Blegh!

Last week my 6 year old brought home something special from school, I believe the technical term for it is H1N1. Not officially confirmed (though there have been confirmed H1N1 cases at his school) but at the very least we all have some flu-ey type of virus thing. It sucks.

Combine that with the week (OK, fine two weeks) that I took off from running after the Denver Half Marathon and it’s been almost three weeks since I’ve run. On the bright side I can’t wait to get back to it. That’s about all I feel like typing today so enjoy this video of NYC Marathon winner Meb Keflezighi reading the Top 10 on Letterman. I stole it from Mike at Running Is Funny. (Shhhhh. Don’t tell.)

I think my favorites are #4 and #5.

So Much For My Happy Ending

The Denver Half Marathon Race Report

Wherein I run the juvenile ‘happy ending’ allegory into the ground.

Given the lack of training and motivation that I have displayed over the last several weeks my goal going into this race was to run at a leisurely pace and enjoy it. Candis had hoped to PR in this race but given that we’ve been passing the same cough back and forth for the last few days it was not in the cards. Seriously, between the two of us we left more phlegm and snot on the Denver Half Marathon course than should be legally allowed. If Denver area runners break out with some kind of epidemic over the next few days it will be entirely our fault.

Candis finished in 2:21:00 (a 10:46 pace) and I managed a relaxed 2:06:55 (a 9:41 pace). This is the first half marathon that Candis had run without me at her side and she is feeling good about the accomplishment despite missing a PR. As for me, I thought about running with Candis again this year, but as is often the case I was more concerned with getting to my happy ending than helping her reach hers.

The temperature at the start was a chilly 50 degrees (burrrrrrr!) so we had to huddle together until the starting gun went off. This kept us sufficiently warm and also kept the other runners sufficiently nauseated. We ran together for a couple of blocks before I ditched Candis and went off on my own. Throughout the course I was a high-fiving, cheering machine. If anyone wanted a high five, I swerved over and gave them one (usually right after I had finished coughing into my hand). If someone was holding up an encouraging sign I thanked them as I went by, even all the people holding the “your feet only hurt because you’re kicking so much asphalt” signs which are both unoriginal and serve only to remind me that my feet are hurting.

I arrived at mile 9 enjoying myself and feeling pretty strong. Somewhere in my head a part of my brain kicked in to gear and ran some quick (and incorrect) calculations. “Hey, if you run the last 3 miles at an 8:15 pace you can still break 2 hours!” And so I sped up, hoping to get my happy ending after all and not realizing that my math was horrendously incorrect or that there were actually 4 miles left, not 3. My aspirations were fugacious (word of the day, anyone?) as I quickly realized that I would not be finishing in under 2 hours. I slowed down and went back to spreading cheer. Mostly cheer, with only a few germs mixed in. So much for my happy ending.

Look at these happy runners, surely they didn’t just post PWs?

Crapulous

This post feels a little disjointed, but it’s better than nothing, which was your other option for today.

I’m feeling crapulous today, which I just learned is an actual word. Seriously, look it up. (You should follow that link just to click the little speaker and hear the computer pronounce it for you, I did it like 14 times, but then I’m easily amused by things like that.) The real definition of crapulous is ‘suffering due to excess drinking,’ which is not exactly how I was planning to use the word. When I use the word I use it to mean ‘having the properties of crap’ or ‘feeling like a piece of feces.’ Classy, right? Anyway, I feel crapulous today, not the actual definition of crapulous, but my definition of it, although I did partake in some drinking last night so who knows what definition I’m really suffering from.

Oy vay, it’s been a while since I wrote a post. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to post something. Between Labor Day last Monday, travelling out to Salt Lake City for work last week, and the subsequent sickness that resulted from me spending time in those flying Petrie dishes that we call airplanes (aeroplanes for you Brits) I just haven’t found the will to post, or to run for that matter. My last run was in Salt Lake City last Tuesday. Being a creature of habit I ran the same route that I had run last time I was in SLC, around Liberty Park but was disappointed to discover that they still haven't erected the statue of me that I had suggested.

In other running related news my wife got me the new iPhone 3GS for my birthday last week and it is awesome. I’m not really sure how that’s running related but I’m guessing at some point in the future there’ll be a post about all the things I can do with it and how it helps or distracts from my running. I was going to formally acknowledge that Candis is the Best Wife Ever, but she’s been rolling her eyes at me since I’ve been answering every question with “I don’t know but I bet there’s an app for that,” and I think the Best Wife Ever would probably laugh at her husband’s jokes even when they’ve long since stopped being funny.

There’s one app that I’m downloading for sure, the shoelace app (video below).

You’re Sick Because You’re Weak!

My whole family has been sick this past weekend, coughing and wheezing with a little puking thrown in just for good measure. My wife and both boys have been feeling absolutely miserable and have been popping Dayquil and Nyquil caplets like a young Brett Favre, as if you hadn’t heard enough about that guy already. Anyway, they were a pretty sad bunch, and I’m still kind of mad at them for ruining my weekend. Why can’t they get sick during the work week when I’m not around to put up with it? So inconsiderate.

Nevertheless, I shrugged off my annoyance at their illness and played the role of supportive husband. Mostly that consisted of me strutting around, displaying my good health and telling them that they were sick because they weren’t mentally strong enough to fight it off. I almost never get sick, which is why it annoys me so much when others are ill, I suppose. If you didn’t want to be sick, then you wouldn’t be sick, it’s just that simple.

When they first started coming down with sore throats and wet, hacking coughs I was a little worried that I would catch it right before my half marathon this Saturday. However, I’ve since decided that I don’t think I’ll allow myself to get sick this week. I’m going to take a rain check on whatever it is that my family has been infected with. And if by some twist of fate I do get sick this week, I don’t anticipate it preventing me from beating Viper’s PR in the half marathon because the list of ways that he is superior to me is shorter than Tom Cruise and just as phony.

Set Bowels to Liquefy

Well, there’s no other way to put it: I’ve got the squirts. Actually I suppose there might be another way to put it, a more polished way of letting you all know that my excrement flows from my posterior like my prose flows onto the page, but that just wouldn’t be my style. It also begs the question of why I felt the need to let you all know about the fluidity of my bowel movements and the answer is two-fold like my wallet.

1. It pertains to my upcoming race because I’ve dropped two pounds in the last 24 hours which can only help me accomplish my goal in my upcoming 10K right? Less weight to carry = faster race. If I can stay sick right up until Sunday then I might lose 12-15 lbs. Score!
2. It makes for a fantastic excuse if I don’t make my 50 minute goal. Pay attention all of you who are rookie runners, you can learn from this. I set my goal in yesterday’s post, and in today’s post I am already preparing my excuses in case I fail. I have upper management written all over me.

Well that’s all for today because I’ve got to go. I mean I really have to go, I feel a fart coming on and that’s far too dangerous an endeavor to attempt unless I’m seated on the throne.

Warning: This post contains some disturbing mental images and probably should not be read during lunchtime.

Note: The above warning should be read before reading the rest of the post.

It Might Not Be The Weather

In a post a couple of weeks ago I talked about a scenario where I arrived home after work and was inspired to go run because it was snowing. Yesterday I arrived home from work and the sun was shining, the sky was blue and the temperature was a balmy 52 degrees. It was a great night for a run even though I was not planning to run last night. I had planned to do some light weights (because heavy weights are too strenuous) and then maybe some mental training. Nevertheless, I found myself heading out the door for a quick 4 miles with my dog, Epaphras.

It was during my run that it occurred to me that if bad weather = me running and if good weather = me running then perhaps it isn’t the weather that makes me run. Perhaps there is just something wrong with me that makes me want to run. Perhaps it’s genetic? Perhaps all of us runners have some gene that has predetermined that we are going to be runners? Did it ever occur to you that you can’t turn someone into a runner, they’re born with it? These are the kind of crazy thoughts that crash around my cranium while I run.

Somewhere around the 3 mile mark Epaphras stopped to sniff some bushes and pee on them. Usually I try to make him keep running so we don’t have to stop but I’ve been battling a sore throat and a cough and needed some time to clear the massive phlegm buildup from the back of my throat. After a few hacking coughs brought up a loogie the size of my fist I felt a little better. I momentarily considered swallowing it because to be quite honest it had a very similar consistency to one of those CLIF Shot Gels. I’ve noticed this before and often thought that if I ate a bag of Skittles candy and then hocked up a loogie it would be pretty similar to a Raspberry CLIF Shot Gel. Don’t get me wrong, I swear by those things. I buy them by the case and I won’t go on a long run without one. (With apologies to the great folks at CLIF Bar who will most certainly not be sending me any more free stuff now that I’ve compared their Shot Gels to snot. It would appear that no one is immune to my stinging half witticisms.)

Before we started running again I gave a quick farmer’s blow to clear my nostrils. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw movement at the park across the street. There were two young boys over there staring at me with their mouths agape. The shocked expression on their faces said “dude, that’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen!” I chuckled to myself, smiled at them and then went on my way. If they’re anything like my boys, they probably attempted their first farmer’s blow right after I left... either that or I’ve turned them off running for the rest of their lives. This would be disconcerting if we hadn’t already established that becoming a runner is genetic.