June started off well, but then went straight off a cliff. Running dissolved into the abyss. Workouts transmogrified into championship-caliber couch surfing.
Hopes of my fortune shifting upon the receipt of a pull-up bar as a birthday gift turned to ash when the contraption wouldn't fit in any of our antique doorways. Instead of spending the weekend on a pull-up and chin-up binge, there was an onslaught of heavy foods, dessert, beers and even a shot of Irish whisky as if this were the birthday celebrations of yore.
As a sharp contrast to my bacchanalian pursuits over the weekend, my old friend Martini was running his first 100-mile race, finishing in 30-some hours. If that doesn't make you feel like slug, I don't know what will.
Like the majority of this month, the weekend was devoid of exercise. Progress has regressed. Healthy behavior ist nicht. But like most of this year, I'm following a great month of running with a bad one. The cycle continues.
And so let's back it up a bit. As you all know, but clearly ignored, my birthday was Friday.
Thursday, Mrs. Viper and I took the day off work to visit the Cleveland Museum of Art, and then we got dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. It was nice to get to spend a whole day together without any other obligations.
Friday, I went to work and then wondered what the hell I was doing at work on my birthday, so I took the afternoon off and spent it trying (and failing) to get my car to pass E-Check. It's at the mechanic getting a new exhaust pipe, and there goes my birthday money. After a frustrating day, the wife and I enjoyed take-out burgers from Swenson's and decadent desserts from a specialty grocer, where I also got a growler of ReHive Ale to wash away the aggravation.
Saturday was a day of errands and chores while Mrs. Viper was at work. I went to the library, got my hair cut, picked up Father's Day gifts and wrapping paper, bought coffee beans and cleaned up around the house a little before we met my family for dinner at the bar of my youth. They had my old favorite Ommegang Rare Vos on tap, and I got to spin the wheel for a random shot as my free birthday drink. I got lucky with Jameson, rather than something like the Sweaty Mexican I got for my 21st birthday spin. My lovely wife played designated driver.
Sunday was time for the in-laws, where we finished up our poor eating weekend with fried chicken and pie. Mrs. Viper and I returned home to relax the evening away on the couch watching TV while I tried (and failed) to finish off the growler. We were both feeling the need to get back to exercising.
Today I'm researching DIY options for installing a pull-up bar in my basement. Any suggestions are welcome.
Showing posts with label Flag Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flag Day. Show all posts
Monday, June 17, 2013
Monday, June 18, 2012
10 Days
When last we heard from our hero, he was dispersing trail running propaganda that some found useful in a retrospective kind of way. Then he vanished.
The rain soaked the parched earth Sunday morning. The agenda called for 10 miles. Amid getting dressed to run out to grab some breakfast for his wife and himself, the bed frame lurched in front of his knee. He cried out in pain. A bruise had begun to form. The stairs felt like murder. The agenda could go right to hell.
The week ending June 10 ended a weeklong vacation from running as a prelude to this aborted start to marathon training. Last week's planned runs started off fine, but the birthday weekend became too busy to fit in all the intended mileage. And then there was that damned kneecapping at the proverbial hands of an instrument of rest.
"Perhaps this is kismet," our hero considered, while stuffing his face with two cupcakes leftover from Saturday's birthday/Father's Day party.
Lately, doubt had crept into his mind. Although he had a couple good weeks of running recently, the thought of training for another PR effort at the Akron Marathon seemed almost too burdensome.
Friday's run was shorter than planned, but the time was too tight to tack on the remaining distance -- and the heat had already drained his energy. Saturday's run never fit into the schedule, as chores and errands filled the day's docket.
Suddenly, a week that started off well to begin the requisite 16-week training cycle was nearly over without those running goals accomplished.
Does our hero have the mentality to undergo another run at a sub-four-hour marathon?
The reality of being a working stiff with a woman to keep happy has always been a challenge, but the addition of maintaining a house on top of that seems too daunting to overcome. And damn does that knee hurt.
Should he take a year off from the marathon?
Too late for that. This is the 10th anniversary of the Akron Marathon, and the commemorative medallion looks too cool to pass up. The wife has assembled a relay team so that she too can experience the excitement of Akron's big race day. There's no turning back.
Perhaps the training plan needs to change to accommodate a busier lifestyle. The PR year of 2010 featured a five-day-per-week schedule, but that has been difficult to manage so far this year. It's time to go back the drawing board and craft a regimen that features fewer days, but similar weekly mileage totals.
What say you, dear readers? How have you managed training for success with tougher schedules?
The rain soaked the parched earth Sunday morning. The agenda called for 10 miles. Amid getting dressed to run out to grab some breakfast for his wife and himself, the bed frame lurched in front of his knee. He cried out in pain. A bruise had begun to form. The stairs felt like murder. The agenda could go right to hell.
The week ending June 10 ended a weeklong vacation from running as a prelude to this aborted start to marathon training. Last week's planned runs started off fine, but the birthday weekend became too busy to fit in all the intended mileage. And then there was that damned kneecapping at the proverbial hands of an instrument of rest.
"Perhaps this is kismet," our hero considered, while stuffing his face with two cupcakes leftover from Saturday's birthday/Father's Day party.
Lately, doubt had crept into his mind. Although he had a couple good weeks of running recently, the thought of training for another PR effort at the Akron Marathon seemed almost too burdensome.
Friday's run was shorter than planned, but the time was too tight to tack on the remaining distance -- and the heat had already drained his energy. Saturday's run never fit into the schedule, as chores and errands filled the day's docket.
Suddenly, a week that started off well to begin the requisite 16-week training cycle was nearly over without those running goals accomplished.
Does our hero have the mentality to undergo another run at a sub-four-hour marathon?
The reality of being a working stiff with a woman to keep happy has always been a challenge, but the addition of maintaining a house on top of that seems too daunting to overcome. And damn does that knee hurt.
Should he take a year off from the marathon?
Too late for that. This is the 10th anniversary of the Akron Marathon, and the commemorative medallion looks too cool to pass up. The wife has assembled a relay team so that she too can experience the excitement of Akron's big race day. There's no turning back.
Perhaps the training plan needs to change to accommodate a busier lifestyle. The PR year of 2010 featured a five-day-per-week schedule, but that has been difficult to manage so far this year. It's time to go back the drawing board and craft a regimen that features fewer days, but similar weekly mileage totals.
What say you, dear readers? How have you managed training for success with tougher schedules?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Way Not to Wish Me a Happy Birthday, Jerks
With the exception of Barefoot Josh, you guys are all failures. You should have known that yesterday was Flag Day, my birthday. Yet, not a single one of you (again, except Josh) wished me a happy birthday. I'm hurt, offended and pissed off.
Clearly, my happiness is dependent on the number of reader comments I get, and you guys showed yourselves to be big ol' jerks. And Josh, he actually said "Bappy Hirthday," so I'm not sure I should totally let him off the hook.
Yesterday, I took the holiday, slept in, went for a shorter-than-anticipated run around the neighborhood and then drove out to Mount Vernon, Ohio, with the Enthusiast.
My run was a barefoot four-miler around the neighborhood. I decided to see what happened when I pushed it, and the results weren't spectacular. Not only was I slow, but my feet were very tender afterward from pushing off too much. Every time I think I'm getting to a point where I think I could run a 5-K race barefoot, I learn how difficult that would be in actuality.
Mount Vernon was enjoyable. We were antiquing for wedding things and looking for grave sites. The small city was the home of Dan Emmett, minstrel musician and acknowledged as the author of the song "Dixie," who died in 1904. However, some people believe Emmett learned the tune from a local black family, the Snowdens.
While the Enthusiast and I were able to find Emmett's grave in Mound View Cemetery, we couldn't find the burial site of Ben and Lew Snowden, whose grave marker declares "They taught 'Dixie' to Dan Emmett." The story of how the Snowdens may have influenced Emmett is told in Way Up North in Dixie, by Howard and Judith Sacks, an enthralling read for those interested in early American music.
Clearly, my happiness is dependent on the number of reader comments I get, and you guys showed yourselves to be big ol' jerks. And Josh, he actually said "Bappy Hirthday," so I'm not sure I should totally let him off the hook.
Yesterday, I took the holiday, slept in, went for a shorter-than-anticipated run around the neighborhood and then drove out to Mount Vernon, Ohio, with the Enthusiast.
My run was a barefoot four-miler around the neighborhood. I decided to see what happened when I pushed it, and the results weren't spectacular. Not only was I slow, but my feet were very tender afterward from pushing off too much. Every time I think I'm getting to a point where I think I could run a 5-K race barefoot, I learn how difficult that would be in actuality.
Mount Vernon was enjoyable. We were antiquing for wedding things and looking for grave sites. The small city was the home of Dan Emmett, minstrel musician and acknowledged as the author of the song "Dixie," who died in 1904. However, some people believe Emmett learned the tune from a local black family, the Snowdens.
While the Enthusiast and I were able to find Emmett's grave in Mound View Cemetery, we couldn't find the burial site of Ben and Lew Snowden, whose grave marker declares "They taught 'Dixie' to Dan Emmett." The story of how the Snowdens may have influenced Emmett is told in Way Up North in Dixie, by Howard and Judith Sacks, an enthralling read for those interested in early American music.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday Tasting: Snaring the Monster
After falling for a red herring last week in the search for Lake Erie Monster, I had to track the beastly beer all the way back to its lair at Great Lakes Brewery.
Mmm ... nice lacing!
The Enthusiast and I had met my sibling and family at the Cleveland Zoo and headed to the Great Lakes brewpub for dinner (bratwurst and pirogies). And, of course, to finally sample Lake Erie Monster from the tap.
This unfiltered Imperial IPA has vibrant tinges of grapefruit. The hop bitterness tantalizes the taste buds beneath the citrusy sweetness. It is a smooth, yet full-bodied ale that gives no hint of its 9.1 percent ABV until its too late. I downed my first round and was halfway through my second when I realized, "Hey, maybe I should slow down so I can drive home."
I had actually snared the Monster in bottle form at the local fancypants grocer on Saturday as we watched Team USA not lose to England in their first game of the World Cup.
My first taste of the Monster was quite enjoyable. However, I pulled a Pepsi Challenge and drank a bottle at home after sampling it on draught at the brewery. It tasted like a totally different beer. The IBU profile seems to jump up from tap to bottle. The hops really punch through, nearing my too-hoppy boundary. Perhaps the Monster would be another good candidate for my first attempt at cellaring a beer.
At a Glance
[Drunkard's note: The Booze Hounds Beer Rating scale (0-5 Hiccups) is based on a complex mathematical formula that would be impossible to explain to such a dunderheaded audience. Let's just say the higher the score, the more likely I am to drink it again. Natty Light would get a zero.]
Mmm ... nice lacing!The Enthusiast and I had met my sibling and family at the Cleveland Zoo and headed to the Great Lakes brewpub for dinner (bratwurst and pirogies). And, of course, to finally sample Lake Erie Monster from the tap.
This unfiltered Imperial IPA has vibrant tinges of grapefruit. The hop bitterness tantalizes the taste buds beneath the citrusy sweetness. It is a smooth, yet full-bodied ale that gives no hint of its 9.1 percent ABV until its too late. I downed my first round and was halfway through my second when I realized, "Hey, maybe I should slow down so I can drive home."
I had actually snared the Monster in bottle form at the local fancypants grocer on Saturday as we watched Team USA not lose to England in their first game of the World Cup.
My first taste of the Monster was quite enjoyable. However, I pulled a Pepsi Challenge and drank a bottle at home after sampling it on draught at the brewery. It tasted like a totally different beer. The IBU profile seems to jump up from tap to bottle. The hops really punch through, nearing my too-hoppy boundary. Perhaps the Monster would be another good candidate for my first attempt at cellaring a beer.
At a Glance
- Who: Lake Erie Monster (Great Lakes Brewing Co.)
- What: 9.1 percent ABV, Imperial IPA, 12-ounce bottle, draught
- When: June 12-14, 2010
- Where: Home, Great Lakes Brewpub
- Why: I am Ahab, only better
[Drunkard's note: The Booze Hounds Beer Rating scale (0-5 Hiccups) is based on a complex mathematical formula that would be impossible to explain to such a dunderheaded audience. Let's just say the higher the score, the more likely I am to drink it again. Natty Light would get a zero.]
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Drink, Recovery, Run, Drink, Recovery Run
Success! Last you heard, I was preparing my liver and legs for a series of powerful performances for the Flag Day weekend. I wanted to make sure I got my birthday drinks in, but I didn't want to miss any training runs.
Friday evening was a gathering of my cronies at the local, cheap Mexican eatery, Mariachi Coco's. I ordered myself a giant Dos Equis as everyone arrived. I ate a bean burrito and rice to lay down as good of a base as possible before the sponsored drinks started to arrive.
First was another giant Dos Equis. Then the restaurant staff filed behind me with a sombrero. One of them placed a shot of tequila before me as the group sang "Feliz Cumpleaños." Within minutes of downing the complimentary shot, the erratic epicurean bought me another. And then the Martini bought me a third.
Flashforward to more good times. The erratic epicurean invited the 12 or so of us to her place for an aftermath party. Martini got me again with a flask full of Bushmills, while I revisited the goodness of Great Lakes Glockenspiel. From there, it was only a hop, skip and a jump to Blackout Isle.
Saturday morning disappeared mostly before I awoke, killing my hopes of running that morning. Plans took me to Cleveland for an artsy parade and an afternoon baseball game. I took the hair of a dog that didn't bite me with a late lunch at the Winking Lizard downtown. After Albert Pujols single-handedly beat the Clevelanders, I was ready to run.
I got home at about half past eight, quickly changed into my running gear and headed out to Sand Run for five miles at eight to nine-minute miles. Darkness consumed the park and I felt like a drunkard as I misstepped my way along the crushed limestone path. I finished the run with an average pace of 8:36 per mile.
Sunday was the big day. Lots of plans -- both known and unknown -- filled my afternoon and evening. I had to get my long run done that morning with less than 12 hours of rest. I ran 10 miles in the Cleveland Metro Parks and absolutely killed it. I finished with a 9:02-per-mile pace, a two-minute negative split and a final mile of 7:50.
The rest of Sunday was filled with relaxing, barbecuing and surprise birthday partying, which was orchestrated by the polka-dotted queen of secrets herself. We partied into the late hours, and I was happy I had at the last minute decided to take a vacation day Monday.
I slept in yesterday and got some errands done before heading out for a three-mile recovery run.
After a weekend of serious drinking and strong running, today, my liver and my legs are taking a break. Cheers!
Friday evening was a gathering of my cronies at the local, cheap Mexican eatery, Mariachi Coco's. I ordered myself a giant Dos Equis as everyone arrived. I ate a bean burrito and rice to lay down as good of a base as possible before the sponsored drinks started to arrive.
First was another giant Dos Equis. Then the restaurant staff filed behind me with a sombrero. One of them placed a shot of tequila before me as the group sang "Feliz Cumpleaños." Within minutes of downing the complimentary shot, the erratic epicurean bought me another. And then the Martini bought me a third.
Flashforward to more good times. The erratic epicurean invited the 12 or so of us to her place for an aftermath party. Martini got me again with a flask full of Bushmills, while I revisited the goodness of Great Lakes Glockenspiel. From there, it was only a hop, skip and a jump to Blackout Isle.
Saturday morning disappeared mostly before I awoke, killing my hopes of running that morning. Plans took me to Cleveland for an artsy parade and an afternoon baseball game. I took the hair of a dog that didn't bite me with a late lunch at the Winking Lizard downtown. After Albert Pujols single-handedly beat the Clevelanders, I was ready to run.
I got home at about half past eight, quickly changed into my running gear and headed out to Sand Run for five miles at eight to nine-minute miles. Darkness consumed the park and I felt like a drunkard as I misstepped my way along the crushed limestone path. I finished the run with an average pace of 8:36 per mile.
Sunday was the big day. Lots of plans -- both known and unknown -- filled my afternoon and evening. I had to get my long run done that morning with less than 12 hours of rest. I ran 10 miles in the Cleveland Metro Parks and absolutely killed it. I finished with a 9:02-per-mile pace, a two-minute negative split and a final mile of 7:50.
The rest of Sunday was filled with relaxing, barbecuing and surprise birthday partying, which was orchestrated by the polka-dotted queen of secrets herself. We partied into the late hours, and I was happy I had at the last minute decided to take a vacation day Monday.
I slept in yesterday and got some errands done before heading out for a three-mile recovery run.
After a weekend of serious drinking and strong running, today, my liver and my legs are taking a break. Cheers!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Flashback Friday: Secure the Picnic Tables!
Gentle readers, if a mushroom cloud of doom shall rise in the Midwest this weekend, pay no mind. Remember that tomorrow is Flag Day and that a certain bag of bones will be up to no good as of today at 5 p.m. EST in celebration of the last year of his almost-30s.I will accept your prayers, if those prayers save me from lawful intercepts.
Last month, I mused on nearing the end of my first age group, which then led to a reality check that maybe getting older isn't so bad as it seems. In fact, I'm not worried about getting old. And even more in fact, in terms of running, I'm quite young.
According to my sources, runner's peak after 10 years. I've only been running for two. I'm no math major, but by my calculations I have eight more years of improved running ahead of me. However, I have only one more chance to nab first place in my age group at my best race.
Last year, hungover, I posted a 10K PR of 53:21, good enough for second in the 25-29'ers. This year I'm shooting for a sub-50:00. Will that be good enough for first?
All this looking back and forth has got me dizzy. And I'm not focusing on the immediate task ahead. I must prepare for Happy Hour. If you would like to donate your liver to this greater cause, then please say so in the comments.
p00p Update
Now that we have our minds off the toilet, I thought you'd be interested to know that the coworker who was using the MASTER CLEANSE gave up as of 7 p.m. last night. I guess she no longer gives a crap about her bodily toxins. (Or maybe now she can give a crap?)
Run well and drink well this weekend, teammates. Cheers and good luck!
Drunkard's Update: Oops, forgot one other thing. I told my dad I'm boycotting Father's Day since it interferes with my birthday. However, that doesn't mean you fathers out there shouldn't enjoy a fine a day. Just as long as it doesn't interfere with my drinking. Happy Father's Day.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Flag Day with a Vengence
The capper to this weekend's annual Flag Day celebration was when the two drunks decided they needed a picnic table. Last call had kicked them out of the bar, but the fun was not over. She said let's take it, and he grabbed a side. They wobbled it about 50 yards when a police cruiser drove past and made a U-turn.
They tried to walk away casually, but the officer was having none of that. He ran their licenses and told them to take it back. A man on his cell phone narrated the scene to the person on the other line. Had the drunks made him move when they took the table? The police officer berated the two, called them the "scum of the Earth" and asked them how old they needed to get before they stopped doing this sort of thing. Was this a veiled wish for a happy birthday? He let them go, but said there would be trouble if they were spotted again.
From Thursday through Sunday, the viper struck and struck and struck again, racking up large bar tabs and running amok. Some how, running stayed on schedule.
Mileage: 16 (6 Thursday, 10 Sunday)
Tab: 1 pitcher Labatt Blue, 1 pitcher Stella Artois, 1 pitcher Great Lakes Dortmunder, 2 shots Jameson ... (memory burn) ... 1 hefty pour of Bushmills in next morning's coffee ... 12 pack Labatt Blue, 12 pack Warsteiner velum (the lighter variety), 1 pitcher Labatt Blue ... (more memory burn) ... run in with police ... Bloody Mary next morning ... 3 Labatt Blue bottles, ~1/3 bottle Johnnie Walker Red Label ... 1 Magic Hat #9 22 oz., 2 Miller Lights (disclaimer: at Cleveland Indians game), 1 Great Lakes Burning River bottle, 1 Labatt Blue pint.
A Drunk's Operation
It appears that gastric bypass surgery will make you a much cheaper date. Doctors have concluded that having the procedure will reduce your tolerance. Those who have had the operation can get legally drunk on one glass of wine. (Source)
So, does insurance cover this?
They tried to walk away casually, but the officer was having none of that. He ran their licenses and told them to take it back. A man on his cell phone narrated the scene to the person on the other line. Had the drunks made him move when they took the table? The police officer berated the two, called them the "scum of the Earth" and asked them how old they needed to get before they stopped doing this sort of thing. Was this a veiled wish for a happy birthday? He let them go, but said there would be trouble if they were spotted again.
From Thursday through Sunday, the viper struck and struck and struck again, racking up large bar tabs and running amok. Some how, running stayed on schedule.
Mileage: 16 (6 Thursday, 10 Sunday)
Tab: 1 pitcher Labatt Blue, 1 pitcher Stella Artois, 1 pitcher Great Lakes Dortmunder, 2 shots Jameson ... (memory burn) ... 1 hefty pour of Bushmills in next morning's coffee ... 12 pack Labatt Blue, 12 pack Warsteiner velum (the lighter variety), 1 pitcher Labatt Blue ... (more memory burn) ... run in with police ... Bloody Mary next morning ... 3 Labatt Blue bottles, ~1/3 bottle Johnnie Walker Red Label ... 1 Magic Hat #9 22 oz., 2 Miller Lights (disclaimer: at Cleveland Indians game), 1 Great Lakes Burning River bottle, 1 Labatt Blue pint.
A Drunk's Operation
It appears that gastric bypass surgery will make you a much cheaper date. Doctors have concluded that having the procedure will reduce your tolerance. Those who have had the operation can get legally drunk on one glass of wine. (Source)
So, does insurance cover this?
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