My Half-Marathon (Joker’s Wild Run)
Yesterday I ran my first timed Half-Marathon called the Joker’s Wild Half-Marathon. I finished 476 out of 512 people with a time of 2 hours, 51 minutes and 44 seconds. I wasn’t sure exactly what my time was when I finished because in all the excitement, I forgot to start my stopwatch right at the beginning of the race. I guesstimated I had been running for ten minutes when I started it, which actually turned out to be only six minutes instead of ten.
If you’re going to run a race, remember these two things: Stay hydrated and pee either before you get there or after the start line. I knew both these things but as timing goes, I had to pee right when they were getting ready to start. I saw that were 100 people in line and only five or six porta-potties so I decided to run to the first port-potty on the course. I got lucky, someone was coming out right when I got there. Sure it’s an extra 20 seconds, but if you’re slow already who cares about an extra 20 seconds if you can skip a five minute line? (And in case you didn’t know, in most timed races you can wait the five extra minutes in the bathroom line and not be penalized. Your time doesn’t start until you cross the start line. I just didn’t want to start in the very back and be there the entire time.)
At the eight mile marker, a storm whipped-up like a batch of witches brew, the wind blew through with gusts up to 60 mph and then the rain and lighting came. By the time I finally got to the finish line they had already taken down the big clock, so I had to check my official time online–2:51:44.
I’ve been doing my marathon training with the St. Louis Track Club and usually within the first five minutes of starting, I can no longer see any of the other club members. So it was nice that this time I was able to run along with other people. It’s totally different mentally when you run with a group of people on and off for several miles.
Until I ran this race I had no idea all the things your mind does to pull you through when you’re running. My officemate Ken told me that when he was in running cross-country, that one of the tricks they used was getting locked in and watching other people’s feet and, “That will pull you along.” I decided to use this method, except I modified the technique a bit when a woman in spandex ran by. I can’t tell you how many sweaty, giggly, butts I watched yesterday, but I would imagine it was dozens.
There was a group of four girls running a relay-race in tutus. I stayed by one of them throughout the entire race. At the end, three of them were waiting for their friend to finish and I heard one of them yell, “Hey there’s the guy,” which I assumed they were talking about me. When I got to the finish line my wife Tejal was waiting there, camera in hand. That was the nicest part of the whole race. As I was running I kept wondering where we’d meet after the race with so many people there. It was a huge relief to see her there waving and cheering me on.
I felt a bit overwhelmed when I crossed the finish line. My legs were so shaky that I could barely hold still for the volunteer to cut off the timing chip from my shoe.
There are things you would never know about until you actually do them. For instance, a non-runner would think you’d just have to put on your shorts and a pair of socks and shoes and go run. But when you’re running for distance, you do need socks and shoes, but they should be wicking socks and a good pair of running shoes that have preferably been custom fitted to your feet. Ever hear of body glide? It’s like a fancy deodorant that goes on your feet, in between your legs and even on your nipples. Don’t forget the hydration belt or hand held water bottle, then there’s the carbohydrate gels, sunscreen, iPod, sunglasses, a cooler with an electrolyte sports drink in it for after the run, a wicking shirt to run in and an extra shirt in your car to change into when you’re done. You’d never think of all these things until you’ve run some distance. But the best thing that was waiting for me at the end that I didn’t know about, besides my wife waiting to rescue me and drive me home, was the pancake and sausage breakfast that apparently is a tradition amongst racers.
This half-marathon was my Father’s Day present and I finally got to cash in. I even got two free breakfasts out of the deal: one at the race and then Tejal took me out for another one after my shower and she even let me off the hook for my normal Saturday morning chores. Guess I’ll have to sign up for more races, and soon, I have a deck to stain.
Gen. McChrystal and The Stone That Rolled Him Over
In the modern day work place where posting drunk pictures of yourself on Facebook can get you fired, why would someone as smart as a General running a war think that he could get away with allowing a reporter to follow him around for even a day, much less a month?
Imagine if you had a reporter following you around for almost a month with a notepad and a tape recorder in their hand? If this reporter went with to your job, what would he see? What about if he hung out with you and your friends at your favorite watering hole after work? Ever do anything embarrassing at a bar? Me neither.
On June 23rd General Stanley McChrystal, the top commander in Afghanistan, was fired by President Obama because of an interview that was going to be published in the upcoming issue of Rolling Stone magazine. This was the first time in 50 years that a top general had been relived of his post since Gen. Douglas MacArthur had been fired by Harry Truman during the Korean War. The story broke nationally two weeks before I even received my subscription copy of the magazine in the mail. This could be one argument for why print magazines are obsolete, but I’ll save that for a different time.
In the interview, Gen. McChrystal told Rolling Stone’s Michael Hastings that, “I was selling an unsellable position,” when discussing the fact that the General had asked Obama for 40,000 more troops, which was then leaked to the press. Obama supposedly felt cornered because of the leak and said he wanted to wait three months and have the plan evaluated. McChrystal got his first ass-chewing from the new President after the press leak. So they had some history by the time this interview incident rolled around.
In the article, one of McChrystal’s aides said that when the General first inherited the war in Afghanistan, Obama met with McChyrstal for, “…a 10-minute photo op. Obama clearly didn’t know anything about him, who he was. Here’s the guy who’s going to run his fucking war, but he didn’t seem very engaged. The Boss was pretty disappointed.”
If you were McChrstal, would you want your friends talking to someone who was going to go back and tell your boss everything he heard? If it would have been me I would have instructed all of my aides that, “This is a reporter. His job is to report things. Assume everything you say is going to go in his report. If you don’t want your name attached to it, don’t say anything to him.”
If you read the whole Rolling Stone article you would know that McChrystal did not say any one thing that could have gotten him fired. When speaking of Karl Eikendberry, a former general and now the ambassador who’s involved with the war in Afghanistan, McChrystal started off by saying, “I like Karl, I’ve known him for years,” but then he goes on to say that he felt betrayed by him. In today’s 24 hour news cycle, the sound-bytes that get played on the air aren’t the nice words about the former General but the parts that come after that which basically sound like, He doesn’t know what he’s doing. And by the way, I’m in charge.
McChrystal and his aides also did a lot of trash-talking about several other key leaders from Joe Biden, to the President Hamid Karzai of Afghanistan, but not one of the things they said should have gotten the General fired. I think it was the way that McChrystal was portrayed as an alcohol swilling, trouble-making, bad ass who runs around with his troops kicking open doors and who said, out loud, that we don’t have a clear objective to winning this war, that we are going to be here for the long haul, like for the next 20 years, and that no one is paying attention to this war anyway, so I’ll run it how I want to. That’s what got him fired.
So the next question becomes who do you want running a war? Do you want someone who can look good in front of a camera and knows how to hold his tongue? Or do you want someone who is trying to lower civilian casualties, because in McChrystal’s words, “For every innocent person you kill, you create 10 new enemies.” Do you want an ass-kicking cowboy who tries to inspire his troops by getting out and literally kicks in doors with his troops and personally answers their emails? Or do you want a General who leads from the back, who could probably relay his commands over the phone from some room in Washington?
In my opinion it was absolutely moronic for General McChrystal to have allowed a reporter from Rolling Stone magazine into his inner-circle and to have given him full access to himself. Hasn’t he heard that these days’ people get fired for updating their Facebook status with, “At the ball game drinking a beer,” when they called-in sick.
I would think that that having a reporter from Rolling Stone, one of the most liberal magazines in the United States, around you for a month when you’re the General running the war, should have been looked at like a moderately hungry man eating his pet dog when there was a McDonald’s right next door. Could you do it? Yes. Do you think that’s a good idea? Probably not. That is unless he’s smarter than we’re giving him credit for.
What if the General wanted to bring attention to the war in Afghanistan? Because of this article, Afghanistan is now talked about more in the media than it has in a long time, even if it was at the General’s expense. Was it his intention to get fired? Of course not. There’s no way anyone could have predicted how much coverage this story was going to get. But as far a bringing attention to the war, the conversation did explode like a mortar shell in the American dialog. And for the people who read the article, its message is loud and clear, there is no set strategy for ending this war and we plan on being here for a very long time. You want our attention General McCrystal? Message received, sir.
Losing Weight
This is the start of the 11th week of my marathon training. I was talking to a friend who has ran at least 10 marathons, 5 of them were within 7 days of each other—which in my opinion is not healthy, but I digress. So I was explaining to my friend that I had just run 13 miles that day and I have lost 20 pounds doing nothing but exercising and eating pretty much the same way I’ve always eaten. “In fact,” I said, “right after my run I went to QuikTrip and bought two donuts.”
“You’re silly,” he said.
I kept on talking like I usually do when I’m explaining something to someone who could really care less, and then halfway through my monologue, my tongue skidded like a cat on a wet linoleum floor. “Wait a minute, what do you mean I’m silly?”
“I mean you’re silly to be training so much and not eating right,” he said. “Does that even make sense? I mean you’re already doing the exercise, and not just any exercise, but running 13 miles? That’s insane considering less than three months ago you were just lying around doing nothing. And then you go and blow it all by buying donuts afterwards? That’s not even silly, that’s dumb.”
“Well that’s what I was craving,” I said, “and I felt like deserved it.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t deserve it. I’m just saying if you didn’t have 40 extra pounds riding along with you, maybe you wouldn’t have to work so hard when you’re running,” he said.
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I’m already doing the hard part—exercising 5-6 times a week. Then my officemate said, “Your friend’s right. It’s like you’re handicapping yourself. Imagine putting a 40 pound pack on and running around with it. That’s what you’re doing by not eating right and carrying that 40 extra pounds.”
So I’ve decided that I will start eating right. I’ve heard that in order for an idea to manifest you need to make a goal, and in order for a goal not to just stay a dream, you need to write it down and to tell people about it; so that’s what I’m doing right now.
So here it goes: By 10/11/10 I want to have lost 38lbs that would put me at 195lbs. I haven’t been less than 200lbs in at least five or six years. I’ve already lost 20lbs in 11 weeks eating whatever I want, so I want to see what happens when I follow a strict diet and stick to my training program.
I’ve used the book Body for Life in the past and have lost weight twice following the program outlined in the book. The reason I gained the weight back was because I stopped eating right and exercising. This time I want to live the lifestyle not just follow the diet. I know there’s no magic pill, unless you count meth but I already have enough dental problems, so I guess I’ll have to do it the old fashioned way with diet and exercise. I’ll post a few pictures along the way to keep me honest. Sorry, there’s no witty ending today but it’s summertime, stop reading this crap and get out and do something.
World’s Oldest Woman
Get old sucks. I realized this a few years ago when I was at a party at a friend’s house. His younger brother had some friends over. This college kid pointed to me and my wife and said, “Who’s the old people?” to our friend’s brother. He answered, “Oh, those are my brother’s friends.” What he didn’t say is, “Who them? They’re not old, they’re only 30.”
Today a story came out that the world’s oldest woman is 130 years old. The press hasn’t been able to fully verify that fact, but there are some well supported claims that make the story appear that it could be true. In my opinion she doesn’t look that old. To me she looks to be about 95 or 100, either way, it is way, way, past her prime. But what’s 30 years once you’re over 100?
Click: Damn that’s old to see more.
New iPhone- “I don’t care.”
I have and love the iPhone. I’ve never felt that way about any electronic device. I can honestly say that this phone feels like it’s changed my life. I never get lost anymore. I can get my email and check craigslist for that gotta-have-it deal of the day. And best of all, I can check Facebook and upload pictures of my little girl so that “Grammy” and her two out-of-town-aunties can feel like they’re not missing out on her growing up.
When people start to tell me about their new smart-phones, I get an, “I don’t care,” attitude. I don’t say that to them directly, but really, I could care less about your phone and what it does and why it’s better than an iPhone. If it’s not an iPhone I don’t want to hear about it.
Mine and my wife’s AT&T plan is coming to an end in a few months and she keeps talking about switching back to Sprint. I have made it clear to her that I am not going back to Sprint and that I would rather be on my own with AT&T with my iPhone than go back to Sprint with her with some shitty “smart” phone and I don’t care if it’s faster.
In my head, I was not going to be swayed to switch back to Sprint regardless of the persuasion techniques my wife had tried to use. A short list of these techniques consisted of: logic—“They have better phones,” financial reasons—“It’s way cheaper,” and maybe even a little bit sexual deprivation—I didn’t get an excuse there, but it could just be because we’ve been married for six years. Regardless of the tactics, I am a mentally strong person and I have Internet porn, which is what lead me to this little piece of information that made me change my mind.
So babe, you win. We’re going back to Sprint when our contract runs out. Now about that BJ…
Michael’s Still Alive
Today marks the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death. Everyone is affected differently by celebrity’s deaths. For some, it’s the worst day of their life, their hero is dead. For others, they could care less if a celebrity dies. I fall in the later crowd over Michael Jackson’s death.
It’s not that I didn’t think Michael Jackson was a good artist. I loved him as a child. Beat It, Billy Jean and Thriller were three of my all time favorite songs when I was ten years old. But once I got a little older, I’m Bad, Black or White and Man In The Mirror, just didn’t cut it for me. It wasn’t that I disliked Michael, I just didn’t care for his music. It wasn’t until the first child-sex scandal broke that I stopped liking him. And then the second child-sex story broke, that’s when I started to despise him.
I know, I know, he was never convicted. Yes, I’m pre-judging him. I don’t care what anyone else thinks, this is my blog and I think something is wrong when a grown man invites little boys over to play at his “Never Land Ranch,” which just happens to have all the things that little boys love like carnival rides, go carts and junk food. The only thing that’s missing is naked ladies. ”I don’t have any naked ladies but I got this,” he probably said pointing down to his multi-colored penis. Fuck that—he’s dead and I don’t care.
What I do find interesting is that now that Jackson’s dead, experts are claiming that his estate is worth approximately $1 billion dollars. I think this is weird because he hardly had any money left before he died and now that he’s dead, and can’t be a liability, Sony is paying the Jackson estate $250 million dollars for 10 recordings through 2017. So now we have to listen to this dead child molester for the next seven years. Maybe he should have Beat It himself and been his own Thriller, then he could have looked at the Man In the Mirror and wouldn’t had to say, I’m Bad, I’m Bad, you know it. Yeah, Michael, You’re Bad, we know it.
Happy Father’s Day
Today I feel like I am a part of an elite team of warriors. The members of our clan are often sleep deprived for weeks at a time. We’ve been forced to do things we would never do for ourselves. We’ve been thrown-up on, peed on, and been sneezed on directly into our mouths.
No, I’m not talking about being a Navy Seals recruit, or frat boy, or a fetish porn-star. I’m talking about being a Dad. And since today is my first Father’s Day, I’d thought I’d throw in a link about how Father’s Day got started.
I could go on how being a Father, or a Dad, is different than just being a sperm donor and calling yourself a Father; but I think you know the difference and I have pancakes to eat.
So Happy Father’s Day to all you real Fathers and Dads out there and if you’re interested in reading more, click the link.
My Egg Army and The Mayo Grandma
When I was a kid I loved mischief. It didn’t matter if I was taping the handle down on my walkie-talkies and placing them in my sister’s bedroom when she had friend sleeping over so I could hear their conversations, or was knocking on people’s door and running away. I just loved pranks when I was a kid.
Probably the worst prank, or today what I would call assholish behavior, that I did many, many times was egging people’s cars. Back in the day, my group of friends would jump in the bed of my little gray Mazda truck and we would hit the Safeway grocery store. We’d then buy 10 dozen eggs in the middle of the night. The grocery tellers had to know we were up to no good; either that or they must have thought we were really high and hungry, which was also probably true.
One night we deiced to go egging in Hawaii Kai—a wealthy area of O’ahu. My soldiers were in my little gray Mazda truck bed like looking out our targets as we did a drive-by just to get a feel of what we were dealing with—a reconnaissance if you will. Once we knew which house had what cars, we then began our egg assault against the Mercedes, BMW’s and Jaguars of the world. The more expensive the car, the more we wanted to hit it.
My first car was a white 1967 Mustang with red interior. This night, sitting on the main drag in Hawaii Kai, there happened to be an exact reverse of my first car. It was a red 1967 Mustang convertible with white interior, and it had the top down. I told my friends, “Leave that one alone.” I guess the car bond made me feel like it was the brotherly thing to say.
But I heard someone yell, “Fuck that,” and I started hearing, splat-a-tatt-tatt as at least half a dozen eggs hit the red ‘Stang.
I hit the gas to the floor to get the assassins away from the classic as fast as I could, but it was too late. I looked in the mirror and I could see the yellow yolks and egg shells running down everywhere like snot running from a child’s nose.
The snipers were laughing and yelling, “Turn around man, turn around! You have to see it.”
I really didn’t want to go back, but peer pressure got the best of me so I drove up about a quarter of a mile and turned the truck around and headed back toward the car. It was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. The innocent victims of war, I thought. I could see where the yellow yolk was streaming down the front corner panel, white shells flecked all over the red paint. I shook my head thinking about what if this would have been my car?
The guys were all laughing in the truck bed and then the front porch light came on where the Mustang was parked and everyone yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”
We drove up the street, gave it about five minutes and then drove back by the Mustang. There was a Japanese man rinsing his car off in the middle of the night, which made me feel really bad, so I decided we needed to halt the eggings and go get some food.
Apparently the others were not as affected by seeing the guy wash off his little piece of the American Dream as I was because I accidently turned down the same street about an hour or so after we saw the man rinse off his car. All the guys realized it before I did and I could hear them laughing. I looked at my friend who was in the cab with me and he just shook his head.
“What?” I said. He pointed with his head to the red Mustang and right when I was saying, “Ahhhh, shit!” the guys in the back of the truck hit it again—multiple times.
Why am I bringing this up? Because I when I did my food-related crimes, I was 17 or 18 years old. Dumb is built into the age. But this week in Boise Idaho, police caught a 74 year old woman pouring mayonnaise into the book return box at the county library. She is also a person of interest in 10 other condiment related cases.
Now I know if you live in a glass house you shouldn’t throw stones, but as a former condiment crook myself, I think the community should get together and egg her. She should get one egg for every book she ruined with her little prank and any neighborhood kid that she told to, “Stay off my lawn,” should be the one who’s throwing the eggs.
World Cup Starts Today
The World Cup of soccer starts today in South Africa. This is the Super Bowl for the rest of the World, but I think most Americans males would say, “Soccer’s for pussies.”
If you’re a betting person, America’s chances of winning are 80 to1. This doesn’t seem too bad considering that our first game is against England where our odds of winning are about 7 to 1. It would be about the same as us beating Italy or Brazil.
I used to play soccer when I was a kid. I was on two different teams. But when I moved to Hawaii, soccer wasn’t a big sport for boys to play there. You either played baseball or football and I played both sports until I hit my freshman year of high school.
I had played sports all my life but it was the summer of my freshman year that my mom said, “You sure you want to play high school football? I mean, you’re not very good at it.” That was the day that I stopped playing organized sports and even stopped watching them on TV. Not having to play on a team was one of the biggest burdens that I have ever had lifted off my shoulders. It freed me up to do other things, like learning to play pool and body-board.
I’ve always been the type of person who’d rather be playing the sport than watching it on TV. I kind of understood how people could sit around and watch a whole three hour baseball game, but only because I grew up watching the Cardinals until I moved to where they didn’t show it on TV. But to sit around and watch a 90 minute soccer game? That was unthinkable. That was until I moved in with my college roommate who was from Oman. Soccer or “football,” was his sport and Manchester United was his team. Everything would stop when they were playing a game, including classes.
I still remember the first year I watched the World Cup. It was in 2002 at my other Omani friend’s apartment, which was famously known as “415”. The USA was doing well in the tournament and I would brag every time they’d win a game. I believe the US won their first three games and by this time the shit talking was in full-effect. I would come over to friend’s apartment every morning after each game and say, “Did you see the game?” Like I was some sort of World Cup aficionado.
All soccer clubs have a song or chant they do and this was mine, “What’cha mutha-fucka’s gonna do, when we beat the shit outta you, you, you?” I chanted this pointing at the TV and to my Arab friends.
They took delight in my new found soccer enthusiasm, but knew it would be short lived once the US lost; which we did, I believe on the fourth game.
So what did I do when my friends were proved right and the USA lost? I did what any red-blooded American man would do after talking to shit to a bunch of Arabs. I took my medicine like a man—three days later.
I had decided that I needed a cooling off period, so I just stopped going over to their apartment for a few days. But I couldn’t stay away from them too long and when I returned it was on.
“Ahhhhhhhh!!! Kaaadooo!! Kaaadooo!!!” They teased rolling their tongues making the high pitched noise. They sounded like a bunch of coo-coo clocks. And I know that “Kaaadooo,” doesn’t actually mean anything, it was just their war-cry and a way to say, “You lost mutha-fucka,” as lovingly as they could.
I have not watched another World Cup as intently as I watched the one in 2002. I did watch the entire Italy versus France game in 2006. But this time I would like to catch a few games that the US is in and as long as they do well, I will follow it again. If not I’ll be like every other average American male and say, “Soccer’s for pussies.” But regardless of how well the US team does, it won’t be the same without my Omani brothers yelling, “Kaaadooo, Kaaadooo! You lost mutha-fucka!”
Art Space in St. Louis
Remember when malls were the coolest place on the planet to hang out? You may have been wearing braces at the time, but at one point they used to be the hot spot. Today property owners are having a hard time keeping their retail space full. In fact, in St. Louis where I live, three malls have been shut down in recent years. Well, almost three.
If you are an artist and you need your own workspace, let me suggest a gem I just discovered. ArtSpace at Crestwood Court (which used to be Crestwood Mall) has been offering artists work and gallery space for two years now. Some of the rents on these spaces are as low as $100 a month. (Not including utilities.)
I have yet to make it over to ArtSpace but I plan on going sometime soon.
Here is a list of other artist’s spaces in St. Louis if you are interested.
And if you’re not an artist, maybe you can just have a cheap place to stay. You could live openly with other people watching you go about “your work,” and you could just call it a performance piece because everyone’s an artist, but not everyone knows they are.