I’m Back

What do you mean you didn’t notice that I was gone? You mean to tell me that you don’t hang on my every word? You don’t sit there helplessly staring at the computer screen waiting for a Half-Fast post, completely unable to do anything productive until you’ve heard what I have to say? I am deeply offended.

As you may have guessed from the picture above, my family and I spent most of last week in South Dakota admiring mountain carvings and buying up as much of South Dakota’s supply of polished rocks as my children’s little hands could carry. I tried to talk them out of the polished rocks but they had their own money to spend and when you’re six years old bagfuls of polished rocks sound like a wise investment. I would have told you all that I was going to be gone but I really thought that I was going to find time to post while I was away. Honestly I did have the time to post but just didn’t feel like it, plus I’ve got a really good story to tell you that deserves my full attention and a half-fast post from a hotel room just wouldn’t do it justice. I’ll get to the story tomorrow but for now just know that we had a good trip. We visited Mount Rushmore (very impressive) and Crazy Horse (less impressive, at least for now) and did you know that they carve those mountains with dynamite? I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I was to learn that those are not natural rock formations! We also spent a lot of time at our hotel pool, which the kids loved because it had a waterslide. I totally owned that waterslide. I was like the German luge team at the Olympics. I would get to the top and grab the handle bar above the slide entrance, then I would rock back and forth counting out “eins, zwei, drei” and then I would fling my body down the tube without a thought for my own personal safety. That’s how you have to do it if you want to be the best in the world. The key to riding a waterslide is reducing your friction on the slide so you have to arch up and ride down on your shoulder blades and heels. None of the other kids were achieving the dangerous kind of speeds that I was or creating even one tenth of splash at the bottom that I was. They just could not match my derring-do. Candis and I were both so happy that the hotel had a water slide, you know, for the kids.

Shocking Video: Shark Attacks Jogger!

When I was a young boy my parents let me stay up late one night to watch Jaws with them. It was a bad idea. For weeks afterwards I would lay awake in my bed at night, soaked from the cold sweats just waiting for a shark to pounce from my closet and make off with my torso, leaving the rest of me to bleed to death all over my urine soaked sheets. Sure, in the history of mankind there had never been a recorded shark attack on dry land and by the light of day I was pretty sure that a shark couldn’t get that far inland without dying. But I guess when the lights went out my rationality and bravery dissipated with them. All of a sudden it would occur to me that if a shark did make it that far inland he’d probably be pretty hungry, not to mention more than a little put out, and a young boy lying paralyzed with fear in his bed would obviously look like a tasty fisherman bobbing along on a raft. I was certain that the following morning Mom and Dad would find my bloody remains and feel remorse over making me go to bed so early instead of letting me stay up later, you know, when sharks were less likely to attack. That would show them. The thought of my parents being reprimanded by the local news anchors for playing a role in my untimely and tragic demise by making me go to bed so early would momentarily bring relief from the gripping fear, but then it was back to that super-heightened state of awareness that is necessary for detecting sharks in your bedroom.

Every noise I heard sounded like a crafty shark slithering across the carpet, bringing me ever closer to my impending doom. I knew he was crafty because when I’d hold my breath to hear him better he’d pause and wait for my heavy breathing to resume. The point I’m getting at here is that I was irrationally afraid of sharks for a long time, and also that the wet spot on my bed was from the cold sweats and nothing else.

I eventually conquered my irrational fear by rationally coming to the conclusion that despite the SNL skit to the contrary, (which I fortunately didn’t see until many years later) sharks can’t attack people on the land. I’ve held firmly to that belief for many, many years. The new evidence presented in the video below is going to cause me to reevaluate everything.

The stunning footage that you’re about to see shows a shark attempting to attack a human as he jogs along the beach. Let me tell you, it’s a good thing that a young Vanilla never saw this video because it probably would have scarred me for life. Can you imagine if, as an adult, I was still afraid of sharks attacking on dry land? That would be embarrassing, especially if I moved to a landlocked state smack in the middle of the country just so I could be as far away from sharks as possible. It’s a good thing I don’t have any irrational fears anymore. *Casually glances over shoulder to make sure a land shark isn’t standing behind him and rests his hand on the harpoon gun under his desk.*


[Tip o’ the hat to TheDailyRunner.com]

Marathon Update: RazZDoodle has announced that he is running the PF Chang’s Arizona marathon. Head on over and congratulate him on his idiocy.

Fast Food

It is a rare occasion that I see the inside of a fast food restaurant, and not because I prefer the drive through. Nevertheless on Wednesday night my wife and I found ourselves with only minutes to spare before the start of the movie we were going to see and we popped in to one such establishment. I don’t want to name the restaurant for fear of a lawsuit but let’s just say that it rhymes with Pentucky Lied Stickin’ and generally just goes by its initials. So we walked into this PLS and a quick glance around at the size and shape of the patrons confirmed my suspicions: I was better than all these people. You see, when I go into a fast food joint I like to look down my nose at everyone else in there because I eat healthier than these people do, I’m in better shape than these people are and I’m a runner. As fellow runners you have my permission to feel like you are better than the peasants that regularly frequent these locales and to let it be known that they are beneath you.

As we stepped up to the register and began to order, the portly woman who was waiting for her food rudely interrupted, “Excuse me! Are those fries fresh?”
“I’m sorry Ma’am?” replied the incredulous teen behind the counter, eyeing her suspiciously for sneaking the word ‘fresh’ into a PLS.
“Those fries,” she said waving a plump finger in their direction, “they look like they’ve been sitting there for a while.”
“Ohhhhhh, no. No the lamp keeps ‘em hot,” replied the teen before throwing a casual “Hey make sure those fries are hot,” over his shoulder to the “chef” in the back. I’m guessing that they probably made sure that this lady’s fries were hot by hocking a loogie onto them, or maybe worse.

What was amusing to me was that the word ‘fresh’ obviously wasn’t even in this kid’s vocabulary, or if it was it was filed under hot or toasty, but I don’t blame the kid. The word ‘fresh’ is not something that management had taught him, it’s not a word you should be associating with a fast food joint. ‘Fresh’ is a punchline that the ad execs throw around in their meetings, ‘fresh’ is the inside joke that upper management laughs about when they see it slathered all over their newest marketing campaign. If you really want fresh, you don’t go to a place that has heat lamps.

While we were waiting for our food Candis turned and whispered “you want me tell them to make sure it’s fresh?”
“No,” I laughed, “just make sure they don’t give us that lady’s fries.”

We quickly ate our greasy, unfresh chicken and left to go see the movie Get Smart because unlike some people, I haven’t surrendered my huevos to my wife just yet, at least not when it comes to movie choices.

The Running of the Bulls

“Weee-heeeee! What fun!”
Today marked the first day of the traditional Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain. You may not know this but Pamplona, Spain is actually where the Fountain of Youth is located, except replace ‘Youth’ with ‘Stupidity.’

According to reports at least 9 people were injured in the festivities, which included being chased by angry bulls over a half mile course before finishing in the bullfighting arena. No word yet on how many bulls were injured during the chase but I wouldn’t worry too much about the bulls. Apparently they have some wonderful veterinarians (or “bullfighters” if you prefer) waiting in the stadium (or slaughterhouse) and if they deem any of the bulls to be too injured (or too bull-like) to live they humanely put them down. This is often a slow process that takes the bull many hours to die but I’m quite sure that they have the bull’s best interests at heart. Often, crowds of sympathetic supporters (or sadistic barbarians) gather to mourn (cheer) the bull’s passing.

I’m laying on the sarcasm pretty thick here, and I’ve never really considered myself an animal rights activist or anything. Mostly because that would require some kind of principles or commitment on my part and that sounds like a lot of work, but something about this 9 day festival just isn’t right. I’ll be the first to admit that I love me a good steak, and I don’t have a problem with the killing of tasty animals for sustenance, but I guess I draw the line at doing it for sport. Does this mean that I do have some principals? Is this what it feels like to take a stand for a cause? It feels kind of tingly with a faint air of superiority. I think I like it. Have I finally found an outlet for my bawdy self-righteousness?

Note: If you turn my comments section into an animal rights flame war I will run over the next cat I see.

Shameless Self-Promotion

Here we are only three days and two posts into 2008 and I’m going to take a break from writing about running to tell you about a new blog that I have started. Of late I have been writing down some stories about my two boys so that I don’t forget them, the stories not the boys. I want to be sure to have some good material to use at their weddings.

In order to demonstrate why I love my boys and to really capture how I feel about them the site is named Daddy’s Little Tax Credits. I realize that the target demographic for this site is slightly different, and there are many of you here who probably don’t care to read about all the crazy things that my kids do, but I wanted to mention it anyway.

Don’t worry, it will not take time away from my posting here at Half-Fast. My goal is to post something once a week or maybe once every couple of weeks over at Daddy’s Little Tax Credits. I was originally going to keep the site for my family only, but some of the stories needed to be shared with the world. That’s one of the things you get to do as a parent - embarrass your kids.

If you have kids I think you’ll be able to relate, if you don’t it will serve as a deterrent, and if you’re pregnant it will probably make you cry a lot. Head on over and check it out. Daddy’s Little Tax Credits.

By the way, this is the 200th post at Half-Fast. It passes with a lot less fanfare than the 100th post did.

Today is Blog Action Day

Today is Blog Action Day and all around the internet blogs just like this one, except not quite as cool, are participating in this event nay, extravaganza!

Since I committed to Blog Action Day, (which per my previous post will be referred to as BAD) I’ve been trying to figure out what to write about. There are plenty of ways to relate running and the environment, but nothing was inspiring me, until I went running past the High School down the street from where we live. Normally I don’t like to complain about what teenagers are doing because that just makes you sound old and grumpy. “I just don’t understand those darn whippersnappers with their hi-tech cell phones and their new fangled walkmans, in my day… [insert long, boring and usually untrue story].” I ran past a group of kids that I can only assume were trying to keep up the ‘stoners’ stereotype. As I ran past, one of them dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and then stepped on it to extinguish it. I noticed that all along the path there were cigarette butts that had evidently suffered the same treatment.

It made me begin to wonder why we just accept that smokers do this? It’s littering plain and simple. How often have you seen a smoker throw a cigarette butt on the ground and walk away? As if it was OK to discard because it’s so small. If I started unwrapping my drinking straws and throwing the paper wrapper on the ground and then stepping on it I don’t think people would be OK with that, and rightly so. My paper drinking straw wrapper can be rolled up smaller than a cigarette butt and is more biodegradable (may or may not be true) but people wouldn’t accept this kind of behavior and I think it’s time we started calling out smokers on their littering habits. Next time you’re walking around in a public place take a few seconds to notice how many cigarette butts are lying on the ground. I think you’ll be surprised, I hope you’ll be outraged.

I propose that we invest more money in Big Tobacco and try to help them find out if there is any way that we can make cigarettes even more potent so that they kill idiots people quicker. We are talking about people who not only pollute the air but who also litter, I think most people would be OK with this solution. After all, no one’s forcing anyone to light up.

I realize that I’m probably preaching to the choir here because I doubt that any of my readers are smokers. I mean I assume that the majority of my readers are runners and tri-athletes, maybe a few cyclists and swimmers, a good number of heads of state and most of the Hollywood A-list (Hi Jessica, Bonjour Monsieur Sarkozy).

I’m sorry if you came here wanting a race report from yesterdays Denver Half Marathon. I’ll have a full report on it tomorrow and it will probably be quite long because I’m awesome. I rock. I finished in 1:59:42.

Happy Independence Day!

If you're reading this blog from somewhere other than the good ol' US of A you may not have cared that today is July 4th but here in the home of the Big Mac and the Whopper we love the fourth of July. You see on the fourth of July we don't have to go to work, we grill burgers on the barbeque and then wash them down with watermelon and apple pie. We shoot explosives up into the night sky and 'oooh' and 'aaah' at them. We sing America The Beautiful, and The Star Spangled Banner, little girls wear red, white and blue ribbons in their pigtails and elderly women who haven't thought about our Sovereign Lord since the depression don t-shirts that are emblazoned with the flag and the slogan "God Bless America." US flags are hung outside of every fourth home in suburbia or every other home if you're in the Deep South, and everything that can be bought under the sun comes in red, white and blue today. Radio stations all over the country will be playing Born In The USA by The Boss, TV show news anchors will wear flag lapel pins and a few of the crazier ones will even wear kooky flag ties. Cable television stations will smother us with patriotic movies and I will genuinely get goosebumps during Independence Day when President Bill Pullman declares "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!" But most importantly, there is absolutely no running on the fourth of July, except maybe to catch a Frisbee or a football. In fact, I've often heard people say "these colors don't run" usually with a thick southern accent and I think that they're really trying to say no running on the fourth of July.

So, to all my fellow American's out there, have a happy and safe fourth of July. To all my British readers out there: THHHPPPPBBBTT!!! (Blowing Raspberry). No taxation without representation! Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!

The Marriott Wants Me Dead

OK, so maybe the title of this post is a little too drama queen or melodramatic, but it can't be far off. I'm out of town on business over the next few days which means I'm not just getting paid to write this blog and surf the ebays but now I also get to expense my meals. Ahhh, corporate America.

I'm staying at the Marriott and they have this wonderful breakfast menu that you fill out and hang outside your door at night. The next morning, your breakfast is brought to you by an over-eager employee who stands around and uncomfortably waits for a tip despite the fact that the menu clearly says that a 20% gratuity will be automatically added to any room service orders. That’s right Johnny-No-Tip, I read the fine print.

As a runner who has been told he has borderline high cholesterol I was pleased see the "Fit" section on the menu where I can order healthy food. Number one item on the list: Steak and eggs with a mushroom bacon hash. I kid you not, you can click the image above to read it for yourself. Let me say that again, steak, eggs and bacon. I can actually feel my arteries tightening up. In what world is that a healthy breakfast? Is this what America has come to? Hotels claiming that steak, eggs and bacon is a 'healthy' breakfast, employees blogging at work? I understand that they were pandering to the low carb diet fad with this menu item, but my doctor just sat bolt upright in bed and started planning a new addition to his home that will be made possible by my triple bypass surgery.

So what did I order? Hey, far be it from me to tell the Marriott what is and isn't healthy. Personal note to Dr. Abrams if you're reading this, I’m free on March 14th 2008 if you want to go ahead and schedule my surgery, mornings work best for me.

Happiness is a Waffle Sandwich

On my Sunday morning run I jogged past this quaint little hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlor called Lighthouse Ice Cream. “Neat” I thought (because when I talk to myself I like to use expressions that haven't been cool since the 50s), “I’ll have to check that out.” So later that night I went back to the Lighthouse Ice Cream parlor and made a mistake that is sure to cost me 10 – 15lbs and a good 4 minutes in my next 10K.

My mistake: I ordered the Hot Waffle Ice Cream sandwich, and it was everything that I hoped it could be. Now I’d never even heard of a Hot Waffle Ice Cream sandwich prior to this, but I thought to myself “shucks, that sounds like it might be good.” Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. Since Sunday I’ve already been back there to eat it again and I’m planning on going back at least 2 more times before we leave. In short I’m going to have to put in some serious miles during this vacation in order to stay in shape.

It was at least four times as good as it sounds like it should be, and surprisingly only 23% as messy as it sounds like it should be. They should try giving those things to crack addicts to get them off the smack because I read somewhere that drug rehab is only 38% effective, but Hot Waffle Ice Cream sandwiches are over 98% effective according to my research.

As I re-read this blog entry for editing purposes (yes, believe it or not I do re-read and edit before posting) I started to think “well golly gee wilikers, what does this have to do with running?” Nutrition related? That’s pushing it. I found it during a run? A little weak. Motivation to run more? Perhaps, but essentially it come down to this: It’s my blog and this is what I’m posting today!