Training Officially Starts and Too Fat Needs GU

I don’t come to make any excuses for my absence. Because as you all know excuses are like assholes, everybody’s got one and some people like theirs gently tickled during the sweaty physical expression of love and no that doesn’t make them weird or gay. Anyway, I’ve been running, not as much as I should but enough to maintain a tenuous hold on my level of fitness, and maintain my weight. The big news is my official “training”  for the marathon started Monday.

As you will recall everything up to this point has been building a base. It was much needed as my training program is based on the assumption that one can run 12 miles. Base building is fun and easy because it is kinda un-regimented running. Those days are over. For the next four weeks my training will consist of hill work once a week, four normal runs between 3-6 miles, and one long run on Sunday. Hill work, for the uninitiated, is exactly what it sounds like, running up and down hills. It’s important because it is used to build strength in the legs and core and prepare for the horror to come known as speed work. I have been prepping for my hill work by throwing in a few hills on each of my runs and I thought I would be ready for it.

Monday, my good friend and sworn race enemy THR was in town for work and we went on a nice easy run together. We did about 3.75 miles in 35:30. It was a nice slow pace for me and a good change. One of my biggest issues is pacing on short to intermediate training runs. I need to run these at 9:30-9:45 a mile pace but when I’m alone I never do. I always end up pushing the pace too much. Tuesday I woke up with a bad pain on top of my left foot. For a while I was afraid I had a stress fracture but I rested it on Tuesday and it was fine by Wednesday’s 4 miler (too fast at 35 minutes). This morning I went out to do 4 miles of hills. 

I found a nice half mile hill with a steady 12 degree incline. The plan was four up and back laps. It was easy to see that using the hills in my normal runs had helped because the run was nice and easy. In fact, early on I was afraid I would have to find a more challenging hill to get any benefit. However, by the end of the run I could tell I’d had a good workout and my legs were heavy and tired but in a good way. I managed the 4 miles in 34:32 with each uphill half mile right at 4:30 and each downhill half mile at 4:00-4:10. I was really pleased with the run and am excited about the rest of my week. My long run this week is only 7 miles but next week I have to do 14 which brings me to my next topic.

 I can’t believe I’m to the point where this is an issue but I need to find an in- run energy booster. One of the interesting phenomenon of  2-5 hours of consecutive aerobic exercise is the need to replenish sugar and carbohydrates during the exercise. Without replacement the wall looms sooner. Last time I was running seriously a good ‘ol boy from Arkansas was in residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave and we hadn’t even heard of the y2k threat. At this time portable and potable in-run replacements were limited. I chose a product called GU.

It was, as the name suggest, a small pouch of gooey thick porridge like substance that was chock full of sugar and carbs. They were small, easy to carry, relatively easy to swallow, relatively inexpensive and effective. The problem was the flavoring. Back then GU came in vomitous, rancid bile, stomach squeezins, and toffee. I am praying that the last dozen years has led to a technological breakthrough in the area of GU flavoring. If anyone has a suggestion please let me know and before any of my jackass friends wastes a single key-stroke, yes I am well aware that you have a pouch full of inexpensive thick porridge like goo chock full of carbs and protein. I get it. You are talking about your testicles and semen and its hilarious. But seriously any help would be appreciated.

Needing Inspiration PrefonFat Turn To Coach Cool

Life and running have been hard. A new bidness venture, a horrendously bad idea that will no doubt end in failure, financial ruin and likely criminal indictment, has taken up a lot of my time. On top of that we have entered the Dog’s balls days of Summer here in North Texas. I am a bad morning runner and bad hot weather runner and therefore have been struggling. I’ve been able to put in the 4-5 mile maintenance runs during the week thanks to a treadmill and a few mid morning outings but my long runs have been lacking. I’ve been settling for 8 or so miles on Sunday. I know this must change so I reached out to Coach Cool for some advice.

I’ve previously mentioned Coach Cool here but there is more you need to know. Coach Cool is attracted to long-haired rebels. If he’d been alive at the time he would have no doubt slept with Socrates. Two of his favorite role models are Che Guevara and Steve Prefontaine. Since my interest are more in world of running than Marxist revolutionaries this post will mostly focus on Steve Prefontaine.

In case you don’t know Steve Prefontaine, or Pre, is probably the most famous and influential American distance runner ever. He was from the town of Coos Bay, Oregon and for a while in the 70s was virtually unbeatable at mid distance races (1 mile, 2 mile and 5k). He ran for the University of Oregon and legendary coach Bill Bowerman (the John Wooden of track) and only lost three races in his collegiate career. He helped Bowerman test training shoes that Bowerman made by hand using his wife’s waffle iron and some rubber. These shoes would eventually lead to the formation of a little  company called Nike. Pre was the first athlete Nike paid for an endorsement and he has a statue at their Oregon headquarters. He was the first true running superstar but it wasn’t just because he was talented, it was the way he ran. He was a balls out as fast as he could as long as he could runner. He didn’t believe in pacing early in the race he just went for it. He would often claim that he wanted the races to be about who had the most guts not the most talent. 

His brightest moment/biggest disappointment was the 5000 meter finals in the 1972 Olympic games. He finally relented to Bowerman’s plea to not push the pace and to not to make it a gut race early. The plan seemed to be working as Pre broke the slow pace and took the lead at the beginning of  the last mile. The last mile was legendarily fast as he battled with Lasse Viren, rightfully considered the best in the world at this distance. Pre lead until the last 150 meters where he was out-kicked by Viren and then two others to finish off the podium. While the last mile rocketed him to world wide fame, he was crushed because he hadn’t made it a guts race early on. Bowerman would later say that convincing him to run that race that way was one of the biggest coaching errors of his life. Pre was dead within three years of the 72 games. He died in a car wreck, likely a little drunk, after dropping off another american distance legend,  Frank Shorter, after a party.

Coach Cool has taken to calling me Pre. Mostly its derisive but I kinda like the nickname and will answer to it. In any event, in response to my plea for inspiration Coach supplied me with these modified Pre quotes.

1.  A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the biggest gut, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, eat the most bratworst and then at the end, punish himself even more and then drink obscene amounts of beer.

2.  How does a kid from Coos Bay Lancaster, Texas with one broken knee win races?

3.  I run to see who has the biggest gut.

4.  I’m going to work so that it’s a pure big gut race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it with a big gut.

5.  Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it.  Even if that means it is a 12 year girl on her period. 

6.  Something inside of me just said ‘Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat THR, and I just took off.

7.  You have to wonder at times what you’re doing out there. Over the years, I’ve given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement  and that if i don’t beat my friend, THR, I will kill myself.  After all he is a republican.

Thanks Coach.

Too Fat is Flummoxed by Pornography but Runs On

I am hesitant to use the p word in the title of this post. Simply typing the word “porn” in a title a few weeks ago lead to the weirdest configuration of comments and search engine hits imaginable. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good dirty movie. In fact, 15 years ago I was bumping up against connoisseur status before I broke my hand. However, I question where we are going as a species when I log onto my blog and see someone has visited my little blog after typing “fat dad porn” into their favorite search engine. So you know, I tried to replicate the experiment and for the love of God do not use that search term. The results were  disturbing to me and I laugh at midget tossing.

After this experience I really don’t know what disturbs me more, the fact that someone was searching for “fat dad porn” or the fact that that search somehow linked to my blog.  It wasn’t just the weird search request that got me either but the 15 spam comments I’ve gotten from some type of sick advertising program. To answer all of them in sequence.

1-12. I am happy with the size of my dick.

13. I do not want to meet desperate hot milfs in my neighborhood

14. Thank you but I’ve seen a donkey show

15. That’s just sick. Absolutely not.

Anyway this is, ostensibly, a running blog and I want to keep it that way so I’ll update a few things regarding running and the race.

First of all, I am now an official participant in the 2010 Houston Marathon. If you recall, I had some issues when the open registration closed in a record 24 hours. Therefore, I had to go through the charity back door, meaning I had to donate some cash ($350) to a specific charity to be allowed the privilege of paying $100 to enter this death march. I’d like to thank my sponsors, Mr. & Mrs. Toofat and 2000Barts for their contributions that made it all possible. I’d also like to take this opportunity to publicly chide Cap’t Cool for initially encouraging me to seek sponsors and guaranteeing me funds and then backing out.

The good news is I am supporting the 3A Bereavement Foundation. This group helps people without the means bury their dead. It actually does a lot more and that reduction doesn’t do these folk justice but you can look it up if you feel so inclined.

I chose this charity for two reasons. First, they were the first on the list when I checked. However, and even more importantly, they offer a much needed service and they are unique in doing so. Listen, I want cancer and AIDS and child abuse and club foot and child death to go away as much as anyone but it seems these days you can’t throw a sickle cell without hitting a charity dedicated to those causes. Because it is really a good idea and they are the only ones doing this, I think this is an awesome charity and I’m happy to kick the hell out of THR in their name.

Secondly, Saturday I meant to go out for a good 8-9 miler but life got in the way. I wasn’t able to hit the road till nearly 11:30 in the morning and it was about 95 degrees by then. I am a bad hot weather runner and knew I’d have to cut it back so I decided to do a 5 miler.

The biggest things I have noticed from my two week slump (layoff) is a loss of stamina and the loss of understanding my pacing. I intended to go out on the first mile of this run at 9:30 and I thought I was sticking to that pace pretty well. The running was hot but pretty easy. When I passed the one mile mark I looked at my watch and was shocked to see I’d just run an 8:18 mile. If I had the stamina to maintain this pace I would have been overjoyed with the breakthrough but I don’t and I knew I didn’t when I saw my watch. I was right. I scaled it back instantly but ended up struggling to finish at a 9:04 pace. 

Finally, Monday I started a new  work week regimen. This will have me get up early and eat breakfast, hydrate, have coffee, stretch, take a crap, and take the keed to the babysitter before I run. It worked out well this morning. I did my 4 mile course and even though I had a stitch in my side the entire run I had a much better sense of pacing. I ended uo running a negative split, with my first two miles at 9:02 and my last two at 8:40ish. I’ve got about three weeks before I start hills and speed work so I need to buckle down and get my base back up to 12.

Re-Introducing a Parenthetically Inclined TooFat

Hello, is there anybody out there? Just smile if you can hear me. Is there anyone at all?

Its been far too long since I have done this. All I can say is this (there is supposed to be a link to Jimmy Swaggart saying “I have sinned against you” here but I cannot find one. While someone has pulled all of that footage off of the internet, they have not pulled the commercials where you can order DVD’s of his musical ministry. I consider myself a “Christian” but shit like that chaps my Jesus lovin’ ass. Thus ends the, hopefully, longest parenthetical reference in my blogging career).

 Also, I really don’t think Jesus takes offense at honest statements like “shit like that chaps my Jesus lovin’ ass.” We, or our fore-parents, (you are welcome Mom) as a society, created the curse words. There is no more evil or sin inherent in the words shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, mother fucker, tits (I miss you George), cock, ass, dick, twat, asshole, cumbubble, and/or Cheney than we subscribe to them. They may be vile, distasteful and full of disrespect (or if used correctly hilarious) but much like Christ they are in and of themselves sinless. It is possible that, had the linguistics broken differently, we would be singing “Amazing Fuck” in church and not allowed to say “Grace” around children. And I know I know words have power, etc. but what I’m saying here is we prescribe that power, not God. It no more “sinful” to say fuck when you are cut off in traffic than to say “oh fiddlesticks”  if your heart feels the same way about the driver.

But I came not to praise curse words but discuss my absence. Obviously I haven’t blogged in a while and that’s because I have been struggling with getting my runs in. It started innocently enough, new found work crept in and kept me from my 9-ish am runs. I live on the face of the sun and it makes it hard (but truthfully not impossible) to run in the afternoon when it is 100 plus degrees (that is Fahrenheit Kim). Next thing I know its been about a week (plus)  since I’ve run.

Its not that all my stories need come from current running adventures. In fact, I still have quite a few good ones from a while back that I am anxious to tell but if I am not running it is hard to put them to paper (or blog in this case). I think of something George Sheehan wrote in his classic “Running and Being” (it is a must read if you even slightly enjoy running or philosophy). He was a daily runner and wrote a column in the magazine Runner’s World back in its infancy. He claimed that without writing he couldn’t run and without running he couldn’t write. I’m not sure about the former but the latter has proven true for me. I cannot organize what I want to say if I have not been on the roads.

The good news is I’ve broken the slump. Last Sunday I went out for what turned out to be 8.27 miles and today I went for an easy four. The gentle jostling of my corpulent man-boobs got my creative juices flowing and so I am glad to say I am back (I hope).

A few (hopefully) entertaining fragments from the last few weeks of running.

-Last I posted I referenced a 12 mile run I’d taken. It was a great run. I had two sets of hills that I handled well to quite well but there was one interesting moment. I was running a 6 mile out and back that actually took me across a major interstate highway. Luckily I picked up my water bottle at about 5 miles, just before I crossed the interstate.

Right after crossing the hi-way I met an aggravated bird. I must have disturbed his/her nest or something because for the next sixty seconds she/he (it works both ways Mom) dove at my head. Fortunately, I was wearing a hat so she/he never made contact with my scalp but he/she tried. I would hear this gentle swoosh and feel a light pull on my hat and discover the bird was attacking from behind just missing me. Luckily I had a water bottle with a nozzle and I was able to hit the bird on the run with a well placed squirt (That is what she said). I was a little disappointed that the bird was not there on my return as I was looking forward to round two.

- A couple of weeks ago the family was visiting the wife’s parents for the weekend. Sunday morning I went for a 5 mile run on a nice trail in this town. I’ve written about the trail before. It runs through the middle of town but is fairly wooded (this will become important soon).

I had gone off to run with out completing my normal morning pre-run ritual. I did stretch, have a glass of water, have a cup of coffee, and thanked my maker but there was one thing I could not make myself (no matter how hard I tried) do. I figured it would be ok and made my way to the trail head.

The first mile was great at easily under 9 minutes but soon after I passed the mile-marker my internal evacuation alarm sounded. I knew there was a restroom on this course but wasn’t sure where. I tired to hold on through the next half mile but it was getting dicey. I started looking for wooded areas but most of the trail at this point backs directly up to people’s back yards.  I figured my expelling anus was the last thing they’d want to see before they went to worship so I held it.

I finally found a wooded area and was able to release the hounds. I know its disgusting but its also natural and ergo beautiful. Dispute that! Anyway I was feeling better but dirtier as I ran on. I found the restroom an eighth of a mile away (but after reviewing its cleanliness was glad I crapped in the trees) and horrifically discovered  my car key missing from my pocket. I will spare you the logistics but suffice to say I knew where they must be and that location happens to border a pile of crap.

I figured the chances of anyone even finding (much less stealing) my key was slim to none. After all, what better mark of ownership than the end result of your digestive process. Sure enough, when I returned I found my key waiting on me on a  pile of clean pine straw.

- A week and a half ago I was going out to run in the afternoon. There was a rare “cool front” so the temperature was only 85 degrees when I went out. I waited on the wife to get home to watch the kid and hit a good 4 miler. It was an otherwise non-descript run. I got home and the wife asked if I wanted to shower. I told her I’d just wait till the morning. She told me, that given my general aroma, that was unacceptable so I hit the showers.

Now  I have a 20 month old daughter. I am not ashamed of the human body and I know that part of being a Dad is explaining the anatomy of the human body. Still I have tried to avoid it because I’m not ready. Well the keed is getting to the point that she can almost open a door.  I was in my bedroom getting ready to put on my clothes, thinking the door is closed. I was wrong. Right as I drop my towel the keed walks in. She looks at me, likely the first time she has seen me naked, points right at my Harry and the Hendersons and begins to laugh hysterically.

As my friend Figwhiskey said when I told him the story, “The amazing thing abouts kids that age is they lack the ability to lie.” He was right and this is now the most public of my humiliations.

Too Fat Ponders Porn And Wonders Why We Run

I was considering something today on my run. I re-arranged my training this week and did my long run today. It was 12 miles and actually a lot of fun but more on that later.

As is so often the case, I was perusing some Internet pornography this week. I know, you only use it to search for recipes from Epicurious and keep up with your tweets but I’m a far more salacious and inferior being.  While pondering porn I wondered if those that consider themselves runners have a streak of masochism in their veins?

I mean think about it. We talk openly (brag) about things like bloody nipples and losing toenails. We talk about our ruptured tendons, blown out knees, toenail fungus, broken bones and pulled muscles. We can happily catalogue our near misses with cars, falls that lead to cuts and bruises, bouts of dehydration, heat exhaustion and/or frost bite. We celebrate those who run themselves to death’s doorstep as they collapse at the finish line and we canonize those that continue to run with diarrhea streaking down their legs.

If you are a runner it all makes sense but if you aren’t you view this kind of thing as insane. Especially if this person knows a runner and they hear the “my injury is bigger than yours” braggadocio. Take my father, he doesn’t understand why anyone would want to run 26.2 miles in their life, put together. He asked me why a dozen years ago the first time I did it and I guess I didn’t answer well enough because as he watched as my sister struggle across the finish line at the OKC marathon, with a slew of lower leg injuries that should have forced her out of the race, he begged her never consider a marathon again. The request was primarily based on the feelings he had seeing his little girl in pain but secondarily because runners, as a community, don’t do a better job marketing their passion.

This lack of marketing is sad because there are so many positives that we could and should talk about in lieu of bloody nipples and broken toes. There is the commraderie of the field on a race day. Sure there are some ultra-competitive douche-nozzles in every field but for the most part you’ll meet some wonderfully outgoing extroverts enjoying themselves. There is the sense of pushing your limits and pushing yourself that most people find exciting. There are the mind clearing properties of a few miles on the road. More often than not if I’ve had something on my mind, a problem or a decision to make a good run has helped straighten me out. I’m not sure if its the endorphins flowing or the time alone with my thoughts but a run is a great cure for any problem.

There’s the obvious heath benefits that we don’t talk about enough. Weight loss, lowered blood pressure, better lung capacity, a propensity to eat healthier, sleep more, drink more water and the list goes on. And then there is the elusive runner’s high. Its hard to describe it but I can swear on a stack of holy books of your choosing that its a real phenomenon. The sense of well-being and happiness that accompanies a run. The buzz and sense of peace I get is all worth it. So perhaps we as runners, joggers and fatasses logging the miles should focus on these positives. I know I’m going to try

Listen dad, we need to talk about running. Sit down and let me tell you about the time I crapped in the bushes and then got hit by a car after I ran back into the road. It was epic.

Too Fat’s Desperate Plea For Sponsors

Bad news was delivered last night when THR called to let me know that registration for the 2010 Houston marathon had sold out in around 48 hours. We had discussed it Thursday when registration opened. THR signed up right away but I didn’t have the $90 at the time. I figured I had a couple of weeks to enter. After all there were 11,000 spots open. Last year it took around 3 months to sell out and there were a couple of thousand fewer spots open.

This leaves me with two options. First I could just run without entering. This is widely frowned upon by runners but my hands may be tied. My other option is the charitable entry. At this time there are 450 entries available through non-profit charitable organization. All I need to do is contribute $350 to one of these charities and pay the $90 entry fee. However, since I don’t have ninety bucks it stands to reason that I don’t have $440.

After discussing the issue with Coach Cool I have decided to start a breakneck search for sponsors. I will happily thank all sponsors here and find a way to wear a patch on my singlet on race day. Have a buisness you want me to promote? Want to tell your mom you love her or proclaim “Jesus is Lord?” Want me to propose to your girlfriend on the course. Any and all of this is possible for a small contribution, which is for charity anyway.

I’m afraid these entries will go fast so step up.  For just the cost of a cup of coffee every day for 220 days you can help a fat unemployed guy that just wants to race daddy

Too Fat Faces A Mild Success Mildly Successfully

Three months ago the idea of running ten miles was as foreign to me as successfully bedding a willing Daniella Fishel (that’s right I’ve always had a stiffy for Topanga Lawrence).  Sunday I did it (ten miles not Topanga).

I woke up early to an already hot day. However, unlike last week I was excited about this run and I think that made a huge difference. I’d mapped out a course similar to my 9 miler but through two new neighborhoods. My goal/wildest dream was to finish it at a 10 minute a mile average. I drank some water, drove my route and dropped off my water bottle at about 5.3 miles on the course. Again I said a small prayer that it would be there when I returned because I’d be done if it wasn’t. Just like last week I started about 15 minutes later than planned but the running was immediately easier.

My results are a testament to the way the mind and body work. Last week the conditions were much better for running long; it was overcast, the temperature was constant and the humidity was low. Despite this I still crashed. This week it was just as hot when my run started, the sun came out bright and hot and the temperature climbed while I ran but I had a much better run.

The first new neighborhood I ventured into was between the 4 and the 4.5 mile mark of the run. I was holding a good pace but there were two serious hills in this neighborhood. I figured these would really kill me and my time. I was shocked with how well I handled them and even more shocked to find myself a little faster than my expected pace at the 5 mile mark.

The next two miles were also through a new neighborhood. It wasn’t as pleasant as the first and turned out to be one that needed some serious “renewal”. The “Crips for life” tag (ironically painted in red spray paint), abundance of pit-bulls and abandoned cars served as solid motivators to keep running. Fortunately, I made it through this hood without incident and back to my normal long run road. It was here I had the only “interesting” moment of my run.

Right after I left the ghetto I had to run about 300 yards through the parking lot of an apartment complex. Upon entering this parking lot I heard a gentleman talking to a lady walking to her car. He told her, and I quote verbatim, “Did you hear? I really can’t believe it. Li’l Chris got shot in the head. He was just out there trying to get that money and he got killed. I can’t fucking believe it.”

Now I was instantly confused. I thought (and still do) that the phrase ”he was out there trying to get that money” meant he was dealing drugs. I am not casting moral implications on drug dealers. I don’t have a problem with a poor young man trying to make some cash by selling narcotta. However, if you do so no one can be surprised if you get shot. I couldn’t believe his friend was surprised. I could understand if he was sad for the loss, upset that it happened and/or pissed at the consequence. But could he really be  surprised? To me it would be like someone being incredulous at the news that Jenna Jamison had the clap.

The wife told me that may not be what “out there trying to get that money” meant and if L’il Chris worked at Arbys or the like I sincerely apologize. If he didn’t I hope his friend and family find a degree of peace during this time, but I bet they are not surprised.

Anyway, I managed to finish well. I felt good and I could have pushed it more but I kept right to 10 minute miles, actually 9:58. When I finished I was sore but stoked. Monday morning I decided I’d go for a three mile “recovery” run. I’ll admit it, my everything hurt during this self-imposed forced march. While nothing felt right, I was still glad to get it done at 9:45ish pace. At this point I’ll take any victory, no matter how small.

A Photo for Coach Cool

My virtual coach, good friend and all around jack ass Coach Cool requested photos showing the results of the bloody nipple 9 miler I did last week. Well here you go.

This picture was taken a couple of days after the run and isn’t as impressive as it was when the blood was bright red. The funny thing is it never really hurt during the run. I’m doing 10 miles tomorrow but will be sure to lube up before the run.

Running Long, Introspection and Blood

Its hard to characterize any runs I’ve taken on this particular running re-birth as  truly “long.” They have been long for me and qualify as my long training run for the week but they haven’t really been long. I read quite a few running blogs and am envious of those telling tales of their 8 mile recovery runs, 15 mile progressive runs and 65-70 mile weeks. I know I’ll get there if I can stick with it but I’m ready to be there now. I took a step towards that Sunday with a nine miler.

I’d been dreading this run all week and I’m not sure why. It was only a mile longer than last week and I’d handled that well (slowly but well). I awoke early Sunday to a relatively nice day given its the middle of summer here in the devil’s crotch. A “cold front” had blown in the night before and while it was still 81 degrees at 6 in the morning it was overcast, a little breezy, the humidity was low and best of all the temperature wasn’t going to climb during the time I was on the road.

My course was a nice loop that went out to a park in this god forsaken burb. I’ll say this for the place, they have thrown a lot of money into parks around here and you can’t swing a dead gangbanger (another thing there are a lot of here) without hitting one. I dropped of my water at about the 5 mile mark and prayed it would still be there when I finally got back to it.

I started out and things just didn’t feel right (the running was really labored and hard). I was running my first mile slightly uphill and hoped things would right themselves by the time I crested the hill. They got better but I never got completely right. I never had that moment where I actually enjoyed the run. Instead it was slow, mildly painful and perfunctory

Its not to say there weren’t some enjoyable moments. I had the gift of solitude during the first mile and I appreciated it immensely. The first mile was along a normally busy street. However, at 6:45 on this Sunday morning there wasn’t a soul around. It wasn’t just the absence of people but it was the quiet and it wasn’t even quiet it was just the absence of the sounds associated with the city. There was no buzzing traffic, no construction noise, and no children playing in the run down apartment’s across the street. All that was left was the wind, the early morning birds and my the sounds on my foot fall. It was kind of like I was running in a post apocalyptic world and I really liked it. Unfortunately, as I ended my first mile the world closed in on me and there were people, cars and sounds everywhere.

Somewhere between the end of my first mile and the one real climb that I had on this run a random synapse fired in my brain and I recalled a scene from the movie “Its a Wonderful Life.” Its relatively early in the film after George and Mary have fallen into the swimming pool at the graduation dance. They are walking down a street and flirting. George is a little slow to make a move even though the window is clearly open (George is much like my friend 1042 in this regard). An old man watching all this and reading the paper on his porch borrows from George Bernard Shaw and laments “Youth is wasted on the young.”

No idea why this scene came to me but it got me to thinking. Thinking is normally a good thing for me on a run because it takes my mind off the pain I’m feeling everywhere.  Unfortunately this thought didn’t lead to a mental diversion but instead to introspection. I thought of my first running life.

There is no doubt that youth is wasted on the young. I was 24 and had finished the Houston Marathon in just a couple of minutes over 4 hours. It was an easy run and I could have pushed it much faster. At the time I had the plan. My next marathon would be in 3:30, and then I’d qualify for Boston. After that I’d run New York, San Diego, Grandmothers and few other famous marathons. Somewhere along the way I’d break 3 hours and then shift my focus to other distances. As I got older I’d be competitive in my age group and occasionally win a smaller race or two. I’d probably end up with a column in Runner’s World and a neat nickname like the Wombat or Wampus Cat. I’d die at 85 (looking 55) during a 15 mile training run.

Back then it not only seemed possible it seemed probable (except the column).  But for some reason I quit. I let life get in the way of running and I paid the price. Now, a dozen years later I’m struggling to eek out 10 minute miles on a nine mile run under really decent conditions. It made me angry at myself, it made every foot strike more difficult and every hill steeper. I was barely holding on and fighting the urge to quit.

Fortunately, I pulled myself out of it. I just started yelling at myself, out loud. I wish I could have seen myself. I bet it was quite a sight. There I was  a short, fat man, face reddened with effort, drenched in sweat, holding an Aqua Blue water bottle with a death grip while loudly berating myself. I told myself to stop being such a drama queen pussy. So what if you were working hard to run 10 minute miles at least you were running hard. So what if the hairs everywhere on your body are coming in grey at an alarming rate. So what if you have to get up to pee in the middle of the night. So what if Hooter’s 3 Mile Island wings just aren’t worth the price your intestines and colon pay to eat them. At least you are out here doing something. I yelled “the past is prologue” over and over and finally got out of my funk. The running wasn’t really any easier physically but at least now I knew I’d finish.

The last noteworthy moment from this run came during my last mile. I tend to try and watch the faces of people as they pass by in their cars. I don’t know why I do this or when it started but I just always have. Most folks don’t look at me at all. I’m sure some don’t see me and some are just afraid to make eye contact with a stranger. The few that do look over will sometimes give a little wave or head nod of acknowledgement. However, during my last mile or so I noticed more and more people looking at me with a sense of horrified wonder.

I knew I was worse for the wear, I was completely drenched in sweat and my form was almost non-existent, but I didn’t think I was as frightening as the looks suggested. I didn’t figure out the problem until a woman in her late 50s pulled a u and drove up next to me. She rolled down her window and asked ”Honey are you OK?” There was fear in her voice. At that moment I looked down and realized the problem, a bad case of the dreaded bloody nipples.

Its not the name of a campfire ghost story but a real problem that afflicts endurance athletes (and fat guys like me). When some people, me by way of example, exert themselves for long periods of time their nipples tend to become hard. When you combine this with a sweat soaked shirt these nipples tend to chafe. If these nipples are chafed long enough they can bleed. It is not an uncommon event for the long distance runner. In fact, there are dozens of products developed to reduce and eliminate this condition. Most of these are lubes or Vaseline that you apply to keep the skin from rubbing against the fabric of your shirt.

Not only had I forgotten to lube up the nips that morning I was also running in a white running shirt. I had apparently been bleeding for some time giving me the appearance of suffering from a slightly pornographic stigmata created in the mind of Zalman King (and if you got that reference you spend too much time watching late night Cinemax and Showtime).

 The woman that stopped to check on me clearly wasn’t a runner and I guess was unfamiliar with the phenomenon. I never stopped running, mostly because I was afraid of my ability to start again. I just looked over my shoulder and told her “No problem just bloody nipples. Thank you though.”

As I ran on I chuckled at the image of her trying to figure out what had just happened. What did I mean “just bloody nipples.” I’m sure she told her husband and Sunday school class all about it to try and get some answers. In any event, thank you ma’am for your kindness and yes they are feeling much better now.

Too Fat’s Tribute To Blackie

I belong to the ranks of those that believe its a true shame that newspapers are dying out. I’ve always loved reading the paper in the morning. I guess I got it from my parents and grandparents but there is no better way to start a day than with a paper and coffee (check that there are a couple of much better ways).

In my high school and college years there was one column I never missed. Every Sunday I immediately turned to inside of the first page of the sports section to read Blackie Sherrod’s “Some Hither, Others Yon.” It always started the same, “Scattershooting while wondering whatever happened to . . . ” and was an enjoyable collection of sports ramblings, opinions and old time wisdom. 1042 suggested I do one here and I think I will. So with all apologies to Mr. Sherrod,

- Scattershooting while wondering what ever happened to Karl Malden. Oops.

- Went out for a five mile run today and had a little runner’s road rage. I mean people on bikes and on foot have a right to the road too. I was just over a mile in and had to cross a road. Motorist turning left onto this street don’t have to make a hard turn but have a curved turning lane. At the end of this lane is a stop sign.

She was a middle aged housewife in a red midsized SUV and she never saw me coming. Fortunately, I’d spotted her a couple of hundred feet away and was perfectly aware of what was about to happen. I knew she hadn’t seen me although I don’t know how. While I’m not as big as a car, all the actuarial charts still classify me as extremely obese and I was wearing a bright red shiny shirt.  She rolled up to the sign and began to pull through without ever stopping. Had I not slowed I would have been directly in front of her car.

I did slow down and hit her passenger side door hard with both hands, stopping us both in our tracks. I considered falling to the ground and suing her but I realized I don’t know any good lawyers. Since she had no idea I was there she was quite startled. I ran in front of her car and let her know that the sign was in fact a mandatory directive and not a friendly suggestion. In doing so I used some language that was harsher than my mother or high school youth minister would have preferred.

I continued on thinking the matter closed. Now I understand we have all driven and been blissfully unaware of our surroundings. We’ve all cut people off etc. and since it is part of the human condition I have no problem when it happens. I might momentarily be angry but that is all. However, civilized humanity knows the proper response when you are involved in this situation and are in the wrong. You give a friendly wave, mouth I’m sorry and accept responsibility.

This fair lady did not follow this protocol. She rolled down her window and loudly inquired who I thought I was. She inserted the same colorful language I used in my original declarative. I told her I was the one protected by the stop sign she ran and suggested she partake in a unique form of exercise. I was able to use the salty word at issue as an noun, adjective and verb all in the same sentence. Then I ran off with one particular finger from each hand extended in a gesture of good will again thinking the matter resolved. I know its probably not what Jesus would have done but it made me feel better

She followed me, driving at my slow running speed, hurling the most hateful epitaphs out her driver’s side window. I ignored her now and soon the traffic she was holding up began to honk at her. She sped off with a final questioning of my parents marital status upon the day of my birth for good measure. Wouldn’t you know it she had an ichthus on the back of her car.

- While I’m thinking of matters of runners and cars sharing the road let me make a simple request. When you see a runner or cyclists on the road, if at all possible, change lanes to give them some room.

I never run with the flow of traffic unless there is a sidewalk. I’m just to frightened of what I can’t see from behind. On my five mile route there is a stretch of road where I’m forced to run on a very small shoulder into the flow of traffic. This road is three lanes wide. There is no sidewalk here and the ground is not level enough to run on the grass in the yards adjacent to the road.

While running this road I’ve noticed only about 20-30% of the drivers I encounter change lanes to give me room. It always makes me happy when they do. I greet them with a wave and a smile as a token of my appreciation for the space. The rest zoom on by.

I know there is no requirement to move over but if the lane is free go ahead and do it. At worst you’ll get some good karma for doing a nice thing. At best, it’ll be Steve Jobs running and he’ll be so thankful he gives you a million dollars. Most likely you’ll get a wave and a nod of thanks.

- Finally, I’d like to welcome a new friend to blogging. We’ll call him Bart. I’ve already linked to him but his site is 2000barts. He claims his site will be primarily about his new passion, rock climbing, but I doubt it. He references this but I don’t have any other friends that throw themselves into hobbies like Bart. As a result we have given him 100s of nicknames to differentiate the different people he can be. Kinda like Cybil without the mental disease or tits. All of these are great and entertaining: Youth Minister Bart and his guitar, Topshelf Bart who only drinks the best liquor and turns his nose up at lesser drinks, Rodeo Bart and his tales of bull riding and bronc busting but my runaway all-time favorite is Hypothetically Single Bart.

This persona isn’t related to a hobby but a personality trait. Bart has been married to Mrs. Bart for a long time. She’s a great woman and they have a beautiful 5 year old daughter. They married very very young. While they have had their ups and downs I think its fair to say that they are happy in their marriage now. Although, I also think they would counsel their daughter against getting hitched as young as they did. 

 Anyway, when Hypothetically Single Bart (HSB) appears the good times roll. HSB truly believes that he could hook-up with just about any hot girl, if he were single. This is not to say Bart is a scoundrel and cheats on his wife. He just thinks that he could get just about any girl. If HSB were to meet Meagan Fox he’d tell us about the connection they had. Its really not at all cocky. Its just HSB. Anyway I welcome all the various Barts and look forward to your thoughts.