouraged my fat to fuel my runs. It is a symbiotic sacred relationship that most Americans will agree with, let alone set down their Hebrew National Nally Chilly Dog with Extra onions and Sauerkraut to give me an Amen.
I don't think that any of the aforementioned brands claim to cause instant skinniness by partaking of them. I don't think that Hostess Raspberry filled doughnuts cause weight loss... Pick your poison and it will get stored somewhere on your body, and in my case be sacrificed to the flaming pit of desire to run faster harder and reach the end of the run before the ambulance or the Twinkie The Kid lookalike.
This morning was a glorious gut run. I was wondering what good thing I had done, or old person I have helped that allowed me to go 5 miles in under 50 minutes. But I must have been good. Mostly because before the dawn cascaded over the mountains and filled the canyon with a blaze of glory, blue flowers, miniature yellow sun flowers turning their heads toward the dawn, there was a fat man. Not any ordinary man - one powered by desire to conquer himself.
To sit his flat cracker butt down in the chair of the running tutor and learn about himself. How deep is the well of his desire? How much power can you push from your soul into the rubber on the pavement? Only the fat man knows. Each step is one closer to meeting his own personal goal. Dig down. Dig deep. The run awaits.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
18 Miles. 3 Hours - 10 Minutes
The key to running long distances is to keep moving.
Movement entails the accomplishing of a goal.
This Saturday was the second of my 18 mile runs. 18 miles is something that is daunting to mere mortals such as I. It entails movement for a solid three hours. I don't think that I move that much between the fridge and the sofa.
I think that the mental game that happens on the run is as important as the physical one. I don't think you can just pop off an 18 mile run without doing the physical preparation first. The same goes for the mental run that you are doing while in motion. My track for the 18 miles was over to Shreiner's hospital along 11th Ave, and then back to City Creek Canyon for the up hill, down hill, and twisting roller coaster that finishes the run. This run took a bit of mental toughness because some of the run your body is leaning away from the entrance to the canyon, just as a normal man would turn away from the Kraken.
The key is to keep moving. All runs eventually end. Just as my mother-in-law says "All bleeding eventually stops." The longer you keep moving the shorter the run is. So what you see on the run is the opportunity to discuss with yourself the end result. What do I want to accomplish? How fast do I need to go? What should my time be? Why don't they allow roller skates on my marathon? All deep questions that need to be answered.
The real question that I get to answer each and every day of the run: Am I willing to go the distance and finish the course?
Movement entails the accomplishing of a goal.
This Saturday was the second of my 18 mile runs. 18 miles is something that is daunting to mere mortals such as I. It entails movement for a solid three hours. I don't think that I move that much between the fridge and the sofa.
I think that the mental game that happens on the run is as important as the physical one. I don't think you can just pop off an 18 mile run without doing the physical preparation first. The same goes for the mental run that you are doing while in motion. My track for the 18 miles was over to Shreiner's hospital along 11th Ave, and then back to City Creek Canyon for the up hill, down hill, and twisting roller coaster that finishes the run. This run took a bit of mental toughness because some of the run your body is leaning away from the entrance to the canyon, just as a normal man would turn away from the Kraken.
The key is to keep moving. All runs eventually end. Just as my mother-in-law says "All bleeding eventually stops." The longer you keep moving the shorter the run is. So what you see on the run is the opportunity to discuss with yourself the end result. What do I want to accomplish? How fast do I need to go? What should my time be? Why don't they allow roller skates on my marathon? All deep questions that need to be answered.
The real question that I get to answer each and every day of the run: Am I willing to go the distance and finish the course?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Damn The Torpedoes... Full Speed Ahead...
So sometimes life just comes upon you. At times you get to go to work to earn money. At other times you get to do home renovation projects. This is a week of home renovation projects. Painting the house, grinding concrete, smoothing down walls. So what happens to the runner with all of these things happening at once? He runs early, runs hard, and packs his whole run into a shorter amount of time than he would really like.
A usual week comprises a Monday grunt run. This entails dragging ones booty out of bed for the beginning of much running in the week. This happened to me on Monday. I hope it happened to you also. Five miles. 50 minutes. Not Dead Yet.
Tuesday is sort of a rest day in which you recoup what sanity you bled out onto the road on Monday and hope that Wednesday gets better. Tuesday was no rest. It was 8 miles - 1 hour and 20ish minutes. Grinder run. More brains and sanity lost along the pavement of what we quaintly call life.
Wednesday is traditionally the longer of the runs in the middle of the week. This actually was this morning and it was 5 miles again - and in 50ish minutes. My dog is not quite up with the fact that he is a pawn in my evil scheme to dominate City Creek Canyon. He does however lament that he did not get to chase a black kitty into the bushes on the start of the run on Monday. I believe that he echoed Don King - "I was Robbed!" or something of that vein.
Thursday is tomorrow and I am banking on not having to run tomorrow. Unless I have "crazy leg" syndrome and I am itching for my 18 miles. But I feel somewhere down deep that the sanity will prevail.
Friday is traditionally the rest before the storm. Your mind is now in full control of your body and you get itchy and twitchy. You ruminate upon why world peace is not really possible and indeed why it might not be the right solution. Your psyche starts to store up the needed gumption to run. It begins with putting ideas in the head such as: "you are an IT guy and you don't work that hard - 18 can't kill you." Followed by: "Were you born this slow or did you devolve into this pile of loose flesh and macabre fascination with Twinkies?" "Why don't you just hang up the shoes and buy insulin because that would be the easy way out..."
My response comes from Admiral Farragut: "Damn The Torpedoes! Full Speed Ahead!"
A usual week comprises a Monday grunt run. This entails dragging ones booty out of bed for the beginning of much running in the week. This happened to me on Monday. I hope it happened to you also. Five miles. 50 minutes. Not Dead Yet.
Tuesday is sort of a rest day in which you recoup what sanity you bled out onto the road on Monday and hope that Wednesday gets better. Tuesday was no rest. It was 8 miles - 1 hour and 20ish minutes. Grinder run. More brains and sanity lost along the pavement of what we quaintly call life.
Wednesday is traditionally the longer of the runs in the middle of the week. This actually was this morning and it was 5 miles again - and in 50ish minutes. My dog is not quite up with the fact that he is a pawn in my evil scheme to dominate City Creek Canyon. He does however lament that he did not get to chase a black kitty into the bushes on the start of the run on Monday. I believe that he echoed Don King - "I was Robbed!" or something of that vein.
Thursday is tomorrow and I am banking on not having to run tomorrow. Unless I have "crazy leg" syndrome and I am itching for my 18 miles. But I feel somewhere down deep that the sanity will prevail.
Friday is traditionally the rest before the storm. Your mind is now in full control of your body and you get itchy and twitchy. You ruminate upon why world peace is not really possible and indeed why it might not be the right solution. Your psyche starts to store up the needed gumption to run. It begins with putting ideas in the head such as: "you are an IT guy and you don't work that hard - 18 can't kill you." Followed by: "Were you born this slow or did you devolve into this pile of loose flesh and macabre fascination with Twinkies?" "Why don't you just hang up the shoes and buy insulin because that would be the easy way out..."
My response comes from Admiral Farragut: "Damn The Torpedoes! Full Speed Ahead!"
Sunday, August 8, 2010
18 Miles - 3 hours - 10 Minutes...
Some things can kill you. Bad deer meat that the Chinese Buffet got off of the highway. A Tsunami in your bathtub when you left your rubber duckies in the other room. Gang Greene when untreated with whiskey and bullets. Believing that mullets are really in style and not having the cars up on blocks in your front yard to match. All of these things can get you killed in normal course of living while clinging to this mortal coil.
18 miles does not kill you. It does not come close. In fact it only makes you regret a few things in life. One is having stupid music on your Ipod. The other is not having teammates that you could have helped pull you up the tough parts in the course. In the course I ran on Saturday there was one constant that reverberated throughout the course. Hills. Oh there might be a slim downhill on the way up - and there might then be a small respite of moderate decline in the elevation. It seemed to me in the untreated eye of a novice runner that around every turn there were more hills and all of them laughing at you. Taunting you and daring you to: "Come on over it is fine up here, there is enough cement for you to spatter on. There is always room for one more."
What did happen during my run is that I had to stop - literally - and reconfigure my run. It was sort of like taking a snow globe that was a chaotic storm and then allowing the flakes to settle and then the scope of what you are trying to conquer. Of course the image would not end up revealing an Alice in Wonderland, more like a tableau of a burning English village with the Vikings boarding the boats.
The key to this run was to begin again after the end of the run. What I mean is that after you have stopped running - to begin again to reach your goal. Even though you stop you can start again towards what the original goal was. Reaching the goal, although paused, is still reachable. Although this goes beyond just the fat burning melee that occurs while running - it helps to get past the brick wall that occurs when your body begins to realize that your brain is unbalanced and needs to stop for a couple of Twinkies so as to regain your balance.
18 miles does not kill you. It does not come close. In fact it only makes you regret a few things in life. One is having stupid music on your Ipod. The other is not having teammates that you could have helped pull you up the tough parts in the course. In the course I ran on Saturday there was one constant that reverberated throughout the course. Hills. Oh there might be a slim downhill on the way up - and there might then be a small respite of moderate decline in the elevation. It seemed to me in the untreated eye of a novice runner that around every turn there were more hills and all of them laughing at you. Taunting you and daring you to: "Come on over it is fine up here, there is enough cement for you to spatter on. There is always room for one more."
What did happen during my run is that I had to stop - literally - and reconfigure my run. It was sort of like taking a snow globe that was a chaotic storm and then allowing the flakes to settle and then the scope of what you are trying to conquer. Of course the image would not end up revealing an Alice in Wonderland, more like a tableau of a burning English village with the Vikings boarding the boats.
The key to this run was to begin again after the end of the run. What I mean is that after you have stopped running - to begin again to reach your goal. Even though you stop you can start again towards what the original goal was. Reaching the goal, although paused, is still reachable. Although this goes beyond just the fat burning melee that occurs while running - it helps to get past the brick wall that occurs when your body begins to realize that your brain is unbalanced and needs to stop for a couple of Twinkies so as to regain your balance.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Evil things. Feather pillows and cyclists.
This morning my pillow magnetized to my skull and we got in a fight. Mostly over how long could I logically stay in bed and still get my five miles in. My pillow wanted to be my friend and help me through this difficult patch in my life. He wanted me to join a support group to get over this "running thing." He even offered to help me explain to all of you why missing just one run won't hurt. But, pillows don't have thumbs and thus don't get a vote or have any power to keep me in bed. The only thing that keeps me horizontal in the morning is me. Who keeps me from the run? I do.
So I arose and began my run. Chat seemed to be more interested in sniffing the pavement for dead squirrels and watching the hills for loose deer. Alas his wants went unfulfilled as there were none of the bambies or smashed rodentia. Usually the first mile is the wake up mile and the in between miles are something that grind on you a bit and the ending mile you want to go as fast as you can so that you can beat the clock. Merciless being that it is. Marching onward without a thought for your well being. This morning I figured out something. You might call this an epiphany - but then that might spark people to make pilgrimages to my house and I only have one restroom. So let us call it a spark of enlightenment.
All seconds and minutes measure how fast you are going. The ones in the middle, end, and beginning all compound into one large number that is either good or bad depending on how hard you worked. The goal is to work hard all the way through the run and not to let up for the uphills or the downhills. If you are consistently working at it you will be faster and it will be far more fulfilling than before. Working consistently and methodically through each step of the run is what will get you to the end. Not letting up on the hills - pushing yourself is what gets you to the end faster. If I want to go faster - then I have to be more consistent. I can't take the first mile leisurely up the hill - I have to do it as fast as I want the last mile to be.
This binds to life. If you want to be the best possible person you want to be you have to have iron and steel in your soul to be consistent and compete in the race we call life. After all - in the battle against fat - be it the fat of the body or fat caused by inconsistency in life - the deciding moment is when you begin to run instead of walk and run instead of fainting.
So I arose and began my run. Chat seemed to be more interested in sniffing the pavement for dead squirrels and watching the hills for loose deer. Alas his wants went unfulfilled as there were none of the bambies or smashed rodentia. Usually the first mile is the wake up mile and the in between miles are something that grind on you a bit and the ending mile you want to go as fast as you can so that you can beat the clock. Merciless being that it is. Marching onward without a thought for your well being. This morning I figured out something. You might call this an epiphany - but then that might spark people to make pilgrimages to my house and I only have one restroom. So let us call it a spark of enlightenment.
All seconds and minutes measure how fast you are going. The ones in the middle, end, and beginning all compound into one large number that is either good or bad depending on how hard you worked. The goal is to work hard all the way through the run and not to let up for the uphills or the downhills. If you are consistently working at it you will be faster and it will be far more fulfilling than before. Working consistently and methodically through each step of the run is what will get you to the end. Not letting up on the hills - pushing yourself is what gets you to the end faster. If I want to go faster - then I have to be more consistent. I can't take the first mile leisurely up the hill - I have to do it as fast as I want the last mile to be.
This binds to life. If you want to be the best possible person you want to be you have to have iron and steel in your soul to be consistent and compete in the race we call life. After all - in the battle against fat - be it the fat of the body or fat caused by inconsistency in life - the deciding moment is when you begin to run instead of walk and run instead of fainting.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Easy was never worth it.
I was out running this morning - with my faithful dog and the goal was 8 miles. I came in just a tad over 1 Hr and 20 Minutes.
As I was running up the hills and around the twisting lanes that God has laid out for my personal potential ER visit - I came to a conclusion about life in general.
Nothing Easy Is Ever Worth It. Kids are not easy, but are worth it. Free hot dogs or food just to lure you into buying something - not worth it. Twinkies by the case at Costco. Easy - and really not worth it in the end. Going up and down hills and pounding along beating the concrete into submission - is not easy. Is it worth it?
I would vote in the affirmative of that action. You see I don't think that easy things ever produce much. Walking is easy - running is not. 1 mile runs are easy - 26.2 miles is just a touch this side of insanity - but still worth it.
It was easy going to Carl's Junior - swiping the card - downing the burger, fries, and the shake to go along with it. Easy my friend. It was not quite easy bleeding out through my pores this morning that was not quite ideal. I think it is amazing that your intake tube is so much more forgiving than the output. Squeezing a burger, fries, and a shake out through the pores in your skin is not what I would call enjoyable.
So I dare you to come up with something that is both easy and worth it. I once went upstairs of an automotive dealership that I worked for and found free stuff everywhere. Hats, BBQ sets, American Flags, denture cream, and streamers. All of it free - all of it junk - except the American Flags.
Although I cannot monetize the worth of the run - I can tell you that when the run begins it starts the fire - churns the thoughts - cleanses the inner voice - creates solitude - and in my case panics ground squirrels within a 500 yard radius.
As I was running up the hills and around the twisting lanes that God has laid out for my personal potential ER visit - I came to a conclusion about life in general.
Nothing Easy Is Ever Worth It. Kids are not easy, but are worth it. Free hot dogs or food just to lure you into buying something - not worth it. Twinkies by the case at Costco. Easy - and really not worth it in the end. Going up and down hills and pounding along beating the concrete into submission - is not easy. Is it worth it?
I would vote in the affirmative of that action. You see I don't think that easy things ever produce much. Walking is easy - running is not. 1 mile runs are easy - 26.2 miles is just a touch this side of insanity - but still worth it.
It was easy going to Carl's Junior - swiping the card - downing the burger, fries, and the shake to go along with it. Easy my friend. It was not quite easy bleeding out through my pores this morning that was not quite ideal. I think it is amazing that your intake tube is so much more forgiving than the output. Squeezing a burger, fries, and a shake out through the pores in your skin is not what I would call enjoyable.
So I dare you to come up with something that is both easy and worth it. I once went upstairs of an automotive dealership that I worked for and found free stuff everywhere. Hats, BBQ sets, American Flags, denture cream, and streamers. All of it free - all of it junk - except the American Flags.
Although I cannot monetize the worth of the run - I can tell you that when the run begins it starts the fire - churns the thoughts - cleanses the inner voice - creates solitude - and in my case panics ground squirrels within a 500 yard radius.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Beating Back the Sun....
I was out with the dog yesterday - and believe it or not he was not that enthralled with getting up early to go out for a run. Go figure. Monday runs are possibly the worst designed thing on the planet. You might ask me why? Well let me tell you a few reasons.
One. Late night concert till 10:30PM. The concert was not bad - Mary Chapin Carpenter. One of my wife's favorite musicians. It might have been the fact that there were Hippies everywhere. And some of them had a drinking problem. Off balance, inebriated individuals trying to dance and sing is somewhat entertaining but in the end all you lose is equilibrium.
Two. 11PM fruit salad. I am not complaining about fruit, or salad. Just the timing of it. I knew the run was creeping towards me at dawn. I knew it was coming. It was marching steadily each second ticking away till the grand vista of tomorrow stormed into existence.
Three. Bubble bread. Now for all of you novices out there - you take Rhodes Rolls, roll them in melted butter, then in a cinnamon sugar mixture and then lump 30 or so of them into a Bundt cake pan and let it rise in the fridge. Bad news is that when you get up in the morning it will not have risen as it should and you have to leave at 545AM to get in five miles before you get to go to work.
It would seem to me, Dear Robin, that my run was screwed up and backwards before it started. I felt like Vin Diesel outrunning the burning planet in the Chronicles of Riddick. Quick quick run run before you get vaporized by the dawn. My fat did not know what hit it - Pushing it all the way and hoping you get home to bake the product before all chaos reigns, cats and dogs live together, Armageddon in the streets.
The fat waits for none of those.
One. Late night concert till 10:30PM. The concert was not bad - Mary Chapin Carpenter. One of my wife's favorite musicians. It might have been the fact that there were Hippies everywhere. And some of them had a drinking problem. Off balance, inebriated individuals trying to dance and sing is somewhat entertaining but in the end all you lose is equilibrium.
Two. 11PM fruit salad. I am not complaining about fruit, or salad. Just the timing of it. I knew the run was creeping towards me at dawn. I knew it was coming. It was marching steadily each second ticking away till the grand vista of tomorrow stormed into existence.
Three. Bubble bread. Now for all of you novices out there - you take Rhodes Rolls, roll them in melted butter, then in a cinnamon sugar mixture and then lump 30 or so of them into a Bundt cake pan and let it rise in the fridge. Bad news is that when you get up in the morning it will not have risen as it should and you have to leave at 545AM to get in five miles before you get to go to work.
It would seem to me, Dear Robin, that my run was screwed up and backwards before it started. I felt like Vin Diesel outrunning the burning planet in the Chronicles of Riddick. Quick quick run run before you get vaporized by the dawn. My fat did not know what hit it - Pushing it all the way and hoping you get home to bake the product before all chaos reigns, cats and dogs live together, Armageddon in the streets.
The fat waits for none of those.
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