Gobsmacked (by the Snow, Not the Band, Thankfully)

Holy ThermaJock, teammates! You're liable to freeze your squishy nibblets off this week if you're in the path of this arctic blast. The cold is brutal. The wind is biting. The snow is relentless.

My feet are too cold just sitting here to even think about going out for a run in this weather. And my stupid toe socks still have not arrived! (Amazon, you suck!)

A look outside my office window shows only a flurry of white. The snow was kind enough to hold off until I got to work this morning. I hope I don't have to sleep here tonight, as this winter weather advisory is in effect until Wednesday.

Thankfully, there's beer in fridge and whiskey in the cupboard, a lady to cozy up to and a dog to keep our feet warm, and if we need to break out in song, I have a banjo to keep us entertained.

No News + Holiday = No Posts

Well, it's been an uneventful week. No running so far, but I'm hoping to fit in a few miles before gorging myself tomorrow. And with that, I'm calling it a blog week until Monday.



Happy Thanksgiving, my fellow Americans! Stuff your gobs with turkey and all the trimmings. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!

You're Right. Fuck it.

Yesterday, I was so full of hope. Or maybe I was just full of shit. They're very similar -- hope and shit -- you know.

Nitmos, the grammatically challenged Xenia, Ironman by Thirty Kevin, and even Barefoot Josh exposed my plan to surpass 1,000 miles this year as pointless and improbable.

Instead, I should rest on my laurels, having nailed down PRs in the 5K, half marathon and marathon. I should realize that I'm not going to run more than 3.9 miles a day for the rest of the year. I should realize that I should continue to work on my form to get better next year.

I had an epiphany that it's not the year's final mileage that makes a difference, but rather the miles logged in training leading up to my goal races. However, I'm still trying figure out what all these confusing numbers mean.

My mileage the day before the Akron Marathon this year was 747. Surprisingly, the year before it was 787. My stats for September last year are actually better in every facet but the race results this year. Comparing August stats -- the peak month of my marathon training -- I still ran more miles in August 2009 than I did this year, but I logged a higher weekly total and faster average pace, bolstered by my half marathon PR.

So what did I do differently this year? My training paces suffered because instead of running fast on the track like last year, I was running hard on the trails. My weekly mileage peaked higher this year with two more 20-milers, but I also included additional weeks when I backed off to rest. I logged 9 percent of my miles barefoot prior to the race in the effort to strengthen my legs and improve my stride. Another factor might be the change in race scheduling with the Buckeye Half Marathon moved to the end of August this year instead of two weeks before the Akron Marathon like in all previous years.

Already my thoughts are percolating ideas for my training next year, when I'll be training for the 2011 Akron Marathon amid The Enthusiast-Viper Wedding Extravaganza. Our wedding is two weeks before the race. Next year will be my fifth consecutive time running the Akron Marathon, which would give me "legacy" status. Otherwise, I might have just said, "fuck it."

Flashback Friday: Lots of Waiting

Why does everything take so long when you're waiting? It seems like all I do is wait. Wait until payday before I can buy new running shoes. Wait until fermentation is complete before I can drink my beer. Wait until I'm good before I can melt your face off with my sweet banjo playing. All wait and no action.

This feels like waiting for Godot.

This weekend is shaping up to be a busy one. The Enthusiast and I are driving up to Windsor, Ontario, for a familial event (where we'll likely have to wait to clear customs). We have to drop off Dobson at the kennel (and we'll have to wait until Monday before we can pick him up). The pre-beer should be ready to transfer to its secondary fermenter tomorrow (and then we wait another week before bottling). And I'm hoping to fit in a long run if I can (I hope it doesn't have to wait until next week).

Back Talk
Wherein we battle envy and ignorance. 

Brad is jealous of my homebrewing kit: "My wife just got me a cheap Mr.Beer kit this week for my bday to try out my hand at homebrewing. Might give it a shot this weekend. If things go well, might need to upgrade to a 'real' kit like you have."

Answer: Was this a ploy to get me to wish you a happy birthday? Well, you'll be waiting a long time for that.

Spike thinks waiting for bubbles is too complicated: "That all sounds like a ton of work. I thought it would be as simple as adding water and returning a month later."

Answer: It's not a fucking Chia Pet.

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

Post-Marathon Sickness

Don't you just kind of wait for the death cold to set in after you run a marathon? Your immune system becomes superhuman for 16 weeks while you train and then after the race the carpet is pulled out from underneath you. Germs gang tackle you like the Atlanta Falcons defense against the Cleveland Browns running backs.

I started to feel the goo poisoning my body Friday afternoon during an increasingly rare run after an early release from work. My legs felt OK, but my energy was low. Then my sinuses started to plug up while completing a marathon fall foliage tour around Medina County with the Enthusiast on Saturday. I suffered through the Browns game with barely enough Kleenex, but the task put me on my back the rest of Sunday evening. Any activity Monday was out of the question.

I'm on the mend, but my lips are chapped from all the mouth breathing. The night sweats and this headache could go away at any time.

On a positive note, I have found a new pair of running shoes. I'll let you know more about those when I actually receive them from the international superwebs.

Flashback Friday: Skip Day

If you were like me in high school or college, you'd wake up this morning and say, "Today is a skip day." (Actually, you'd wake up and be happy that you're on summer break, but that's not the point.) It's too nice out. The bed felt too good to leave. Congratulations, easy three-miler, you're my first skipped run of my marathon training cycle.

Thankfully, this is a backdown week, and an extra day of rest felt like a good idea after my fast and wonky five miles yesterday morning. What was a measly three miles going to do for me anyway? It certainly wouldn't have given me an extra half-hour of sleep.

Begrudgingly, I still had to get up for work. However, I'm only staying until 1 p.m. The Enthusiast and I are headed for a Goodtime and early Happy Hour in Cleveland.

Back in high school, my oldest friend and I would sometimes drive all the way to the campus before we decided we'd rather be truant.

One time we decided to go to the Flats to hang out for the day. We walked into the Spaghetti Warehouse for lunch and suddenly found ourselves surrounded by police.

There we were, two high school kids skipping school, eating pasta and trying to play it cool in a roomful of cops. They were none the wiser, but we couldn't wait to split town.

Looking back, I suppose Cleveland has more threatening things to worry about than a couple of gawky teenagers. But at the time, I thought we were nabbed for sure.

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

I Don't Feel Like It

That's all. Catch up with you later.

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.

Magnum Failus

Not to be confused with "Magnum Fallus" or "Magnum Phallus" or even Magnum condoms. This blog title is not a reference to our dear friend Biggus Dickus, but rather an indication about my big failure, which--OK fine--should actually be something like "Magnum Deficio," but my high school Latin classes were too long ago for such accuracy.

Bless me, runners, for I have slacked. My last run was 10 days ago. Instead, I have gift shopped, played my new banjo, holiday partied, indulged in liquid indulgence, lounged in front of a faux fireplace with the special ladyfriend, eaten too many cookies, eaten too many candies, eaten too many everything, opened a generous amount of gifts, felt somewhat guilty when some of those gifts were running related, felt less guilty after cracking open a booze related gift and looked upon a fine day for a run and opted to let this mileless streak ride. It appears that 1,000 miles will not happen this year.

Moving right along.

What'd I say up there? Oh, right, running related gifts. I got a RoadID, some reflective tape to make some of my running gear more night-worthy, Echo Kit sunglasses with interchangeable lenses (dark, yellow and clear) and Christopher McDougall's Born to Run.

That booze related gift? A fifth of Johnnie Walker Red Label. Tasty!

I hope the holiday gift-giving fairy was kind to all of you. Cheers!