Flashback Friday: Another Chance

After hitting the reset button on this year's running, a renewed sense of joy has overcome me. Dormant muscles have woken up sore, but vibrant.

A day off healed pains in my calves from runs on trails and with bare feet. Pleasant weather this weekend will provide ample motivation to make further progress on my revised goals for the year.

In an ideal world, I'll run 10 more miles before the weekend is through, but when has this ever been an ideal world? (Well, here and here are examples, but anyway ...) I'm not going to worry about hitting that 16-mile weekly goal right off the bat.

The good vibes are providing another chance to discover myself through running. My two runs this week proved that my endurance isn't so far off as first thought. Taking the miles as they come means ... er, um, oh scrap it! I've lost my train of thought.

Running, good, yay, OK?

Back Talk
Wherein challenges come from the commentators

B.o.B. throws down a quality gauntlet: "Oh snap. I smell a challenge. I'm gonna one armed push up ness too! I'm up to 0.34564. Look out!"

Answer: You're still behind my 0.5 one-armed push-ups. I can lower myself to the ground, but like a Life Call customer I can't get back up.


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

Back-to-Back ... to Back?

Yesterday's weather was too good to pass up, and so I headed out for another three-mile run around the neighborhood and in so doing tied my fastest pace of the year. That's back-to-back runs and back-to-back paces of 9:30 per mile or faster. But can I do it one more time?

Thursday has been one of my regular running days, and the after-work weather forecast calls for high 30s and partly sunny. That's a good running climate.

While running seems likely, another 9:30 mile pace doesn't. Furthermore, I'm contemplating a midweek trail run, as I've noticed the daylight has been lasting just long enough to be able to make it through the woods before it gets too dark. That is, if I go direct from the office.

My trail running pace has been more like 12 minutes per mile, so logging 9:30s, even on a flat trail, would be extremely ludicrous, especially considering my legs will likely feel tired. But speed speculations aside, another three-miler this week would put me ahead of my pre-training plan heading into another potentially busy weekend.

What'd You Say?
Have you seen the latest "Sh*t ___ Say" video?



That's Steven Sashen of Invisible Shoes fame. Remember when I reviewed those her-ra-kees? That "heel striker" comment is totally me. Cheers!

A Trio of Tunes

Today, for your listening pleasure, I've compiled the Viper's Top 3 Booze Houndsiest Christmas Songs. Yes, I love those old standards like Bing's "White Christmas," Nat singing "The Christmas Song," and Johnny Mathis on "Sleigh Ride." But my three favorite songs are more non-traditional. Except, of course, this first one ...



"Breaking Up Christmas" is an old-time fiddle tune from Southern Appalachia, which described the tradition of going from house to house to celebrate Christmastime. This is a high-test dance tune from yore. And you got to believe there was some moonshine involved. Last year, I was trying to learn to play this tune on my banjo. Here's Tommy Jarrell, a famed fiddler from Surry County, N.C.



"Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues is notable for being the prettiest song to mention "the drunk tank," "an old slut on junk," and "cheap lousy arse" in connection to Christmas. It's got hopes and dreams and love and then dashes all those sentiments to the gutter. What's not to like? Other than, say, Shane MacGowan's smile.



And finally, Tom Waits singing his "Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis" with "Silent Night" as a bookend. This song may seem like a funny tale of woe for the down and out, but it perfectly illustrates just how hard it can be to ask for help, which we all need from time to time. Remember, this is the season of giving. Cheers!

P.S., can you guess my least favorite Christmas song? I'll post it later this week.

Flashback Friday: Winded and Walking

It's embarrassing that I was walking just a half-mile into my three-miler this morning. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. As has been the case the last three weeks, I prefaced my run with sit-ups and push-ups, and now I've added stretchy-band curls to the mix.

This pre-run routine usually leaves me nicely warmed up, but it seems the additional workout went just a little too far. However, that didn't stop me from completing the same routine post-run -- after I finally made it back.

Though my mileage has been limited, I'm hoping this strength and core work will prepare me well for the early stages of marathon training, which I worry I'm not ready for after all the slacking I've been doing so far this year.

I just hope I can manage to run the full three miles next time. On tap this weekend is a longish trail run. My plan this year is to take advantage of the Buckeye Trail and run all of my long runs on this hilly terrain. The Towpath is over.



Back Talk
Wherein perhaps some skills should be left at home.

Xenia shares the frightening reality of the steamy Greek culture: "This is the culture you're marrying into: http://www.dlisted.com/2011/05/20/hot-sluts-day. Be proud."

Answer: Does this mean I need to start practicing this skill on my banjo?

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

Oh, Perfect

Just when I thought it couldn't get any awesomer, it doesn't. Nope, the awesomeness has not increased whatsoever. In fact, the International Standard Awesome Quotient has declined in the last 24 hours in light of a recently discovered cold that must have been contracted from some son of a bitch over the weekend.

My nose is a leaky faucet, yet I can't blow it to clear my sinuses. No, of course not. I feel like I feel OK enough, but I'm drowsy and feel heavy. My hands feel swelled and hot, like little brown sausages lying in the sand.

Thankfully, we all know the secret to beating bodily infections: running and whiskey. The Enthusiast is scheduled to run three miles tonight, and there's Tellamore Dew in the cabinet. Can you see the plan forming?

Nice Weather = Less Running

We've got another little warm streak going on right now. The temperature was somewhere in the mid- to high 40s last night, when I went for a creaky-limbed three miles. Today is another warm day, with highs in the 50s.

This does not bode well.

For we all know that tomorrow brings the promise of freezing temperatures and the likelihood of snow. Nice weather infuses my soul with reluctance to run in unnice weather.

I wouldn't mind running again tonight. However, I got a hot date. Will I make it out tomorrow after the rain has turned to snow and the sidewalks have turned to ice? 

I got a better idea: There's a mostly full bottle of Tullamore Dew in the cupboard, and we have yet to make mulled cider. I bet there's a better chance of cozying on the couch with a mug full of yum than there is of a treacherous run in the witch-tit cold. 

And then there's the matter of learning a new tune on my banjo before the next Shindig. I'm very close to having "Breaking Up Christmas" down.  

[Drunkard's note: Can you name the running blogger in this video?]

Why the Banjo?

According to your comments on any post where I mention it, you want to hear more about my banjo. Maybe you're just putting me on. But since I've taken an extended physical and mental break from running and don't yet have something fun to talk about concerning booze (soon, though, soon), you're stuck with this: How I started playing the banjo.

Short answer: I like it, and it's fun.

Longer answer: My first banjo was a Recording King "Songster," which I bought online in 2008. I knew nothing about banjos or how they are played, but had read some recommendations for this model as a starter banjo.

Now, if I asked you to name a banjo player, how many of you would think of Earl Scruggs first? I bet quite a few of you. I used to too. Well, wouldn't you know there's a whole method of playing the banjo called "Scruggs' style."



So that's how I tried to play when I first got my banjo: three fingers, metal finger picks. After a good six months of practicing, I stunk at the banjo. Scruggs' style is complicated, and he's really good at it. But I wasn't having fun. So my banjo sat for a while, and I started dating some chick.

But then I started to get mad at myself. I had tried to play the guitar in high school, but had given up on it too soon. I didn't want to do the same with the banjo. And you know how I'm cheap? I didn't want the banjo to be waste of money. So I started to do more research on the banjo. Maybe there was another way.

I like Scruggs OK, but that's not the banjo music that really attracted me to the instrument. The four groups that did me in were Old Crow Medicine Show, The Avett Brothers, The Carolina Chocolate Drops and Great Lake Swimmers. The Carolina Chocolate Drops stood out.



There was something about that groove. I wanted to do that.

It turns out that was called "clawhammer," a down-picking style of playing that goes back way before Scruggs and has roots in the "Stroke style" of play of the minstrel era in the 1800s. My New Year's resolution in 2009 was to get back into the banjo and learn how to clawhammer.

Within a week, I knew I had made the right choice. I already felt light years ahead of what I was doing with Scruggs' style, and I was having a hell of a lot of fun. I felt like I was actually making music -- music that is called Old Time, a predecessor to what most people confuse as Bluegrass.

By the summer of last year, I was already jonesing for a new instrument, so I started saving my money for the banjo I have now. It was made by a builder in Ohio. Aside from my car, it's the most expensive thing I own. But it's worth it.

This year, I started playing at a monthly jam, where I learned how slow I'd been playing at home. I also took a lesson from Dan Levenson, a prominent teacher and musician in the Old Time way, who gave me some pointers on how to progress and told me, "You'll be scary in a year," if I keep up my playing. So I keep playing.

Flashback Friday: In Memoriam

Sorry, no real post today. Instead, enjoy this delightful mash-up:

Requiem for a Day Off


Team BHI will return Tuesday. But fear not, teammates, Happy Hour is nearly upon us. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well.

Flashback Friday: On the Threshold

I love when seemingly random occurrences form a lattice of coincidences. Like this week, when my YakTrax review on Monday spewed forth a regurgitation of the Puke Threshold.

First, M2Marathon commented in the review that she used the same photo I did on one of her posts from last week that also contained her "Puke Threshold Treadmill Workout," which makes me want to vomit just thinking about running so intensely on such an awful machine. (She claims she didn't know my connection to the Puke Threshold.)

Later in my post's comments, Mike wrote, "I thought YakTrax were what you left behind after crossing the Puke Threshold."

That same day, Nitmos wrote about 2010 being the Year of the Ass Kicker, or YAK for short. YAK made me think of Mike's comment, which led to me writing, "I want to yak all over this post. Curiously, this week has marked the return of the Puke Threshold." Which probably led, in part, to Nitmos's post on Thursday, "Life on the Puke Threshold." In the comments of that post, Chris, whose blog I've never read, wrote, "Had you gone past the puke threshold, Yaktrax on your Asics would have an entirely different meaning." Chris's comment on Nitmos's post is almost identical to Mike's on mine.

All of these coincidences make me wonder where else the Puke Threshold has appeared online. I claim to have invented the term, but did I?

Oddly enough, "puke threshold" appeared yesterday on this forum page for the Savannah Morning News. The comment is in reference to a news piece on "White House openness." However, the Puke Threshold, as we know it, is in regards to running -- or exercise in general -- and drinking alcohol.

My research uncovered this blog post, written in August 2009, where the writer claims to have first used "puke threshold" in relation to running in high school and then later in college in relation to overconsumption of alcohol. However, we have no way to verify if this person's first usage of the term predates my first reference of it in July 2008, though it seems likely.

An online reference to the "puking threshold" that does predate my usage is this forum thread (sixth post down) on, of all things, a Volkwagon enthusiast Web site. The reference is in regards to weight lifting and was posted on June 3, 2008. (Though if the site uses European dating style, it could very well be March 6, 2008.)

Chances are that I wasn't the first to coin the Puke Threshold, but six of the top 10 results of a Google search of the term are all connected to my first reference, which has to count for something. Regardless, I'm always amazed how unconnected people can have the same thoughts in nearly the same time frame. It's like when I thought I invented "dudical."

By the way, if you go all the way back to the first sentence, you will see the phrase "lattice of coincidences." That too is not original, but from the 1984 movie Repo Man.



You see, the lattice of coincidences reveals our cosmic connection. When you reach the Puke Threshold, we all reach the Puke Threshold. So you might want to carry a barf bag the next time you go running, just in case.

One thing about the winter is it has a tendency to lower your Puke Threshold. Unless you are training for race or a professional runner, this season has knack of slowing us down and limiting our activity. Nitmos gave a prime example. I have also noticed that telltale tingling sensation just on my latest four-miler, which was by no means fast, but the added effort of running on hills, in the snow was enough to push me closer to my limits. And I must say, I miss that feeling. Pass the shrimp.

Back Talk
Wherein this already too long post gets even longer.

Xenia questions my integrity about my recent spate of reviews and wonders about my new running partner: "Since you appear to be practicing your Half Fast-esque whoring skills, can we presume there will also be a review of your new furry running partner?"

Answer: Firstly, a whore provides a service in exchange for money, and I got no money (or any sort of payola) in exchange for these reviews. My reviewed items were all purchased, either by me or as a gift to me -- and not by the manufacturer. Unlike that whore, Ian.

Secondly, Dobson has yet to run with me. Aside from getting involved with my stretching, he is still getting used to walking in a straight line when we take him out. My sources tell me I should wait until he's six months old before I start running with him.

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

Flashback Friday: Money Back Guarantees

The worst part of the New Year Reset is having to look at a fresh running log. It looks so barren, and the typical Ohio winter weather is not helping matters.

The fact is, my log looks barren because it is barren.

My only consistent log entry has been my weight, as I track the slow downsizing from the holiday feasting. One pound down, two pounds up, another pound down: a net change of 0.3 pounds.

All this talk about logs makes me think of one thing: What rolls downs stairs, alone or in pairs, and over your neighbor's dog?



It's L-O-G, bitches!

Also comes in Spanish!



Back Talk
Wherein we trash talk like old times.

Vanilla Ian isn't happy with my inspirational advice: "Actual, real advice? I want my money back."

Answer: I know how you feel. It's almost as bad as a "blogger" who only posts twice a month.

Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. And so is the latest winter storm warning. Bundle up and have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Turkey Huntin'

'He Double Gobbled'
Go on and get you a turkey!


[Drunkard's note: From the 1981 documentary Vernon, Florida by Errol Morris.]

Happy Turkey Trotting, teammates. Gobble, gobble!

Run Like a Ninja

Alternate titles for this post:
"Silent but Deadly," "Light in the Loafers"

There was one piece of advice I kept reading when I dabbled in barefoot running: Don't let your feet slap on the ground. Slapping equals too much impact, equals pain. In other words, Run Quietly.

November weather in Ohio is not conducive to running barefoot, so I have shelved that personal experiment until spring. However, just because I'm back to being a full time shod runner doesn't mean I have to abandon the lessons I've learned.

When I couldn't bear to go barefoot, I tried to make my running form and footfalls in shoes match that of when I ran without shoes. However, I soon learned that was difficult. Most modern running shoes are designed with a high heel, which forces your foot to land differently.

I became consumed with trying to land a certain way, forcing my form so that I felt tense and uncomfortable during my runs. After 10 months of injury-free running, I started to notice pain in my knees and other leg joints. Something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what. But then I opened my ears.

My feet were clopping louder than a donkey's hooves, I noticed. Have you ever been told to listen to your body? Sometimes that means literally, listen with your ears. I could hear the bad impact of running.

An epiphany: Shut up, feet.

I don't need to land with a particular part of my foot when I run; I just need to land quieter, lighter. That is the true key to injury-free running. Diminished impact equals diminished damage.

Now when I run, I try to be as silent as possible. I try to sneak up on people. I imagine I'm a stealthy ninja gliding into a room to eliminate my opponent with an equally stealthy judo chop. Because you never hear the best ninjas coming. It isn't their strength or martial arts mastery or even the array of weaponry that makes ninjas so lethal. It's their silence that makes them deadly.

But sometimes, it just takes some wicked awesome choreography.

Flashback Friday: I'm the Best Around

As you know, I'm somewhere deep in banjo country, drinking beers, touring the Carolinas on the run, and running afoul of the local customs.

In a few short hours, I'll be soaking in the hooch as I prepare to act as best man for my oldest friend's wedding tomorrow. You can imagine something to this effect:



Back Talk
Wherein I ridicule your comments from afar.

Spike is totally jealous of my painfully tight abs: "Were you doing sit-ups while eating cookies, because that would be the second most awesome think you have ever done."

Answer: I did not realize I had done something awesome previously.

Gin, Ms. V and Jess were all duped by my post last Saturday: "ZOMG!!!1! You graced us with your presence on the weekend???!!ZOINKS!?"

Answer: Someone has to think about the nerds who surf the information super highways on their off days. It's called a scheduled post: pre-written and post-dated. Just to clarify, I wrote this post on Monday.

Happy Hour is nearly upon you, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend and good luck to all you racers out there. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

For Relaxing Times ...

Exhibit: Simpler Times Lager
Origin: Minhas Craft Brewery, Monroe, Wis.
Stats: 6.2 percent ABV

Simpler Times Lager is brewed by Minhas Craft Brewery for Trader Joe's grocery store. Where I live, a six-pack of cans is $3.99. You might be saying, "Cans? Only piss beer comes in cans!" Not so. There is a little revolution in the craft brewing world where canning is the new black.

The theory goes that modernday cans don't leave the aluminum flavor that your dad's canned beers did, and canning is a much cheaper process than bottling. Some well-respected microbrewers are turning cans to provide their drinkers a cheaper buzz.

I've never tried any other Minhas brews, but the company slogan is "Damn Good Beer!" I like their swagger. However, Simpler Times Lager won't blow your doors off with its damned goodness.

It's still a light-flavored lager, but it's very drinkable. It's the kind of beer that goes well with a pizza pie. The flavor is slightly sweet and, as the label says, very simple. However, it packs a heftier punch than the other swill you might pick up at the same bargain basement price. And we all know I'm a sucker for decent, cheap beer. As one reviewer called it, Simpler Times is "recession chic."

Simpler Times is also available as a pilsner, with around 5 percent ABV, but why bother with such a weak alcohol content? Doesn't seem worth it to me.

The main problem with the beer is its exclusive location. The closest Trader Joe's to me is a good 45-minute drive. I just happened to be in the area shopping for a wedding gift. If you're in the area of a Trader Joe's and you're looking for something cheap to send you on your way to Blackout Island, pick up a couple sixers of Simpler Times Lager.

Hangover Helper

I'm still not advocating that you try barefoot running, but if you were so inclined, Southofthecliff provides a couple video tutorials on how to look and sound. At any rate, shod or unshod, a Saturday morning run is a good way to sweat out the damage you did last night at Happy Hour. Then you have all day to get drunk and root for your favorite college football teams. O-H!

Flashback Friday: Pre-Race Omen

Last Friday was the day of the Akron Marathon race expo, where I nabbed some nifty knickknacks. I took a half day off work because that night I was inexplicably going to a high school football game and otherwise would have been strapped for time.

During half time of the game, the visiting team's marching band played a mix of tunes that apparently high schoolers only recognize from something called "Guitar Hero."

The band started strong with a Bon Jovi medley of "You Give Love a Bad Name" and "Living on a Prayer." (I'm ignoring the very recognizable, post-Bad Medicine song they mixed in because give me a break that's not Bon Jovi.)

They played some newfangled rock and roll song I didn't recognize. And then they played a certain Journey song, which I took it as a good sign at the time. But looking back, maybe the uneven rendition of the song was an omen to my pacing.

The home team's band was way more entertaining.

Just Asking
Did someone run over Vanilla with a slow-moving vehicle? Seriously, where has that guy been?

Back Talk
Wherein we find joy in anatomy.

Meg Runs, much like everyone else, finds happiness in my blog: "So happy I don't have to worry about shrinking scrotums."

Answer: Expanding scrotums can be just as bad. You could trip!

Happy Hour is almost upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend and good luck to those of you with races. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

Working Hard to Get My Fill

It all starts with belief. You have to believe. I believe. In my training plan. I have run farther. I have run faster. I believe. In my race approach. I can be patient. I can be calculated. I believe. In myself. I have run this race. I have raced this strategy. I believe.

In the course of running a marathon, you have to believe. You have to believe, and you can't stop believing. Because there will be heart swells and heart aches, exhilaration and pain. But you can't stop. It goes on and on and on and on.

During the second half of my last 20-miler, the familiar thumping piano chords of an appropriate theme song floated into my mind's ear ...



Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlight, people

Don't stop

'He's Playing the Pan Beers'

We interrupt this screed (and that screed) on my marathon training principles to bring you the latest in boozing news and trends. First, we have the newest episode of Tiki Bar TV, which features one of my favorite musical instruments, the pan beers. See it below.



This past weekend, I took my Restless Leg Syndrome to the Great Lakes Brewing Co. for a pint and later I grabbed a four-pack from the same brewery at the grocer.

At the brew pub, Great Lakes had a deliciously smokey porter called Big Black Smoke, which you can't have because they only have it at the brewery so there! At the grocer, there was a four-pack of Great Lakes' newest seasonal, Glockenspiel. Both beers were excellent, but quite different from each other and from many other Great Lakes beers.

The Big Black Smoke was rich and flavorful. As a Scotch man, I love smokey flavors so this taste may not appeal to everyone. But I loved this porter and hope to see it in stores some day.

The Glockenspiel, on the other hand, was a German-style dark, unfiltered wheat beer with a deep, fruit-tinged flavor. My only complaint is the four-pack. Where are the other two beers? I'm thirsty here!

[Drunkard's note: Go pour some out for our homie.]