Just So You Know I'm Not Making this Shit Up

I know I've been hemming and hawing about this endless winter, but a national media outlet has my back. Forbes has ranked Cleveland as America's Worst Winter Weather City. With an average temperature of 49.6 degrees, average rainfall of 38.7 inches and average snowfall of 58.9 inches, Cleveland finally ranks No. 1 in something. Hip-hip-hooray!

As for this past weekend's snowstorm, no, it was not the final blow. It's been snowing all day. And it will continue snowing for the next couple days. The Weather Channel predicts another six to 12 inches of snow accumulation for northern Ohio.

Running may be sporadic, if evident at all.

Boozing is more likely.

Race Report: Frostbitten and Canceled

Was this the final blow?

I awoke Saturday morning with my prediction ready, only to discover a text from Martini, saying that the Frostbite Prediction Run was canceled. The notice was confirmed on Facebook and later on the race Web site.

My prediction didn't get a chance to be proven false like the weather forecasters, who predicted we'd get three to six inches of snow. Instead, we got 11 to 13 inches, and there was still a winter advisory in effect on race day morning.

I was so ready for that race to get my running jumpstarted. I was even ready to blast you all for predicting I'd run anything other than my goal of 26:34. Did you all not understand that the only way for me to win this race is to come in at exactly my predicted time? It's called reading comprehension, people!

Instead, I went bargain shopping and picked up a new winter running hat (a high-visibility, neon yellow Carhartt watch cap with a reflective label) and then I found this for $8 ...


A Trav-L Bar (ca. 1970), complete with four cocktail glasses, two shot glasses, a serving tray, mixing spoon, bottle opener and recipe book. Perfect for the Booze Hound on the go or for post-race hydration.

Flashback Friday: Mecca Lecca Hi ...

Tomorrow is the opening of Team BHI's race season, and boy are we ill-prepared. I've barely run nine miles in the last two weeks. I haven't cracked a 10-minute mile pace since Jan. 23. Hell, I haven't even registered yet, costing me another $5 for race-day sign-up. And now, I have to guess my time to win tomorrow's Frostbite Prediction Run.

The closest I have come to predicting my finish time is 49 seconds. Historically, I have always underestimated myself. Except for that time I got screwed when the race directors surreptitiously changed the distance from four miles to a 5-K. No, I'm not still bitter about that. Why do you ask?

The course is a double loop through a park, covering mostly asphalt walkways and roads, but also includes a brief stretch through a field. In the past, the ground has been iced over, and I doubt this year will be any different.

Last year, I used Nitmos's totally flawed race prediction formula and lost. This year, I will try a new tactic. My prediction is based off the averages of my recent fastest pace (9:15 on a four-miler), my last two paces for this race (9:04 and 8:39) and my PR pace (7:14).

Race Forecast: 23 degrees, 70 percent chance of snow, 14 mph wind from the East
Race Prediction: 26:34

Back Talk
Wherein this post is already too long so let's get on with it already.

Jess thinks Dobson the Straggler went to the vet to socialize: "Hope he's had all his vaccinations if you're taking him to the dog park. Especially his rabies vaccine."

Answer: We didn't just to him to the vet to ask about running. Dobson got his last round of puppy shots and his rabies vaccine. He got his rabbis vaccine too.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Straggler

The vet said two miles, so we did two miles. I figured after Dobson was maliciously forced into doing four miles a week ago that he'd fly through two miles. Not so.

Throughout much of our attempted quick jaunt around the block, Dobson lagged behind me, only occasionally bolting ahead of me as we ran. When he dropped a load after a mile, I figured that was what was slowing his pace. Again, not so.

Perhaps the pup was still tuckered out from his first visit to the local dog park yesterday morning. In an effort to fend off our neighbors' complaints, the Enthusiast and I are trying to release Dobson's energy in ways that don't involve him bounding across the hardwood floor in our apartment. The dog park is a blessing.

I was hoping we could log sub-10:00 miles. Not so.

Remember Why I Started Running

Not that I should be surprised about that ugly little rodent predicting six more weeks of winter. We don't really have much of a choice, considering it is literally six more weeks until the spring equinox.

No, it wasn't a surprise, but the beginning of February is always a harsh reminder of how much longer we have to wait until going outside isn't such a chore. To top it off, this month typically hits us with at least one final wicked wintry blow. February is the most dreadful of months. And the first half of March isn't so great either.

This is why I started running back in 2006. Cabin fever had left me ravaged, and there was no end in sight. My apartment felt cramped. I felt sluggish. It seemed like I hadn't been outside in eons.

And fuck! Why was it so cold?

My plan was combat the S.A.D. with outside activity -- namely, running. I breathed out a cloud that was thicker than those smoke-filled exhalations I had given up for good a couple months prior. The dense cloud of breath hung in the air and joined the morning fog. (Yes, I even went out in the morning for my first run.)

I wore a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants, a T-shirt under a heavy sweatshirt, a skull cap, scarf, gloves and a pair of Etonic tennis shoes (as in, court shoes) that were too small. I ran for what I thought was two miles, but I think I was way off when I measured it later.

I returned home, having created a trail of fog as I panted from the effort. Little spots flashed before my eyes like I had just murdered a small colony of brain cells. I was lightheaded like whoa. My friend Martini talked about running like it was an addiction, and I suddenly knew why.

A couple weeks later, I started training for my first 10-K. A year later I was in the middle of training for my first half marathon. Four months after that, I would run my first marathon. Now, almost four years after that first run, I look back in search of motivation.

Not a Dog Killer After All

Dobson doesn't have such a bad owner, as it turns out. The Enthusiast and I took him to the veterinarian on Saturday, and I asked about running. Thankfully, the vet is also a runner. He gave me the yellow light, which I first interpreted as go really fast and stretch the distance. In actuality, I can proceed with caution, running with the pup for one to two miles at a time until his growth plates fuse.

This was welcome news, but it won't put much of a dent in my weekly mileage. I had another big fall-off after two solid 20-mile weeks. Not a stellar way to finish off the first month of the year. C'est la vie.

Here is January's statistical rundown:

• Total Miles: 53 miles (11 runs)
• Highest Weekly: 21 miles
  
• Average Weekly: 13.8 miles
  
• Average Pace: 10:22.8 per mile
  
• Longest/Fastest Run: 8 miles, 10:29 pace
  
• The Monthly Dif: +25 miles (28 miles in December)

My goal for the year is to average 20 miles per week. So far, not so good. I have lots of work to do, especially now that racing season is about to begin.

Flashback Friday: Predictably Out of Shape

A week from today, I'll be posting about my first race--or at least, that's my plan. The Frostbite Prediction Run is Saturday, Feb. 6, and Martini and I will likely be running this for the fourth time in as many years.

I have yet to sign up, but that's about par for the course. I also don't feel very fit, which is also typical. Despite my incredible lack of speed and endurance, this race is still my best shot at actually winning a race this year.

For those of you unschooled in the ways of a prediction run, the winner is not the runner who crosses the line first. Instead, all racers try to predict their finish time before the race and try to match that time without the aid of a timing device. Those of you addicted to your Garmins would have to sit this one out, I presume.

This race has been a 5-K for the past couple years, but I wouldn't put it past those dastardly race directors at the Summit Athletic Running Club to change it up on me without warning like they did two years ago.

I never have high expectations for this race (except to win), but it has always gotten me back into the training season. I hope it will do the same again this year.

Back Talk
Wherein I get revenge for those comments about my poor choice in climate and lack of telecommunications savvy.

Tricia knows not of this cold and winter of which I spoke, nor of this punctuation stuff: "I'm pretty sure 'winter' doesnt exist here in South Florida."

Answer: Great, another Floridian to mock me when it's cold and then whine when it's too hot and humid. This one either loves Cormac McCarthy or doesn't know how to use apostrophes.

Sun Runner is more appalled at my technology deficiencies than she is about the possible permanent damage I may have done to Dobson: "What's this 'no internet at home' stuff? What century do you live in? Or are you secretly Amish and live in Middlefield?"

Answer: Just because I have a beard doesn't mean I'm Amish. But you're not the first to make this joke. It's not that I don't have Internet at home, I just didn't have access to it after work that day. Also, I'm a Luddite.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Now I Feel Like a Bad Pet Owner

Well, we both made it out alive, after Dobson and I ran together for the first time. We drove over to Sand Run for a chilly four-miler. I was happy with how well he did on his first run, but today after seeing Al's and Mike's comments I'm feeling like a bad dog owner.

Here are all the things I did wrong according to Al and the New York Times article that Mike linked to:

• I ran with a dog that is too young
• I ran with a dog in very cold temperatures
• I ran with a dog longer than two miles
• I ran with a dog whose instinct is to herd
• I ran with a dog before asking a veterinarian first

Unfortunately, both Al and Mike didn't comment until after 5 p.m. EST, when I leave work and no longer have access to the Internet. There was no way for me to read these cautionary comments, and I blame them for any ill affects Dobson may have suffered.

Almost Destroyed Knees
Dobson did a good job staying at my side or ahead of me. For the most part. The Enthusiast and I have worked with him on the "heel" command, and he seems to get it during our walks. However, he's a puppy and has his lapses.

On occasion, Dobson would decide to switch sides and cut right in front of me, forcing me to try a surprise hurdle. One of us better learn to deal with this problem or one of us is going to have a catastrophic knee injury.

A Shitty Way to Run
Dobson took a dump almost halfway through our run. Like a good dog owner, I picked up his turds with a plastic bag. Then I realized we wouldn't pass a trashcan for another three-quarters of a mile. Running with a bag of poop. That's a new one.

Out of Breath
I never noticed Dobson panting, but I still gave him a couple walk breaks to make sure I didn't wear him out. On the contrary, I was probably more out of breath than he was. I was constantly giving him commands or encouragement, like, "heel," "come on," "good boy," "heel, boy," "no," "heel," "come on, boy," "good boy," and so forth.

Other Dogs
Passing other dogs was an experiment. However, Dobson did a good job of quickly getting over the desire to stop and smell butts. The only time this was a major challenge was an area of the path that was very narrow. I stopped, sat Dobson down, and let the other dog runner pass.

Other Runners
Sometimes I had to remind Dobson that I was the runner he was supposed to stay next to. When other runners would pass in the opposite direction, he wanted to follow them. However, we totally owned a runner who turned around at a mile marker just ahead of us. I didn't want to pass her, but she was just too damned slow. Dobson pulled a little to catch up to her. I was worried what he might do. But when we passed, we passed with authority. Does that mean she got dogged?

Addressing the Wrongs
And so I was wrong, despite a pretty good run. (We negative split!) I deviated from my own plan to wait until Dobson was six months old, and now I learn that I should have waited even longer than that (two years, according to the aforementioned article).

The temperature was definitely in the 20s when we went out. However, he's an Old English Sheepdog and has never exhibited any fear of the cold. He didn't seem to be ill affected by the temperature of the air or the ground.

I made him run longer than I probably should have, but I hope the walk breaks helped. Dobson's herding instinct was only a problem a couple times, but I attribute that to his own inexperience. With training, I think he'll be a good running partner. Regardless, we have vet appointment this weekend, and I plan to ask about all of these concerns.

Heel, Boy, Heel

Will I still think he's cute after his first run?

Well, today might be the day. Yesterday's onslaught of new snow, freezing temperatures and general malaise sapped my motivation to run. However, I would like to run today. But I have to watch the dog. Maybe I could watch him run.

Dobson has never run with me. I originally planned to wait until he is six months old, but his seemingly boundless energy of late causes me to think that maybe he could handle a four-miler. Of course if I'm wrong, I might be in store for a long cold walk back to the apartment (or car, depending where I go).

In addition to Dobson's inexperience, I have never run with a dog. I have this fear that he will spot a squirrel, which is a new obsession of his, and dart after it, looping behind my back, catapulting his 40-pound frame toward the unfortunate animal (or the tree trunk it escapes to), and wrenching my arm clean off from the shoulder. I hope he trips me instead. Wish me luck.

It's Back

The snow. The cold. The inhumanity of something altogether inhuman: the weather.

It amazes me how long it takes to acclimate to the cold, and how quickly that acclimation evaporates during an all-too-brief warm spell.

I ran in shorts this weekend. I wouldn't do that for the shortest of runs today. Or anytime in the forecastable future. And it's going to take a blizzard of motivation to get me out there this evening.

Three cheers for winter! ... anyone?