Ah, the F*cking Holidays

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind the holidays to a certain extent. Past that threshold though I am decidedly un-festive.

Part of the reason for a "festive threshold" is the amount of time I get to "enjoy" with my children. They have the whole week off for Thanksgiving along with two full weeks for Christmas. It tends to be a lot of kid time for me. It goes better if there are activities, but I am not one to plan so far ahead so I get stuck and the kids end up at home with me doing nothing. This time was a little better.

The first weekend F had a birthday party to attend. We got his friend the requisite Lego kit as a present and then we had F make a birthday card. F claims his favorite subject in school is art - I don't believe it. I also don't think he has a future writing for Hallmark.



Thanksgiving is always a "festive" start to the holiday season. We have been hosting since we were first married so he have the whole show pretty well down and we don't deviate much from the script. (Mostly we stay to script because change tends to make A a little "nervous.")

This year was pretty uneventful, except for the one brief blow-up by me and the subsequent silent treatment from A (a marked improvement from past years.)

The table looked much better than last year.


Last year.




This year. (Great job, honey.)

This year I convinced A that we should do the turkey on the grill. Last year, when we had two turkeys we did one in the oven and one on the grill. People really liked the grilled turkey and I like to do stuff on the grill so hey, why not again this year?

I prepared the bird by stuffing with onions, leeks, shallots, garlic, carrots and apples. Then, the piece de resistance, I took Nueske's bacon and shoved six strips under the skin on the breasts and laid a few more strips on each of the legs. While watching Martha Stewart (who generally I abhor) on the Today show on Wednesday, she provided a wonderful tip - take cheese clothe and soak it in two sticks of melted butter and a bottle of white wine, then lay it like a blanket over the turkey covering the whole bird - no need to baste. It worked like a charm. You take it off for the last hour of cooking and the turkey turns a golden brown.

I set the coals up for indirect heat and put a pan of water and some of the leftover turkey stuffings in the middle.



Kingsford makes this awesome Hickory charcoal that gives it a wonderful flavor.



While the turkey was cooking away people were arriving. My aunt comes and always brings this great pheasant dip.



Each year she claims it's made with a different type of bird. This year it was allegedly made with Ivory Billed Woodpecker. Apparently, Ivory Billed Woodpecker is kind of spicy and really good.

After a little over four hours on the grill the thermometer hit 180 degrees and we were done. RIGHT. ON. TIME! I am very proud.



How beautiful is that!?



And then right before I carved it.



Then, after the carving was done.





And, on the platter.



F said a little prayer he wrote in school.



The kids were exiled to the kitchen table.



And then we ate. (No pictures - you don't want to see my family cramming food down their gullets and I didn't want to put down my fork to grab the camera.)

On Friday we went over to my sister's house for dinner. No one wanted leftovers so we opted for Chinese food. I, again, ate my rapidly increasing body weight in lo-mein and sesame chicken. At the end of the meal we cracked open the requisite fortune cookies. This was mine.



How incredibly accurate. (And it's even better if you add "in bed" after it.)

Hey, look!

So I feel like I need to post once a week or my adoring public will start to get upset and ditch me for other more interesting options. (Do you like how I assume that I have a "public", that it "adores" me and that I am even remotely "interesting" much less interesting enough to keep said "public" from pursuing other "options?" How presumptuous of me. But that's how I roll. Presumptuously.)

As you can probably tell by that first sentence I have nothing to say. As you have read my blog in the past (see, a presupposition) you know that having nothing to say never stops me from writing down a bunch of words. (Don't fear, I will not go down that mis-guided road of including zombies.)

The monsters (AKA - my kids) have the whole week off. That really screws with my schedule of drinking coffee, 45 minute showers, watching Ellen and napping mid-morning, but I have risen to the occasion. Monday, F had a Star Wars themed art class for most of the day so E and I hung around the house. E decided to have a birthday party for the dog so she insisted on having a cake. I am a terrible baker. A and I compromised. She would make the cake and I would frost it. Whew, Monday complete with little drama.

Tuesday, E had a pie making class with her little cousin. F is taking a squash class at the fitness club, but he can't hit a damn thing so I took him to hit balls for an hour. By the end he was doing much better. E had the neighbor kids over for the dog's birthday. They trashed the house. But the cake turned out pretty good.



When A got home from work I volunteered to go grocery shopping to get away from the disaster area that our home had become.

When I got the store it was a virtual Cougar den. I wish I could have taken a picture of this one woman in particular. I just couldn't get a good shot, so I will paint a "word picture" for you. Late 50's early 60's (I am a horrible judge of age so imagine a 25 year old) Too tight black jeans with rhinestone fleur-de-lis on the back pockets. Sateen jacket with rhinestones unzipped to reveal a too low-cut shirt with her unnaturally tan, liver-spotted, fake ta-tas on display. Make up applied by trowel and platinum white hair. She was trying WAY too hard. It was a fun spectacle to watch.

After dinner A notified me that she was too tired to take E to basketball practice and asked if I would be willing to. I said no I would not be willing to, but that I would do it anyway. When I got there the coach informed me that A had volunteered to be an assistant-coach-type-person and that since A wasn't there I would get to fill in. I immediately got on the phone to bitch my wife out for setting me up to embarrass myself in front of a group of 4th grade girls. (I bitched her out jokingly. At least it was jokingly to her as she was laughing on the other end.) This is something that you should know about me - I suck at ball-sports. Baseball, football, golf, tennis, volleyball, ping pong, team handball, jai alai but especially basketball. I was just an embarrassment. I even caught one of the other dads looking at me like he might think I am retarded, sorry, I mean "other abled."

On a happy note - A informed me that many of the vacuous and obnoxious women on The Real Housewives of Orange County are broke and having their homes foreclosed on. Karma is a bitch!

Tomorrow is a big day for us. We have been hosting Thanksgiving since we were first married and in an apartment. Back then we ate in courses mostly because we completely mis-timed the preparation for every dish by at least a half hour. There were stern words exchanged, fingers pointed and "the silent treatment" after the guests left. This year everything should be done around the same time. Again, stern words will be exchanged along with finger pointing and the post guest "silent treatment." Don't you just love traditions? I know I do.

Running is Fun

I started running with a new group a few weeks ago after breaking up with my old ladies running group. (Yes, I intentionally wrote "old ladies." Mean, I know. But they are neither "old" nor "ladies" so it's all good. I do still owe them a phone call explaining it's me not them and that I had some baggage I didn't fully disclose and that we can still be friends.) The new running group is all men. I find that I don't talk nearly as comfortably with men as I do with women. Maybe it's my familiarity with Costco milk jugs, "lady parts," the kids' school and fashion that doesn't mesh easily with the men's conversations about "jugs", "man parts," kids' sports and work. Anyway.

On Sunday when we were in Chicago I ran 10 miles for the first time since before the marathon. And I ran it quick. At least on the way out. When I turned around I realized rather suddenly that I had a 14 mph wind at my back - that was now in my face. The return trip was a little slower and more work. This morning I was still feeling all fired up from my Sunday run and the conversation was lacking so on the second lap I kept pushing the pace. Well, that certainly quieted everyone down, but no one dropped. It was fun to run fast with other people who run fast. When we finished there was complaining, but whatever, it's not like I plan on doing that every day.

Now, if I could just get that fired up about riding my bike on the trainer.

We Took a Trip on an Airplane

We were out of town for the weekend. A had a CE conference in Chicago so we made a family trip of it to see A's brothers and kids. It was a fun busy weekend. We went to the Shedd Aquarium - one of my favorite museums - and saw the dolphin show - not one of my favorites. Maybe one of the reasons I like the museum so much is that it brings back fond memories of getting stoned my freshman year at Loyola University and staring at all the fish - good times, dude. (Sorry mom, I did that kind of stuff back then. But just that once.)

We flew down instead of driving and I have determined that there is not one worthwhile airline in America. We used to have to fly Northworst, but they have merged with Delta creating the largest and surliest airline in the world. Recently Southwest has started to fly from Minneapolis to Chicago. This makes me happy because it means that Delta now has to match Southwest's prices meaning every flight Delta sends to Chicago is a gargantuan money loser. Unfortunately, Southwest is also guilty of poor quality (read: crab-ass) flight attendants. They just go about it less venomously.

The kids had to go to the bathroom (in case you don't have kids - when they need to go, they fricking need to go. Especially, F - "The Boy with the Mustard Seed Sized Bladder.") On two occasions we made the mistake of asking a flight attendant if F could hit the head (they had put the seat belt sign on for turbulence and then as we were getting into position to land.) Both times they said, " Let's see, is that light on? [the fasten seat belt light.] Yes. Well, then that means "no." And there was "a tone." (Like, "you fucking idiots, the fucking fasten seat belt sign is illuminated, so no you can't get out of your fucking seats so your fucking snot-nosed kid can use the one fucking bathroom on this plane. We are fucking Southwest Airlines! It's a fucking privilege to fucking fly with us. Now, stop fucking bothering me. Oh, and fuck you!)

The most ironic part of the trip was in Midway Airport. There was a toy store the kids wanted to browse around in to kill time, so while they were looking at stuffed animals and Legos, I looked at the airline branded merchandise which I find incredibly funny because who doesn't want to be reminded of the worst time you have ever had stuck in an aluminum tube getting god-only-knows-what communicable diseases and being verbally and psychologically abused by airline personnel? So Delta, in their infinite marketing wisdom, is offering the queen mother of all airline souvenirs.



My guess is that after you buy it; Delta will charge you $100 to open the package. If you buy it as you are boarding a plane, Delta will charge you for the package (it has a zipper after all, it counts as a bag) and they will charge for the bag the attendant doll is carrying. This little souvenir will probably set you back over $300 by the time Delta finishes with you.

Then, after you open the package the doll will stare at you with a contemptuous look. When the doll realizes you want to play with it, it will proceed to verbally abuse you, hassle you for even thinking of interacting with it and then proceed to completely ignore you while it instead giggles with Barbie and Skipper in the galley. Oh, and if you have TWO of these dolls, they will join forces to make your time with them a complete nightmare at the end of which you will wonder why you ever decided to pay money for this kind of abuse when for half the cost you could visit a dominatrix and get some actual pleasure from the whole encounter (or so I have heard.)

I met Tasha for coffee. The rest of the weekend was fun.

The End.

Bike Question

I currently have a Trek Madone road bike with Shimano Ultegra components and clip-on aero bars. It's only a couple years old with not a ton of miles on it. It has served me very well as a tri bike. It fits great and is comfortable for long rides in the aero bars. Late next summer I will be doing my first full Ironman. The question I have is: With limited funds and a wife with a limited taste for more gear would I be better off buying a set of deep rim wheels (I have been riding with the crappy wheels the Madone came with) OR picking up a sale tri bike with a decent frame (like a Felt B16 w/105 components) and swapping components from the Madone? A gently used tri bike I guess would also be an option.

Thoughts and suggestions are welcome. Also welcome are recommendations for brands or models and potential outlets with good deals.

Sorry this will bore some of you to tears. Everyone else with helpful suggestions - thank you. (D - just move on, you're not needed here right now.)

Three Weeks to Gluttony

Every year since we were married A and I have hosted Thanksgiving at our house. This year will be no different. The big day is still three weeks away, but I am already starting to consider what to make. We always do a turkey - that's a given. Last year we did two. One we did in the oven and the other we did on the grill. Everyone LOVED the grilled turkey. I'd like to do it again this year, but we will only have one larger turkey rather than the two we had last year (we had more people last year.) In a blatant attempt to flush out lurkers on my blog I am looking for suggestions for turkey prep. At the very least I am willing to wrap it in Nueske's bacon (the best bacon in the world.) I am also looking for recommendations for stuffing. We won't do any stuffing in the bird, in the past we stuff it with tons of garlic, onions, and other delicious veggies. I have heard deep fried turkey is fabulous, but I am not willing to try something this "radical" - our family members and guests have a finite tolerance for change.

From there we are thinking about side dishes. My mom always brings sweet potatoes. She prepares them the only way any self-respecting northern Minnesotan or Wisconsinite would - with ample amounts of bourbon and marshmallows. We'll have mashed potatoes, but if anyone has a suggestion on how to improve these, that would be appreciated. Veggies have always been my mother-in-laws seven layer salad - again, an upper-midwest staple. (Unfortunately, this dish peaked in the 70's.) We'll also do either Szechuan green beans or asparagus, but those are the default options.

If anyone is looking for a turkey prep suggestion - last year one of the birds was stuffed with lemons, oranges and pineapple. I mean crammed tight. And boy was it good. That tends to lend itself more to oven preparation and I can't do it this year because it doesn't work for gravy production - which is an absolute requirement.

In other Thanksgiving prep news we have made some upgrades around the house. A relented and let me install a TV in the kitchen. This will make watching football much easier while cooking. We have also pulled the trigger and bought new dining chairs. After much investigation, sampling, hand wringing, test driving and procrastination we found some at West Elm. These are perfectly acceptable and inexpensive enough that if they don't last no one's heart will be broken. (You don't need pictures now, you'll have to wait three weeks until the table is set.)

As I sit here writing this post I can feel my ass getting bigger and my gut getting softer. I like the holidays but I really need to figure out a way to keep my weight under control. I guess we all have a cross to bear. Mine tends to be fork shaped at this time of year.

Triathlon Dreams

Oh, look - it's Wednesday, time for a blog post. My posting frequency has dwindled considerably I am realizing. Not for any profound reason. Life is just kind of regular. My dream world, on the other hand has been FREAKY.

I have been having triathlon dreams lately. Last night I dreamed I was going for a long run on some random tri course in the hot sun. All up hill. The day before the race. Then some dude comes cruising by me, no shirt, black shorts and a HRM, flinging sweat all over the place. I followed him to some high school where we walked into an administrator's office like we owned the place and this guy pulled an old dictionary off the shelf and handed it to me like I really needed to look up the definition of something. I do remember that the school was pretty cool. Kind of a raw concrete, brutalist style, with a funky carpet layout and lots of glass. Weird.

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that I was racing and I completely forgot what I was doing. I swam with my number bib on and it was made of printer paper so it came off in the water. Then I got to my bike and it was set up in a parking lot completely away from the other transition area - like it was transition overflow. So then I get to my bike, realize I don't have my number and have to go back to the swim exit to find. I see it lapping along the shore, but the pier I am standing on is too high so I can't reach it. I finally get it and run back to my bike and my shoes aren't compatible with my pedals. So I have to find a bike that I can use. I suddenly have a bike and I am running to the bike out in the opposite direction of everyone else. I never made it to the run, because the dog came in the room (that part wasn't in the dream, the dog actually came into the room which woke me up.)

I am sure that these dreams hold some symbolism beyond triathlon, but I am looking at it more literally. I need to be more vigilant in my off season training and I need to figure out my race schedule for the coming year.

Regarding training. I am into my second week running with "the men" rather then with "the ladies." It's going well. The guys are friendly, funny and fast. Only issue is that they have all their inside jokes and I am on the outside. It's not uncomfortable, it's just the way it is joining a group that has been together for quite a while. I'll get there. What I have learned is that vagina doctors and Costco's milk jugs hold no interest to men. Likewise, football, basketball and hockey holds no interest to women. The one subject that cuts across genders and nationalities (one of the guys in the group is from England) is poop. Men and women runners talk about poop with the same frequency, intensity and interest. It's the universal link that joins all runners. I truly believe that if you find yourself with a new group of runners and are looking for a way to break the ice or be accepted, just steer the conversation toward the last dump you took - good, bad or simply unsatisfying - and you are golden. Now, as with any subject, you can't talk about it on every run or monopolize the conversation by describing every bowel movement you have had the pleasure of experiencing. And it's probably not advisable to blatantly inquire about a stranger pooping on a run, but you will be surprised the kind of GI related information people volunteer once the subject has been broached.

I mentioned my GI issues at the end of the Twin Cities Marathon and it was good for two runs. Every port-a-potty was humorously pointed out for my benefit and stories of other's experiences with "the deuce" were volunteered for the pleasure of all. In this respect I am "in." It's a well I can go back to - just not too often.

My other training is ramping up slower. I biked on the trainer for an hour one time last week and have matched that so far this week. I am hoping for another session or two this week. I did discover that the first hour or so of "Armageddon" is actually pretty entertaining (or distracting anyway.) Luckily, I was done with my workout before they launched the titanium skinned super space shuttles and things got ridiculous. I also started my weight program. After just one time with low or no weights I am still sore. I hate this part of training and can't wait to be through the painful-stiffness cycle. One thing I do have to figure out is how to fit some yoga into the schedule. Since training specifically for the marathon after tri season wrapped up my hips have been tight which has led to piriformis pain, back tightness and even knee tweaks. I need to find a good class that I can go to consistently for awhile.

I was going to go into my goals and schedule for 2010, but I think I will save that for later. I am sure my reader has already dozed off and or moved on (thank you very little, mom.)

Funniest IM Ever

A "friend" sent me this IM recently. I almost peed my pants.



(Beth - this is for you, but I think everyone will get a kick out of it.

Wednesday

That title has nothing to do with anything. I just can't come up with any sort of witty title.

There really isn't much happening here. Fall continues to come and go and come and go in the north country. One day cold and rainy - one day sunny and beautiful - three days cloudy, cold and rainy - half a day sunny - etc. - etc. This has been one of the suckiest falls in memory. It will all just make winter seem that much longer. I better figure out something to do to entertain myself (No! Not that way, you dirty birds.) I mean in addition to running and biking on the trainer.

Speaking of running and biking on the trainer - I have started an off-season training program. Monday was my first day. It was stellar! It was also a rest day. Yesterday, was my first real day of training - one hour on the trainer. Oh, I should point out that my daughter was home sick (more about that later) so I had a terrible time finding time to do something I don't really like to do anyway. But I completed it - heart rate in the target range. This morning I ran. Not like that is any news, but I didn't run with "the ladies." I have been encouraged to run with "the guys." So "the ladies" and I are currently separated, for no other reason than they know I want to run faster. This morning's run was good. I could tell I hadn't run since last Thursday and biked yesterday, but it was good. "The guys" were very welcoming and well behaved. Actually, the conversations were considerably tamer than "the ladies" - no talk of vaginas, poop or snot. Not to say "the guy's" conversations were "better," just different (football, bars, news.) But now my back is sore. Like right in the middle. It has to be from the bike. Somewhere along the line here I have to work in some weights and core work. It's a lot to schedule!

It seems like the kids have been trading off sick days from school lately. The crazy thing is their illnesses are the most innocuous illnesses ever. No seasonal flu, no Hini flu, no explosive diarrhea - just a cough, a mild ear infection or a low grade fever with no other symptoms. E has been home four days in the last two weeks with a mild cough and a minor ear infection that is being treated with antibiotics. If I was my mom and E was me, she would be in school, but because we are not those people, she gets to stay home - and it's pure torture. She leaves a trail of destruction behind her wherever she goes so the house is a total disaster. She is a tremendous lallygagger as well. An hour of homework takes her three to complete because she gets distracted and insists on fighting with A and I about getting her work done. It is not this way when she is in the classroom. Arrrgghh! Please, go back to school!

So, there. That's Wednesday. As boring as a Wednesday can be. Carry on!

The Greatest Story Ever Written

F came home with a story he wrote last week. I am rather shocked by how good it is.

The Legendary Sword
Once there was a sword a
legendary sword. A long time ago
a man named Terrace found the
sword! But...
...trouble came. Giant mushrooms
with a goblen with a
crossbow! He went into the
portal and he returned to town.
He showed the sword to his
mom and dad "wow"! they said
(by the way this was made in
mideval times) He showed
everyone in town and went
to bed.

Although impressed, I also have some issues with this fine piece of 2nd grade amateur literature.

I have to admit to a sneaking suspicion of plagiarism, but that's only because I had no idea the kid had it in him - if it's true.

His punctuation is for shit. I mean really, use a comma once in awhile.

Who names their kid "Terrace?" I know these are "mideval times" and all, but why name your kid after an architectural detail? They might as well have named him "Lanai."

This story has more holes in it than Swiss cheese.

Then the "trouble" came in the form of giant mushrooms and a "goblen?" What, was the land dark and covered in a thick layer of shit? Where the hell do the mushrooms come in? And what kind of mushrooms? Poisonous? Hallucinogenic? If the were hallucinogenic that would totally explain the "portal." And that would make for an awesome story!

And what kind of ungrateful parents does "Terrace" have? The guy slogs through a world of shit that breeds mushrooms and an armed "goblen" and then goes through a "portal" and returns with this kick-ass "legendary sword" (if that illustration is any indication, that is one bad-ass mofo of a "legendary sword") and all mom and dad can say is "wow!" Not even "Wow!" or "WOW!" Those parents have some pretty high standards especially considering they saddled their son with a fancy name for a deck.

Then, to curry favor with the townsfolk he showed them all his "legendary sword" and we can only assume that they were as underwhelmed as mom and dad, so he just said "screw it" and went to bed. What? Really? Maybe he needed to sleep off his magic mushroom portal trip and he just couldn't deal. Who knows.

Meanwhile, we can only assume that the "goblen" is traipsing around the countryside with his cross-bow all tripped out on hallucinogenic magic mushrooms and wreaking all kinds of havoc. The kid really needs to figure out how to resolve all these plot holes if he ever wants to make it to 3rd grade.

But, perhaps I am selling my son short. Perhaps this story is a cry for help. It is very possible that this is a thinly veiled plea for positive affirmation and recognition that he does a good job using a knife and fork at dinner and goes to bed on time.

"Terrace" - the hero - is most assuredly, F. The "goblen" could be his sister and the "cross-bow" might represent the withering way she talks to him sometimes. The disaffected mom and dad - that is so transparent. Obviously it represents his mother (I am not sure why I am not represented in the story, but I suspect I am the unnamed deity that protects him from harm and leads him to the "legendary sword." I could also be the "mushrooms" because I am kept in the dark and fed bullshit.) The "town" is a melding of his mother and sister as they sit at the dinner table and their unimpressive reaction to his skillful use of eating utensils. (I usually stand in the kitchen and eat so I can't be included in that miserable hoard of "townsfolk.") The "legendary sword" is a representation of all eating utensils. "Bed?" Well, that is just bed. Duh.

So there are two ways to look at this. I guess I could look at it other ways, but you are all already bored out of your minds or incensed at the hardheartedness of my wife toward our son and so overcome with admiration for my incredible parenting prowess, that I will leave it at two.

Finnism

F playing Mad Libs.

F: (reading) "What is 'past Tennessee?'"
Me: "Do you mean 'past tense?'"
F: "Yeah."

E: "Give me a noun."
F: "Fart"
F: "Hahahahaha! This is comedy gold!"

Porcupine Lake and My First Trail Runs

This past weekend we went to northern Wisconsin to hang out at my aunt and uncle's cabin. The kids had an extra long weekend due to the Minnesota teacher's convention so we didn't feel like sitting around the house staring at each other - let's go run around in the woods.

After work on Thursday we piled everyone in the car - including the dog - and hit the road. The weekend was supposed to be cold and warm so we over-packed and it took me way longer to load the car than expected. It was dark by the time we arrived, but Friday morning greeted us with decent weather - although a little chilly. Kids, get outside!

Rake up all the leaves in the forest.

F sporting the "Northwoods Ninja" look and E working the "Northwoods Homeless Person" look.

Learn to start a fire.

"Now kids, the first thing we do in Northern Wisconsin is learn to play with matches." (That is my aunt - the kids' great-aunt. She is a Girl Scout leader so she is fully qualified.)


My mom - "Grandma" - and the kids.


Good job with the matches, kids.

Build your own shelter. Make it sturdy, it's where you will be staying for three days.






A, reliving her favorite high school graduation picture poses.






As you can see we spent much of our time traipsing around the woods. The dog had a wonderful time following every scent he came across. Turns out he is a pretty good mouser. He found two mice and proceeded to walk around with them hanging out of his mouth by the tail, flipping them up in the air, pouncing on them and picking them up again to do it all over again. Good times. That should probably have been an indication that we should keep a close eye on him, but we are dumb.


It's hunting season. The dog needed a jacket so he wouldn't get shot.

After he had disappeared for about an hour, I started to get worried. I started calling him and then I heard barking. That's never a good sign. It should be noted that there are bears, wolves, coyotes, foxes, skunks, raccoons and any number of other critters in these woods, so I was fearing the worst.

Here is where the trail running comes in. The dog never barks and when he does it's like two or three times and then he's done. Well, he was barking like crazy. Not a panicked bark. An excited bark. Son of a bitch, he is fighting with something.

Standing near the cabin, I could easily tell the direction his bark was coming from so I started running toward him. I ran down a ravine and up the other side.


Through a heavily wooded area.


Then through a bog and found him fully engaged harassing something under a log. When I yelled at him he looked up at me and I immediately knew what he was tangling with.

A damn porcupine.


He had a face full of quills, but was undaunted.

I grabbed his collar and dragged him away from the porcupine but he fought me to get back at it. In my haste I had neglected to grab a leash so my only option was to pick him up and carry him back home - through the bog, through the dense woods, down the ravine and up the ravine. He weighs 60 lbs! All in my Blundstone boots (surprisingly capable trail running footwear.) It was like half a mile.

Once home we started yanking out quills. Luckily none of them were in his nose or eyes.


Blissfully unaware that he has over a dozen porcupine quills firmly embedded in his face.

We got a pair of pliers to do the job.


Northern Wisconsin medical equipment.

He wasn't real excited to have these removed so I had to be a little persuasive.


Yes, I am fully laying on top of my dog. And, yes, I am getting a little thin on top.

We were able to get all of them out without breaking any, but man is that dog strong.


Almost done.

After all that excitement and hard work, I didn't need to do the run I had been planning. We kept the dog on a leash the rest of the night and spent more time around the fire.


Gotta love the fire.


Apollo thinks he is a lap dog.


A likes her beer. (E likes her marshmallows.)




A likes her beer A LOT!


My smokey family.


I am the dog bed.

Sunday morning we were all well rested and got packed up to head home. We let the dog roam around a little bit and kept a close eye on him. For awhile.

The kids went to visit their fort one more time and the dog followed them, unbeknown to us. Suddenly, I had a panicked feeling. I ran to ask the kids if they had seen him and they said, "Oh, yeah. He went that way." Back into the bog!

I ran back to the cabin to grab a leash this time. When I got back to the top of the ravine, I could hear him barking. This time it was even further away. I ran my ass back to the spot where the porcupine had originally been, fearing that he went back to settle the score. When I got there the porcupine was gone and I could still hear the dog barking.

I was closer and had to run up another heavily wooded hill at which point I saw the dog with is his head behind a tree. When I yelled at him, he poked his head around and I saw his face again covered with quills - more than twice as many as last time. That fricking dog picked up the scent of that porcupine and followed it to it's new hiding spot.

When I went to grab his collar he took off. I ended up chasing him back toward the cabin for over an hour at a pretty good pace.

We got him back to the cabin and proceeded to pull as many quills out as possible, but about four broke off. He didn't seem to care and after I was done he tried to lick my face.

When we got home we took him to the vet to have the rest removed.


Sad pup.


Awaiting his fate.

The vet was easily able to get the few that were still embedded and he was back to his old self this morning.

Next time we'll bring a long leash and I will bring my trail running shoes.

I Used to Have Something to Say

Now I am just a sullen shell of my former self. Why? You may ask. Or perhaps you don't care and you are now moving on to some other site, because the potential for this post to become:

a) weird
b) boring
c) depressing
d) self-indulgent
e) long-winded
f) rife with hyphenated words
g) any combination - including "all" - of the above

is quite real and you just don't have that kind of time to waste. Or you don't care, but think there might be something funny. Or you do care and you are my mother.

After a brief chat with Natalie, I think I may know what my problem is. Or at least the problem that is contributing to this lack of something to say. (We all know I have many "problems" and I should be specific when I blame an action on "my problem" - but I digress.)

I have PESSD. "You just made that up!," you say. And in agreement I say, "Yes. Yes, I did." To which you, in turn, reply, "Well, what the hell does it stand for?" And I reply, in kind, "It means Post Endurance Sport Stress Disorder." You cock your head slightly to the side and sensitively respond, "You are an idiot." To which I respond, equally sensitively, "Touché."

Regardless of your feelings toward my made-up malady, my personality, endurance sports or acronyms I am quite sure my feeling of ennui is directly related to the end of my racing season with my completion of the Twin Cities Marathon, at which I did not develop bloody nipples or poo my pants, and watching the Ironman World Championships in Kona, during which I did develop sympathetic bloody nipples, saddle sores and explosive diarrhea - weird. These events were big milestones - the races, not the other "events" - and now I am on the steady decline to cold, darkness and snow. Riding my bike inside, lonely weight training and Christmas shopping. Really, can anything be more depressing? ("Yes. This post.")

I am determined to get over this dip in my mood. I have considered increasing my off-season training, but that will take time to build up so I don't injure myself. I have considered the use of prescription drugs - oh come on, I am already using prescription drugs. Really, who did I think I was fooling? I have considered illegal drugs, but I like to sleep too much to do meth and I already eat too much to smoke "the chronic" (How totally "street" did I sound right there?) So, what I have decided to do to help myself (because, frankly, none of you are any help) is pick an obscure topic and rant about it. Today's topic: Lanai v. Porch

There were many references to "sitting on the lanai" by people who were racing Kona, spectating at Kona or knew people doing either of those two things. At some point D made the observation that a "lanai," which sounds so tropical and exotic is really just a deck, patio or porch in the rest of the world. Good point, D! So as to not go off "half-cocked," but to be "fully-cocked" I did a little research. (I Googled "lanai." I truly meant "little research.")

First of all, Lanai is an island. The sixth-largest of the Hawaiian islands and known for growing pineapples. A "lanai" is defined as "an Hawaiian-style covered veranda or patio oftentimes furnished and used as a living room." So let's be clear, if it doesn't have a roof, it's a deck, patio or veranda. My mother-in-law has a condo in Florida. It's your typical high-rise condo built in the late 50's or early 60's with balconies hanging off the side and yet everyone refers to their balcony as a "lanai." This is just ridiculous. It has a "roof" only because there is another "balcony" above. You can fit, like, two lawn chairs on there - far from "furnished and used like a living room," and it's in fricking Florida! It has nothing to do with Hawaii!

SO. All you people (you know who you are) who feel it necessary to throw around the word "lanai" - you are all rétards. I bet when you're at home, if you called your falling-down rotting deck a "lanai" when your neighbors were over swilling your piss-warm PBR and eating grilled salmonella burgers, they would take off their seed company trucker hats and pummel you to within an inch of your sun-burned, washboard-ab sporting, super-fit life. Even in Hawaii a deck is still a deck! So knock it off!

NOW. Before you all get uppity and do a "little more research" and point out some obscure comparison, definition or crayon drawing of a veranda, patio, deck, porch or sun-room that looks remarkably like a "lanai" I will stop you and point out that I don't care. Remember when I made reference to the level of my "cocked-edness"? Well, the fact that I was "cocked" to any degree should be an indication that I am a a guy and as such, I prefer to believe only what my small brain can discern from one Google search. Let's not confuse the argument with more "facts."

Well, I feel much better. I can feel the endorphins rushing through my veins. The overcast skies seem brighter, the death-metal I am listening to sounds happier, the obnoxious holiday theme sweaters surrounding me are not quite as glittery and the "mom-jeans" I see around me are more "flattering", dare I say - sexy.

And with that it appears I have rediscovered my voice. I did have something to say. And I don't doubt that this post has inspired all of you to say something as well. (Something like, "You, sir, are a complete moron!")

Twin Cities Marathon 2009 Race Report

Hopefully this won't be some epic (or epically boring) post. It is only running after all.

Sunday was a perfect day to run a marathon. It was about 45 with no rain in the forecast. We hopped on the bus near CS's house so we wouldn't have to worry about parking downtown. We get off the bus and are walking toward the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome - where the start is - and suddenly some dude from the local FOX station steps in front of us and asks if we want to talk about the marathon on camera. As a rule I decline and add that my handlers in the witness protection program would not appreciate seeing my face on TV. It also didn't help that I looked like a longshoreman with my black knit cap on. After some hemming and hawing and misdirection on our part we dodged that bullet and made our way to "The Dome."

Nothing much to report here. We ran into a long line of people waiting to go in the one door to get into "The Dome." As we got closer we realized they were doing a security check of our bags. One guy. At one door. I looked to the right and saw a wide open gate so I, and about 50 other people, peeled off and went in there. Security checkpoint = FAIL! Besides if I was going to be packing heat I wouldn't have it in my gear bag anyway. I would have it in my running holster.

Once inside "The Dome" nothing to report. (This is quite possibly the most boring post you have read so far, I am sure.) Smelled like Ben Gay. ("How long have you...you know...Ben Gay?")

Everyone peed and pooped as usual. (Sorry, I really got nothing here.)

The start was uneventful. We were in Corral 1 - which I love - so we were only about a minute behind the gun. CS and I started together but I took off after about a mile and a half. I was working my plan and CS was working hers. Hers worked better.

The miles really clicked along nicely. I had started with a long sleeve shirt, but that was discarded by about mile three. I was drinking the Powerade on the course at every stop and about eight miles in my stomach started to feel a little "funny." I have had tummy trouble in the past so I wasn't too worried. I had taken Immodium with breakfast so I figured that would help. And for a long while it did.

The half-marathon split came up and I was dead on my goal. I was feeling fresh and was working my plan, although my stomach was still feeling "funny." I continued to drink the Powerade and after each time, I noticed my stomach felt worse, but then the feeling subsided.

As we made the turn on a straight stretch of River Road I realized I could see the 3:20 pace balloons ahead of me. They were within reach and I had plenty of time to work my way up without blowing. I was making great progress. My splits were right where they should be and my heart rate was good. I was thinking, "I can totally do this!"

When someone suggested I run a marathon I was like, "No way! I don't want bloody nipples or to shit myself!" Well Sunday - I had neither but the the second one came pretty close.

Around mile 18 I started to feel a little gassy, but I knew it wouldn't just be gassy for long and started to look for a porta-a-potty. Alright, 3:20 is out the window, but let's just go for a PR. My potty stop helped and I got right back on the horse. For about two miles or so.

I took a couple more cups of Powerade, but they made me really nauseous. I tried a couple cups of water. Same effect. So I stopped drinking. That combined with the "fluids" and nutrients I left somewhere along mile 19 left me dehydrated and I started to bonk - hard!

And I was so close. Look at the splits from my Garmin and you can see.


Mile 19 jumps up for the potty stop, but then I am back under 8 minutes for a couple of miles and then the downward slide.

For the last three and a half miles I would run until I thought I would puke, then walk until the feeling subsided, then run again. It was a terrible way to finish. CS came by at this point and I ran up to her and we ran for a little while together. She confided in me that she thought she may have "sharted" (she hadn't) so we were both having some GI issues - brothers in arms. She finished with another PR. I did suck it up and ran the last half mile or so to the finish so I finished running. Then, to add insult to injury a nice light, freezing cold rain started as I was coming through the finishing chute. Now I was feeling shitty, dehydrated, wet and cold. Hypothermia here I come!

That was close, too. I was really considering hitting medical to get some fluids and to get warmed up. I got my gear bag and even while it was still sprinkling I got into dry clothes. Then the rain stopped. People finishing behind me never got wet. Thanks, GOD!

So - net-net of the Twin Cities Marathon 2009 t-odd Edition - 3/4 kickass marathon. 1/4 marathon betrayed by my stomach. Overall, I am encouraged. I took people's advice and went for it. My fitness was great, my plan was great, I was holding it all together. I just need to figure out what I can eat and drink that won't make me feel like hell. I also have to remind myself that this is only my fourth marathon, I have only been running for two full years and I would say I am doing pretty well. I came through healthy and injury free. One of these times it will all come together - probably when I least expect it.

On a lighter note:

I didn't hear too many strange words of encouragement, but CS reported a few.

• Love it! (Two times!)
• You're almost to the point where it's all downhill from there.

And one of my favorites reported by CS's friend who rode on the bus with us: As she was getting to the top of Heartbreak Hill at her first Boston Marathon and totally dying some dude stops cheering and tells her, "My hands are really sore from clapping."

So now I am on to my off-season. Main goal: get my nutrition figured out. 2010 is going to be a HUGE year!

Thanks to everyone who offered their advice and support. It is all very much appreciated.

Ironman Snobs

As I am preparing to run the Twin Cities Marathon on Sunday, I can't help but think about next year and the fact that I won't be able to run this race (or at least run it well) because I will still be recovering from IronMoo.

In fact, A and I were just "discussing" (read: arguing) about the schedule for IronMoo weekend 2010. When I explained to her that participants would need to arrive on Friday for the race on Sunday her response was, "Well, that makes absolutely no sense." I really think she is coming around and getting in the spirit of the whole thing.

Then this morning CS sent me the following email:

I just thought of something...

Next year at this time as everyone is getting ready to run the TCM, we can be total Ironman snobs and say stuff like, "Just a marathon?" or "You mean you're doing just the run portion of an Ironman?" I plan to use these lines a lot with Mike [CS's husband.] :)

Which brings me to a new addition to your list, Todd. Although this one can only be cheered at a marathon of course...

"You got this! [It's] just a marathon, I did an Ironman a few weeks ago!!"

Of course this "encouragement" is only fully marginally effective if you aren't on crutches, in a wheelchair or embroiled in divorce proceedings stemming from your "successful" completion of an Ironman.

A Space Toddyssey Guide to Less Than Marginally Effective Endurance Athlete Encouragement Vol. 2

More gold has been mined from my less than marginally effective brain along with suggestions from my dear reader.

A Space Toddyssey Guide to Less Than Marginally Effective
Endurance Athlete Encouragement - Vol. 2

• You're almost there. (This should have been at the top of Vol. 1, but was so obvious I overlooked it.)
• I am rebooking us on a later flight, do you want window or aisle?
• Should I just tell the babysitter to spend the night?
• Remember the "Little Engine That Could!"
• You're doing great for someone your size.
• That looks so easy.
• I am soooo drunk.
• My legs are tired from standing around, I'll catch you at the finish.
• Did you see that double amputee? No...wait...she was has ahead of you.* (Something very similar was said by my father to my sister as she was running a half-marathon.)
• Have you seen Gary? (That one is for MS.)
• Atta boy! Uh, I mean...girl.(and conversely) Atta girl! Uh, I mean...boy.
• Lookin' sweaty!
• What's that smell? Oh, it's you. That's OK, I'm not offended.

*I know there are some double amputees that are very fast and would probably kick my ass - I meant no disrespect. Only to my sister.

A Space Toddyssey Guide to Less Than Marginally Effective Endurance Athlete Encouragement

What can I say? I have a gift. Charisa was kind enough to point it out so I feel I must share it with the world. Following is a list of less than encouraging platitudes to help those endurance athlete friends of ours "go forward." I know people will be so demotivated by these statements that we will be seeing them prominently tattooed so they will never forget the words that befuddled and depressed them during their toughest times. That, or I will be permanently banned from spectating at any Ironman events for fear of someone doing me bodily harm.

Without further ado, I present to you:

A Space Toddyssey Guide to Less Than Marginally Effective Endurance Athlete Encouragement

• Glad to see you up and about.
• Looks like you're still working hard.
• What took you so long?
• You got here waaaay quicker than I thought you would.
• Enjoy yourself, you're not done yet.
• Lookin' OK.
• Those shorts are flattering, just not with that top.
• Are you going to be OK?
• Just keep breathing.
• Can you take a picture of me and this cute guy I met?
• Like my grandma always said, "it doesn't matter how you feel, only how you look" - oh wait, that doesn't bode well for you.
• Don't celebrate yet. A lot can happen between now and the finish line.
• You're getting some good color.
• You really have some stick-to-it-iveness, don't you?
• Do you need me to contact anyone for you?
• You going to be much longer?
• Tortoise and the hare, buddy! Tortoise and the hare.
• Did you remember to set the Tivo?
• Keep smiling! Or grimacing. Your choice.
• Everything's going to be OK.
• I am so going to Twitter about the look on your face.
• I think you may have a little something on your shirt...not there...nope... more to the left...there it is...you got it.
• Whoa! Dude!

Consider this Volume 1.

Not Encouraging

CS just reminded me of some funny "encouragement" we doled out at IronMoo. And when I say, "encouragement" I mean it in the most "un-encouraging" sense.

Standing on State Street bleary-eyed from staring into the night looking for Gary, as people who had been racing for over 13 hours came shuffling by, I chose to trot out this gem:

"You're heading in the right direction!"

WTF!? What kind of asshole says that? Apparently this kind of asshole. One guy wanted to hit me with a chair (I could tell in his eyes) and I think a woman tried to spit on me, but lucky for me she was so exhausted she may have just kind of drooled on herself.

Not to be left out, after ridiculing me for my most un-encouraging "encouragement", MS, upon making eye contact with an obviously female participant - not to be confused with Gary - ran with her a couple of steps and produced from her mouth the most inspiring words a person could ever want to hear to propel them to that finish line after lo those many miles of work:

"Love It!"

Really?! "Love it!" "Love it?!" "love it" That's all ya got? At least my "encouragement" was somewhat informative. "Love it" raises too many questions in someone's already fuel and electrolyte depleted mind.

Love what? You love my shoes, my racing kit? What? Are you ordering me to "love it" and if so what is "it?" The pain I am feeling? The all-knowing power of the universe? What? What "IT"!? At which point their weakened minds, having been pushed too far would give up and say, "Fuck it, I must stop running so I can figure out what 'it' is." Then MS was hunted down for answers and retribution, but by this time she had discovered that the woman in a swim cap was actually Gary and having left to run along with him and pledge her undying solidarity and swearing to never let another woman love Gary if she couldn't be the only one in his life, the hunters missed their prey.

CS wisely chose to keep her mouth shut and just clapped her hands and made unoffensive whooping sounds while she looked at us two yahoos and sadly shook her head in embarrassment for us.

Ugh! I caved!

I caved and am now on Facebook. Feel free to harass me via any media you choose - this blog, Facebook, Twitter. I am still setting up my profile so bear with me, but feel free to friend me. Or not.

Hini and the Airplane

In 11 days I will be running a marathon. Over the coming weekend I will be sealed in an aluminum infection cylinder for four hours after which I will be deposited into a tightly packed mass of virus incubating, germ-bags gathered together for a wedding in St. Louis, Mizzura. The wedding is a second wedding for one of A's college friends (it seems strange that it's already time for second weddings.) Now, if I come down with any illness - like H1N1 (a friend in F's class calls it "the Hini flu") I will be seriously irritated. I am not a big fan of air travel anyway (or second weddings for that matter - kidding) and this would absolutely put me over the edge.

Basically, I am right where I should be in my taper - edgy, achy, paranoid and prone to radical mood swings - this could be a very good race.

If I don't get sick.

"Toodeloo, Mutha F***aaa!"

NO! I am not quitting my blog - although I am sure there are some out there who wish I would (sorry mom & A) that is what I said to long runs after my 15 miler today. I usually do my long runs on Saturday's "wit my bitches," but with A training for the 10 miler and both kids having games fairly early on Saturday mornings, I wanted to avoid any conflicts and it was just easier to run today. Tomorrow I will do an easy 6 or 7 miles with "the ladies" to kick off taper.

I have to say that I really hate this time in training. Not taper - those last couple of workouts that just feel like hell. I know they kind of are supposed to, but I still hate it. Needless to say, my run today felt like hell, but actually was pretty good - splits were consistent and quick and legs weren't too tired until I stopped at home.

Two weeks from Sunday and the truth will be revealed. Pray for good marathon weather.

The Dentist

I don't like the dentist. Don't get me wrong - my dentist is a nice guy. We have some friends who are dentists and they, too, are nice people, but dentists are a confluence of two things I dislike with the intensity of a white hot sun.

(The following will allow you all to look into my psyche and make judgements about my mental health, probably my masculinity and maybe even my sexual orientation. Judge away, assholes.)

I hate squeaky stuff.

Balloons - they should be banned from my house and completely eliminated from the face of the earth.

Balloon animals - there should be an international law forbidding the creation of these horrific monstrosities. For two reasons - the aforementioned squeakiness issue but add to that the fact they are most often created by clowns (which I also intensely dislike) and you have a perfect combination of satanism recruiting tools aimed at our most vulnerable and simple-minded population - children and adults who like clowns.

Green beans - they have to be cooked just right or they squeak on my teeth when I eat them. Butter or olive oil doesn't help. But they can't just have the shit boiled out of them because then they turn all mushy and get that awful gray-green color and all their nutrients (if there are any) are left in the water and I am not about to drink boiled green bean water. My mother-in-law has figured out how to prepare green beans that preserves color and nutrients and prevents squeak. A has also taken to preparing beans this way, but I think it is more time consuming so when we don't have time for the long-version green bean preparation method we use the steam-in-a-bag microwave green bean preparation method and those beans come out squeaky, so I pass.

My father-in-law cutting anything on a plate - there is no cure for this. First of all the guy is damn near deaf, so he can't hear what he is doing. Second of all, even if he could hear and I told him it bothered me he wouldn't care. Yeah, so, when my father-in-law cuts anything on a plate - especially salad - he doesn't just hold the fork in one place and draw the knife along side, he moves the knife and the fork in opposite directions. I am sure in his mind he has determined that this is the most efficient way of cutting food (he was a quality control engineer) but drawing the fork across the plate makes such an irritating screeching sound I have to stop eating because I get this metallic taste in my mouth like I am sucking on an old penny or drinking from one of the water pumps around the lakes here and then I get a migraine and have to go lay down. At least that is what I say happens so I can hide until the dishes are cleared and washed and then I don't have to do anything.

The dentist's drill - the drill itself makes a high pitched whine that my brain interprets as a squeak and then he applies it to my tooth which makes a squeak until it bites into the enamel and then it just sucks. I even hate it when the hygienst polishes my teeth because that damn thing is like listening to my father in law cut his salad while I eat poorly cooked green beans.

Needles!

I really hate needles. Sewing needles. Knitting needles. Pine needles. A needle in a haystack. (Yep, I even hate that cliche.) So there I am, strapped into the dentist's chair (OK not strapped in, but it feels like it) and there he is trying to remain anonymous with his mask on like some sort of soft spoken executioner and he is coming at me with the biggest syringe of novocaine. I mean my god, really, it takes that much?

He then proceeds to hammer this needle the size of a train spike into my gumline. I am ripping the cover off the armrest, stomping my foot and squeezing my eyes shut so tight I can see stars. When he was done injecting my mouth he calmly says, "Everything OK? You had a look of pain on you face." Duh, jackhole! You just stuck the Golden Spike in my lower jaw line.

Yes, he gave me lidocaine to numb the injection site but I am very sensitive. And the fact that it's a needle just makes it hurt to think about it.

Anyway, got my filling and was on my way. My mouth stayed numb for like four hours. I hate that, too.

The Unknown

I am fearing it now - "The Unknown." What is "unknown," you ask? Whether or not I can run the Twin Cities Marathon at the pace I want to. The problem is, I have had nothing to test my training with, other than training runs.

When I figured my training plan I based it on a 1:33 half-marathon I ran in the spring. In case you don't want to go back to that post, I basically started out too fast and figured, "what the hell, let's see how long I can hold this pace," and I held it pretty much the whole distance.

The thing is, the pace that I have been training for and actually training above (faster than) on tempo runs seems so daunting to me only because I have never tried to run that pace for over three hours.

So here is why I can run this pace.

When I ran that half-marathon in the spring I was training for a marathon but at a considerably slower pace than I am now (I was preparing to pace MS & LF in the Minneapolis Marathon.)

I finished a successful and fast triathlon season this summer and rolled right into this marathon training, so I am more fit than I would have been in the spring.

No illness or injuries up to this point, no missed training.

I have been running fast. Faster than I have in the past.

The only reason I can't run this pace is that I am having a hard time getting my head around the fact that I actually can do it. And that it might hurt doing it.

Here is the dumbest part of this - I am having doubts while I am in the middle of hard training and right before taper. This is the worst time to be evaluating anything regarding race day.

I will just have to trust in my training and continue to work the plan for now. Race day will come soon enough and all questions will be answered then. Any encouragement is appreciated.

Multiple Post Thursday

There will be multiple posts today. All of them should be pretty short.

Steve In a Speedo got video of the last person to make the bike cutoff at Ironman Wisconsin last weekend. I helped that person across the line and into transition. It was the most heart wrenching and inspiring moment of the weekend for me.

Check out his post here. (I am in the black shirt and red hat.)

Annism

A: "E has some really tough words on her spelling list."

Me: "Boy, I'll say. Adjudicate?! Rhombus?!"

A: "Let's pray she gets the easy words from now on."

A: "Is it wrong to advise your fourth grader to 'throw'

her spelling test?"

Me: "Uh, probably."

This might be why my children have no competitive drive.

Eliseism

E: "Did you get the thing fixed?"

Me: "What thing?"

E: "You know, that water thing?"

Me: "You mean the sink?"

E: "Yeah, that's the thing."

That girl of mine certainly has a wonderful command of the English language.

IronMOO 2009

Saturday Night

We left Minneapolis at about 2 in the afternoon. I took it upon myself to kick-start the weekend by screaming at my wife on the phone, "TURN ON YOUR FRICKING PHONE AND TURN THE RINGER VOLUME UP! JEEZE!" She wished me good luck by hanging up on me. CLICK!

(I did call back later and apologize for being a "dick" - which, admittedly I was. She soothed her wounds by going on a pub crawl with a bunch of parents from our kids' Catholic school. Obviously my insults didn't cause her to reorder her priorities. I am so ineffectual.)

At some point in the ride CS told us that high fructose corn syrup is mostly mercury. It became a running joke. "I'll have that with a side of ketchup and extra mercury." Maybe it was only funny to us.

Arriving in Madison at about 6 we checked into our hotel and then headed to the Start/Finish/Transition area to make sure we knew where we were going the next morning.

We found a sushi restaurant on State Street and ate until we about burst.

CS & MS waiting for sushi.

One order down.

Gelato after sushi - an international evening.

We were going to have a very early morning so we headed back to the hotel and decided to watch a movie.

"The Hangover" was just what the weekend needed. I highly recommend this picture. It is ridiculous, but so funny. We trotted out lines for the rest of the weekend. I can only imagine the irritation of the people in rooms around us at our hysterical laughter as they were trying to get some sleep before brutalizing themselves for 12 to 15 hours the next day.

Sunday

4 AM came very quickly. We figured we would be out of the room by 4:30 and downtown in plenty of time for our 5 AM shift helping people place their run special-needs bags. I decided to make coffee for everyone in the room. First attempt - PERFECTION! I nice hot cup of DECAF coffee. Damn it! No one wants decaf at 4:15 AM. Second attempt - ripped the coffee pouch in half. FAIL! Third and last attempt - pouch in the maker, water in the maker, cup under the maker, coffee all over the place and none in the cup. This is exactly the reason I never make coffee at home. I am a rétard!

Luckily, Starbuck's opened at 4 AM right in front of our first volunteer location. It is surprising how few people are in Starbuck's at 4:30 AM on a Sunday morning. But even more surprising is how quickly a line will form and snake out a Starbuck's front door and down a block at 5:00 AM on a Sunday morning. Our timing was perfect!

Volunteer Shift One

This shift went great. The athletes were very nice, relatively calm and so excited. The other volunteers were a lot of fun and we made some quick friends and shared a lot of laughs.

Bags.

More bags.

Done.

Volunteer Shift Two

Bike transition and catching might be the best volunteer job in my opinion (and having never done anything else, that means very little.) First of all, I got a great workout. We spent the first two hours of our shift doing striders back and forth on the top level of a parking ramp in 80 degree, sunny weather. We would get the bikes handed to us up a four step staircase and then we would run them to the appropriate rack. It was hot, sweaty, funny work as the volunteers tried not to lose their minds in the heat.

It must be pointed out that rubber gloves were provided. (Do you know what people do on their bike seats over five to eight hours? I did not want to get "The Hiv.") Water, Gatorade, subs and pizza were also provided. When I couldn't take it anymore I took a break, went to the rest room and washed my hands and came back to eat a sandwich. My hands were really pruney and weird, but clean. Then I spied another volunteer eating pizza with his gloves still on! (Did I mention that people do disgusting things while on their bikes? And "The Hiv?") I almost threw up.

Watching people come in after hours on the bike was absolutely inspiring. All the different ages and body types that were actually doing this thing was amazing. I developed a new respect for this race and for the people participating. When it was getting close to the cut-off it was so much fun. Seeing people driving to the line and so excited to have made it. Then there were the people who I suspect did not really want to make it, but did none the less. I think they wanted an excuse to stop. Finally, there were those who missed the cut. It was absolutely heart wrenching to see them get the bad news. I genuinely felt bad for them.

Dinner

After our shift we headed back to the hotel. We ran into Steve in a Speedo and his wife on the way back to the car. They are both super nice and were volunteering as well, but neither are doing the race next year - Steve seemed very adamant about that fact.

After well earned showers we headed back downtown to eat on State Street and cheer on the runners. By the time we got down there a lot of the restaurants were closed or stopped serving food. What is it with Madison and food!?

We found a place with sidewalk dining, open tables and burgers. We all wanted burgers. I had a fantastic "Breakfast Burger" with a fried egg, bacon and cheese. It went down fast and easy.

The Gary Project

MS "knew" one person doing the race this year. "Knew" because apparently this guy is the friend of a friend who she made eye contact with across a park at sometime the week before the race. She knew the guy's first name, Gary, but nothing else about him - no last name, no bib number, nothing. She had to text her friend - Gary's friend - and get his bib number. (I still don't know the guy's last name, but I remember that fricking bib number - #877.)

After watching the swim start and the first pros come out of the water we headed to the "bike-out" to watch everyone descend "The Helix." While waiting, MS kept asking CS to check Gary's progress on her iPhone. (Which I referred to as her "Apple phone" all weekend just to be annoying - I was quite successful at accomplishing this goal.)

"The Helix"

"Is Gary out yet?" "I know you guys are hungry, do you mind if we just see Gary go out on the bike course?" "What's Gary's status?"

Finally, Gary's status announced he was out of the water. "Now - what does Gary look like?"

"Well, Gary is wearing black with yellow printing on it." Uh huh, thanks for the details - we did know Gary's bib number, but really, I am no good with numbers.

After getting vertigo watching people spin down "The Helix" MS announced - nay, screamed - "There he is! There's Gary!" "Go Gary!" I looked in the direction she was gesticulating toward to see #877, AKA Gary, in a black kit with an orange design on it. Not yellow writing. Jeeze! Who is this guy?

Gary

Good! Gary is on his way so now we can be on ours. I was so damn hungry I was about ready to start gnawing on my left arm.

We walked down State Street to find some place to eat breakfast. I wanted an omelette and/or pancakes as did MS & CS. We walked for awhile and couldn't find anything open so we stopped into a coffee shop and asked a customer if they knew of a place we could get some pancakes. "No, I think you need to get out of downtown Madison to find those. Yeah, you'll find that kind of thing in the suburbs." Really!? Downtown Madison, Wisconsin does not offer breakfast anywhere? College students never eat breakfast on the weekend? OK - they probably don't, but I KNOW they eat brunch. Preferably with bloody-marys. Right?

We had CS use her "Apple phone" to google "Madison Wisconsin Pancakes." That "local" may have been right as very little showed up and none of it was in walking distance from where we were. Since CS had her phone out MS asked for an update on Gary. Nope, he hadn't crossed the first bike checkpoint. At which point the battery died on the "Apple phone." CS and I met eyes and I know we both silently thanked God that we wouldn't have to track Gary any more.

We did find a place that served pancakes, but when we got there, they, in fact, did not serve pancakes, but they had a variety of breakfast sandwiches. And French Toast Sticks. I think I may have mentioned my ravenous hunger so I ordered a truck load of food. Disappointed! It was by no means awful but it was far from awe inspiring. The French Toast Sticks were at least hot, but then most things come out of a microwave hot, right?

"Mmmm."

"Damn! Don't bite your own fingers."

Our next volunteer shift didn't start for about four hours so we went back to the hotel to charge the "Apple phone," use the "facilities" and figure out where we were going to watch some of the bike course and hopefully meet Tasha.

With some juice in the "Apple phone" we hopped in the car and headed to Cross Plains. I plugged in the destination on my GPS and CS plugged it in on her phone. You would think that between the two we would get there without getting lost, right? Ah, you don't know me very well now do you? I am such a directional rétard that I am surprised I don't get lost backing out of the garage. So we got a little lost. Not much, but really, we had two fricking GPS guides. Just sad.

We finally found the course. Hey, Gary is on the bike course. Let's see what Gary's status is? CS looked up Gary's status - a-gain. Then we started doing math. I was told there would be no math required! MS and CS started to try to figure out if we might be able to see him at this point on the course. CS was a math minor in college so she got recruited to do all the number crunching on the trip. I think we may have missed him or he wouldn't be by for more than an hour (I really wasn't paying attention) so no Gary sighting.

However, I did get to meet Tasha. She was dressed in a red wool blazer with many sparkles and a flowey skirt-type thing. She had slushies. And Cokes. And was walking with the Queen of Spades - or at least someone dressed like a playing card of the same suit. She was very nice and funny. Hopefully, when I am in Chicago we can get together for coffee (she lives near my bro-in-law) and talk a little more.

After watching for a short while, we headed back to downtown for our next volunteer shift at the "bike-in." But first, let's check on Gary. Nope, not passed the next bike checkpoint.

After running bikes in transition for two and a half hours, MS made the jump to grabbing bikes at the dismount. CS and I quickly followed. MS had kept checking the racks in transition so she knew Gary had not arrived yet. Then suddenly, there Gary was!

MS pushed a couple of other volunteers out of the way causing a 75-year-grandmother to completely tear her ACL and an overweight guy to curl into a fetal position and cower, crying in terror until Medical came to carry him away. She then hurdled a participant who had fallen down and screamed an obscenity laced tirade at two other athletes as she sprinted toward Gary. Grabbing his handle bars she lifted him off his bike and carried him across the timing mat on her shoulders all the while yelling encouraging platitudes, inquiring about his feelings and generally being a certifiable maniac. CS swears she saw MS mop his sweaty brow, massage his feet and help him change into fresh shorts, but I don't believe that last part. (We saw him in the same shorts on the run.)

At the end of our shift we packed up and went back to the hotel shower. We would be back downtown for dinner on State Street to watch and cheer people as they ran by and to check out the finish line. Oh, and to hopefully see Gary (read with sarcastic emphasis.)

Sitting at dinner on a sidewalk table MS again implored CS to check the "Apple phone" (annoying, isn't it?) to see how long we would have to wait to see Gary. CS, being the math minor in college does some quick figuring (actually it wasn't so quick and I am pretty sure she made reference to Pi, cosine and asked the waitress for a number between 1 and 75) and comes up with a completely inaccurate estimated time of arrival - "He should be here any minute now." Oh, how MS's face lit up with excitement. CS and I are starting to get worried at this point and we are exchanging panicked glances. MS is now referring to Gary as her lover, making up stories about trips they took together to France and the Bahamas, talking about how he is going to dedicate his Ironman win to her and generally losing her mind over Gary. CS and I play into her neuroses. Hell, we got nothing better to do, right?

After being kicked out of our table because the restaurant closed at 9:30 PM and Gary still had not "arrived." We got on the street and started cheering for all the runners still coming in. We made friends with a Chicago cop who was standing across from us waiting to cheer on someone he also barely knew. Actually, as definitions of "knowing someone" goes, these guys were blood brothers. He knew the guy's last name, occupation - a fellow Chicago cop - and where he lived - more than we had going for our IF (Imaginary Friend), Gary.

We became fast friends with this cop, too. Hey, if nothing else, we are friendly. He explained that he was cheering for this guy because "cops just don't get the whole endurance sport thing. Cops are all about bustin' guys, handcuffs and tazers." "Pretty much describes my wife," I said, "Minus the tazers."

An hour after Gary was supposed to "arrive any minute" ("Ooops, I forgot to account for the moon phase," CS says) I am peering into the darkness and I see "them." Those three magical numbers - #877. Halle-fucking-lujah!

(This next part is not made up, I swear!) I yell, "Hey, there he is! There's Gary!" MS looks down the road to where I am pointing and yells at me, "That's not Gary! That's a woman wearing a swim cap!" WTF!

No! It is, in fact Gary! MS suddenly realizes this and starts running with him. Yelling. "How are you feeling!?" ("Like Shit!") "Well, you look great! Is there anything I can do for you!? ("Don't get me disqualified!") "All right, it's all you from here!"

MS comes back to report Gary has proposed to her and she is now carrying his baby and they will be married just past the finish line "any minute now."

(This part is also true.) When MS gets back, our cop friend looks at her and says, "I don't know that guy, but he looked like he had absolutely no idea who you were." At this point MS snapped back to reality and made the startling realization that we have been chasing a guy who she absolutely does not know and who has no idea who she is other than some psycho who keeps haunting his nightmare. Good times.

(Yes! Gary was mentioned that many times - and about ten times more - during the weekend. And Yes! Every time Gary was mentioned I saw the linked image. He even became a verb - "Don't pull a Gary" = don't obsessively look for, track, cheer for and over-enthusiastically pursue a triathlete you know by first name only.)

Monday

After a good night's sleep we were up at 5:30 to get in line to register for IMWI 2010. By the time we arrived at about 6:15, coffee in hand, the lines were crazy long. And registration didn't start until 9:00!

The line in front of us.

The line behind us.

There was more friend making. And then the line started moving. We were getting in early.

I am pleased to report that I am shitting in my pants and we have successfully registered for Ironman Wisconsin 2010.

CS double checks her confirmation number.

MS signs on the line.

Let the lunacy begin!

What's Going on Wednesday

As I am sure you have all been wondering, what is going on with me? So this Wednesday I will tell you. (Thus the title of my post.)

OK, admittedly that first sentence was just ridiculous. Hopefully it's not an indication of how the rest of this post will go.

Hunting Season

The kids are back in school, so summer is officially over. With that being said, hunting season is now upon us. Or at least me. Which season you ask? Job hunting season.

I found a position that sounded interesting at a "major" corporation in town. I contacted a couple of people that I know who work in the company and networked a contact with the head of the department.

This could be a sweet job. According to the job description - minimal supervision, proofreading, writing, directing internal communications.

So I send over my resume to my friend. She sends it off to the department head and then I wait. Later in the evening I get another email from my friend. She very nicely points out that I might want to take a look at my resume. Seems I have a - wait for it...

Typo! I am applying for a PROOFREADING job and I have a typo in my resume. Not buried in the minutiae of my education or something - in the THIRD FRICKING LINE! (I spellchecked it and everything - apparently "quaterback" is a legitimate word in Microsoft Word's world. It should have been "quarterback.")

Needless to say, I don't anticipate a call back on that one.

Job hunt #1 = FAIL!

Road Trip

This weekend I am heading to Madison, WI to volunteer at the Ironman Wisconsin triathlon. On Monday MS, CS and I will stand in line to sign up for next year's race. I think we are all excited to volunteer and anxious about actually signing up for the race next year. The mere mention of it sends my wife into a tailspin of anticipatory resentment at the perceived training load I will be taking on. I am, however, not going to SWAG (Scientific Wild Ass Guess) the training for this race (as I have for others.) I am going to hire a coach and get on a program with one of the main goals being to remain somewhat happily married before and after the race.

Brush with Fame (or Infamy)

Turns out that rumors that have been circulating around the neighborhood are true. Brett Favre's daughter is going to school at the same school as my kids. She is in the same class as our neighbor's daughter - who is a grade ahead of E. It will be interesting to see which social-climbing couple tries to become fast friends with the Favre family. It's all a little "Real Housewives of Edina" for me.

Marathon Training

I am about a month away from Twin Cities Marathon. Training has been going well. The injuries and set backs from earlier in the training cycle seem to have abated. I have two more 20+ mile long runs before taper. I have been feeling good, but I am nervous about running as fast as I have been told I can for 3+ hours. I know I shouldn't make predictions about race day while in the middle of my highest mileage & intensity training block. All indications are that I can run that fast, now I just have to believe it.

Sonofabitch!

Right now I am sitting in the coffee shop and I feel a little tickle on my shin so I reach down to scratch it and WHAM! I get stung by a fricking bee! I freak out trying to kill the thing and get it out of my pant leg. Anyone looking at me would think I was having some sort of grand mal seizure and praying that I don't start choking on my own tongue. How it made it up my pant leg is beyond me. I did get the last laugh as I summarily executed it with an overly enthusiastic, rather effeminate dance on its black and yellow thorax. Take that, MoFo!

(Oh, and you will all be happy to learn that I am, in fact, not allergic to bees so you can all continue to look forward to more moderately entertaining, mostly migraine-inducing posts. Although I suspect there is at least one person out there who would just like me to go away. Mom.)

I Am Dumb (that goes without saying)

I was all excited because I signed up for a tune-up race for the Twin Cities Marathon. I had run the City of Lakes 25K last year and was interested to see how I would do this year. I had my race plan all set for this Sunday. Then I started thinking about the fact that I had not received my race number in the mail yet. Had it come and I threw it away? I better check to make sure they didn't change how they deliver numbers.

I went to the race web site and damn if the race is NOT this Sunday. It's NEXT Sunday. The Sunday I am in Madison, WI volunteering for IMWI. WTF?! I am such a moron! So now I don't have a tune-up race and I am out $30 registration fee. I guess a DNS is better than a DNF.

Just to prove that A and I are a ditzy match made in heaven. Here is how the first step of her run yesterday morning started.

(She hit bottom - that is like 4" of wet concrete.)

Perhaps now people will understand where my children get their blonde hair. (NJ - I am not sure where they get their looks either - I give my wife full credit for that side of the equation. I take responsibility for their smart mouths and penchant for finding "toilet humor" and burps incredibly funny.)

Now I have to figure out a race-pace workout (the timing isn't good for an actual race.) I was thinking about doing a 15 mile route with no stops, but that just seems mind-numbing to me. Maybe 10 would be better. Maybe I will do that next week after the kids go to school. If anyone has any other suggestions feel free to offer them. (Legitimate suggestions preferred, but I know I will get smart-ass suggestions from D - don't let me down.)

The Great Minnesota Gorge Together

After a week of licking my wounds from last week's failed experiment in blogging. I have retuned. This post has just about everything anyone could want - animals, kids, food, obesity, body parts and crop art. Enjoy! (You ungrateful bastards.)

The last week of summer is always punctuated by a visit to the Minnesota State Fair. Every year it is basically the same thing. Animal barns, kids rides and food.

Officially it's called "The Great Minnesota Get Together" but the kids and I made it a fair-food fest.

Main entrance.

The mascot.

We got going early. For E, it was too early because she had a difficult time figuring out what she wanted for breakfast so we left the house with her unfed. (I know, "good parenting," but just you wait - it gets even more impressive.)

It was a beautiful sunny day with cool temps - just a perfect day for the fair. We entered on the north entrance so it wasn't at all crowded and the food booths were plentiful. First order of business, find E some breakfast. What did we settle on? Prono-Pups. (Like corn dogs, but much better. OK - exactly like corn dogs, but they have sweetness in the batter.)

E had already finished her Pronto-Pup. F still had a little nub left. Notice also our morning beverage of choice - Sprite! (Now that is some good parenting. You will notice my wife is no where to be seen, she was working.)

From here we actually looked at some stuff. I will let the pictures speak mostly for themselves.

First up the Horticulture Building

Scarecrows made of various materials. I also like the various seed corn samples on the wall - how do they judge that stuff?

Crop Art = art made from corn, wheat, barley and any other type of grain.

This was my favorite.

I actually kind of liked these from a graphic design point of view.

On the way to the animal barns we came across one of Minnesota's finest contributions to the cuisine of the world.

My kids are "thrilled," especially E.

Then we came across the the second of Minnesota's finest contributions to the cuisine of the world.

(Try to imagine a tater-tot hotdish on a stick with cream of mushroom dipping sauce. Some of you probably have NO idea what I am talking about.)

Finally, we made it to the animals.

Sheep

I love them in their little jackets to keep their wool clean before showing.

Getting groomed.

Nuts! (or as F would say, "Nuths!")

Different nuts. (I especially like the chainsaw sculpture with the guy pondering his future while a bear sneaks up behind him to rip his head off with razor sharp claws - or at least that's my interpretation. Hey, it's "art" - I can see whatever I want.)

Cows

Thrilled kids, once again.

Pigs

Deano

Pig on the loose.

Pigs getting a shower.

After seeing where so much of our delicious food comes from we were hungry.

Hmm, what first.

Deep fried cheese curds and Icees.

E liked the curds way more then F.

E and I had roasted corn on the cob. F wasn't interested.

That was followed in rapid succession by:

Tom Thumb Mini-Donuts and

Sweet Martha's Chocolate Chip Cookies.

The fair is always good for people watching. With a mass of humanity like this:

It's not uncommon to see people like this:

This gentleman was nothing compared to the rather larger woman standing behind me at the ticket booth. Wheezing. While she was standing.

and couples like this:

I like the way the pink feminizes what could easily be mistaken for a camo blouse that matches her husband's hat and t-shirt ensemble.

All in all it was a very fun day. Can't wait for next year.

I GET IT!

Apparently verbosity will get you nowhere. I thought the criticism of my long post might just be a Canadian thing, but since all three of my readers (I have three readers now, my popularity is soaring - thanks for commenting twice, Mom) have mentioned an aversion to posts of length I will keep my posts much shorter and sprinkle them with pictures (actual photographs, not "word pictures" of which I am so fond.) Brevity is my co-pilot. That being said, my posts may be few and far between until something even remotely interesting and picture-worthy occurs.

Since pictures are now required for audience approval - check out this one.

Roo Nailed It

That was the first comment from yesterday's post. At least she got through the whole thing before making a judgement. I think D got bored and gave up early.

It looks like I have to write "accessible" posts for those afflicted with short attention span.

Yesterday's post was "weird" even by my standards of weirdness. I could delete it, but I think I will leave it up as an example of what not to do on my blog.

Let's just put that behind us and move on.

I Really Need To Get Out More

Alright, I started a post earlier today bemoaning my life and the fact there isn't really anything blog-worthy happening. This is how far I got so you can all see how lame and self-indulgent it was.

I am writing this post out of a sense of duty. Duty to my dear readers (thanks, you two) to have something to read from me. I am not writing this because something miraculous has happened. Quite the opposite. I really feel like NOTHING is happening.

The kids have about a week and a half of summer vacation left and zero activities planned. This means I have to plan activities, something I am terrible at. My inability to plan activities makes me feel like a terrible parent. (Case in point - F has a friend over right now, they are playing Wii and have been for a couple of hours - yes, I said HOURS. It was raining earlier and everything is wet and our street is still torn up so it's totally a muddy mess, but still.) Tomorrow I get a respite because A doesn't work so it is my "free day" to get stuff done (read: find a job.)

I will do some of that "job finding" stuff - I actually have an informational interview on Thursday - but mostly I run some errands, write some stuff, drink coffee and sit around gazing at my navel. (Have I written this post before? It seems familiar.) All of this sitting around - I mean actual sitting - has started to wreak havoc on my aging body. We are familiar with my lower back issues and I think I am developing some aches and pains in my upper back, too. Like the stabbing pain under my shoulder blade that radiates into my neck so I have a hard time looking left. (Don't be around me when I have to drive.) I need to stop sitting around - literally!

I know, I know - oh whoa is me. I have it so rough. Boo hoo. That's not what I am saying.

Sad, isn't it?

After A got home from work I went for the run that got rained out this morning. As I was clicking off 11 warm and sunny miles, I decided that if my life isn't exciting I would at least make it sound like it is. To the most mundane blog posts I will bring interest, drama, excitement, blood-letting and violence by adding -- that's right --

ZOMBIES!

Why zombies you ask? No one likes zombies. Zombies are soulless, brain-eaters that the general public seems to enjoy seeing shot-gunned, macheted or otherwise dispatched with axes, hatchets, flame-throwers, circular-saw blades, high-caliber firearms, arrows, cross-bows or shards of broken glass. Sure, they look like your loved ones, friends or neighbors, but they are already dead - killed by the bite of another zombie - so if you destroy them you are only taking out the trash and can't be held responsible for killing someone, because they are already dead. Also, inevitably they are stinking, drooling and terrible dressers (although some are pretty good dancers - Thriller! - but that is beside the point.)

The more interesting blog posts might have run-ins with zombies as well, if it seems appropriate. Think of it as a dash of salt to bring out the flavor of any already delicious story. Where as for the boring posts, think of zombies as the seasoning salt that covers the taste of the ground beef (or mashed potatoes for you vegans, or white rice for the gluten intolerant) that is my life.

So zombies it is!

Or have I completely over-thought this whole concept? Zombies might be "over" already. Maybe I should throw in random infections of the N1H1 flu virus (you know, the "swine flu.") Nobody likes the flu either. It's timely and top of mind. People who have the flu are runny nosed, coughing, sweaty, smelly and soulless. They dress like shit and they never want to dance. Problem is, if you whack the head off of a flu sufferer with a dull, rusty hatchet you are actually committing murder - not a public service.

I don't know now. Let me work on this concept a little while longer and I'll get back to you.

My Friend Vic

My back is back.

Friday morning I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth (you will all be thrilled to know oral hygiene is very important to me) and as I leaned forward just a little bit the small of my back went "ZING!" and almost immediately I started walking like my 80 year old grandmother (before she died, god rest her soul.) For what ever reason my back/ass/piriformis started to spazz out. This is just getting ridiculous!

I walked around gingerly for most of the day and popped fistfuls of Advil while yelling at my kids for reasons unknown to them (a sore back makes me really crabby with a short fuse.) To make matters worse, I had a 16 mile run on my schedule for the next day.

Welcome, Vic.

A couple of hours before bed I welcomed my friend Vic into my treatment plan. Vic has seen me through a wide range of painful situations - physically painful, not emotionally or psychologically (my friend Porn helps me in those situations. Ha, I kid. But not really. I am kidding about that, too. But not entirely. I am totally kidding.) Now, I LOVE Vic. He always makes me feel better, relaxed, mellow, totally chill.

Vic doesn't have the same affect on everyone who looks to him for assistance. My sister gets "dangry" with Vic. (You, know 'drugged and angry.') Vic makes other people I know barf. I always offer to take Vic off those poor people's hands. Vic gets about $50 per "session" on the street, but I could never part with my dear, dear friend at any price.

I had Vic make another visit right before bed. Then, at about 3:30 in the morning I was awoken by my aching back - AGAIN! That is IT! I creakily made my way to the bathroom where Vic hangs out and had a double meeting. Then I drifted off to sweet, slightly psychedelic dreamland.

Running with Vic.

My alarm went off at 5:00 AM. Mmmm - mellow. I got up rather easily, got dressed, made myself something to eat and drink and then headed out to meet my running partner. My back felt great (as did the rest of me.)

I pull up to CS's house and she hops in the car. I ask her how she is doing, where are we going, etc. etc. and then I realize that I am YELLING EVERYTHING. I CAN'T CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE. I apologize and get it back under control and THEN I REALIZE THAT I AM AGAIN YELLING EVERYTHING I AM SAYING. Then I come clean. "CS, I am sorry I am talking so loud," I whisper, "I am whacked out on Vicodin." She laughs - nervously - I am driving after all.

We get to the starting point of our run and hit the trail. As before, my back doesn't bother me when I am standing, walking or running - it only hurts after I have been sitting for awhile or lying down on something too soft. Vic don't fail me now.

I must point out that it is completely false to label Vicodin a "performance enhancing drug." My legs and body have never felt so strange during a run. I felt like everything was on a 5 second delay. Truly weird. Luckily about 45 minutes in everything was back to normal, but those first miles were trippy - and not in a particularly enjoyable way. I also think I kept talking too loud.

Vic is still my friend. I am sure he will visit again when I have a migraine, a tweaked muscle under my shoulder blade or more back/ass pain. I just hope he doesn't come back anytime soon and I hope I never have to run with him again.

Eliseism

E: "Moooom! F just kicked me in 'the parts'!"

A: "Too bad! You're in the 'no sympathy zone.'"

A Difference of Opinion

Or maybe it's perspective. Whatever.

Yesterday I was kind of tired all day. I ran in the morning, but not particularly hard - I just think I didn't sleep real great. Anyway, if you read my previous post (and weren't weirded-out by me talking about my "parts") I mentioned that the nurse guessed I was a runner after taking my blood pressure and telling me I have a pulse of 52. (I was thinking to myself - wow, I am in pretty good shape, this running junk works.) So, I come home and announce to A that my HR was 52. Her response, "Wow, that's low. Maybe that is why you are so tired."

For me a badge or honor. For A a cause for concern. It's funny how it's all about your frame of reference.

My Morning and a PSA

***This post gets a little "personal" so if you would rather just read funny stuff about my kids or marvel at my incredible athletic endeavors, then maybe you want to come back later. I am not saying this won't be humorous, but my body parts might be alluded to.***

This morning I had my first run with MS in what seemed a very long time. It was nice to catch up with her. Her dad has been engaged in an ongoing battle with prostate cancer and they have exhausted all the "conventional" treatments so they headed down to the Mayo Clinic last week to see if they could get some info on new or different treatments.

In the course of our conversation about her dad's doctor visit, MS told me the doctor asked her dad when his last digital prostate exam was (for those unfamiliar with the male anatomy and what this exam entails let me paint you a picture - the doctor crams his finger up your "bung hole" and feels your prostate to make sure it's not bumpy or bigger than it should be - sounds like fun, right?) His reply was something to the effect, "That is a 'one way' street and nothing goes up there." MS voiced what I was thinking - that sentiment is part of what got you here today!

Following our run I had a run-in of my own with Dr. Jellyfinger also known as my urologist. Here is a little background:

My dad died of prostate cancer ten years ago this year. He had an extremely aggressive form, but stayed with us for 18 months longer than the six months they had originally expected. He was 57. That is young for a person to be diagnosed with and then die of prostate cancer. Because of his young age and the aggressive nature of his cancer, my primary care physician recommended I see a urologist once a year starting about five years ago just to be safe.

So here is the PSA (this actually has a dual meaning - Public Service Announcement and Prostate Specific Antigen - the "thing" in the blood test commonly used to detect early prostate cancer. Here I mean the former.) (This only applies to men - women have other "parts" to mess around with.)

Men, when your doctor recommends that you start having your prostate checked - have it checked! The whole "digital exam" takes like thirty seconds at the very most. Oh, and according to a doctor friend - if you think you don't like getting that exam, apparently doctors like giving it even less. So don't be a "cool guy" who never "lets anything in through the out door." Relax! It might save your life someday.

BTW - My tests all came out normal and just fine. The nurse who took my blood pressure and pulse asked if I was a runner. Perhaps my nearly dead heart rate or barely perceptible blood pressure gave me away - she wouldn't tell me how she knew.

(And that is more than anyone ever wanted to know about me!)