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!