Flashback Friday: I'M BACK (No I'm Not)

What? Where am I? What year is this? Who has awoken me from my peaceful cryogenic sleep? Someone get me a fucking drink.

Hello, my name is Viper. It has been two years, two months and a day since my last post. Let's first dispel the idea that I'm returning. No. I am not. But let me tell you something, there will be one more post after this one. And it's going to be a crummy commercial.

I guess it's fitting that this post arrives while you're all recovering from your St. Patrick's Day hangovers. While you had kegs and eggs, I ate a green cookie for breakfast on my way to work.

This post is just to see if anyone still remembers me. You see, I still run another blog that you wouldn't stop midway through your routine three-miler to deposit two shits into that nasty portable toilet along the side of the running path to acknowledge the existence of this said other blog. Yet every time I log into the Blogger dashboard, two things bother me.

One is that my total posts to the Booze Hounds Inc. Running Team sits at 1,098. Two entries shy of a nice round 1,100. Make that ONE shy, now.

Second, you idiots still visit this long dormant site. As of this writing, there were 414 pageviews here last month. Dude, did you not realize it's been like 789 days since I last wrote anything about running or drinking? Come on! You're better than this.

There are other bloggers out there still producing what I assume is quality content. I wouldn't know because contrary to what I promised in my last post and because as you would totally expect I have not been keeping up with any of my old running blogger comrades. But still, just take a look at the handy list of overrated bloggers I've compiled down and to the right of the page. Those people just wrote something. I have not, except for this. And one other thing coming soon. But that's it. Find your blogging content elsewhere.

What's coming soon is an obligatory review of a product I just got for free because my clout as a blogger is still way bigger than yours even when I haven't written jackshit in forever. The last time I ran it was to catch up to my two-year-old during a walk around the block (testing said product in the process). Yeah, remember when the Viper family had a baby? He's a crazy toddler now. Time flies and makes you feel old as shit.

The only time I ever go for a proper run is when I have to travel for work. I thought things were really turning around last month when I managed three runs (two of which were when I was in Houston for a conference) and logged eight whole miles. I even started up a 2016 running log to track all my stats. I was averaging a tepid 12:37 per mile. I thought this is it. I'm back.

Yeah. No. Haven't run since February 11. Maybe I'll run more now that time has sprung ahead and there's more daylight after I get off work. You should probably hold your breath until that happens. Ready? Go!

Matching My Worst

My three-miler last night ensured that I wouldn't mark a new low monthly mileage. At worst, I'll match October's 10 miles. However, the cold weather is making even the shortest runs a challenging feat for my poor feet. 

My street is one of those side roads that the snowplows ignore. My Vibrams conduct the cold quite well. Starting off my run with a long stretch on packed ice slush makes for numb feet. It takes at least a mile before the friction warms them up, but for some reason my left foot takes longer. Throughout last night's run, my left toes were frozen senseless. And as I read somewhere, a numb foot is a dumb foot. 

I'm starting to wonder if it isn't time to add a little more material under my foot and wear my Brooks T6 Racers again. The problem with those is that they smell awful. I need to stick them in the washer to defunktify a year's worth of sockless running. 

When I have bare pavement or asphalt underfoot, my Vibrams are fine for this weather. Running on a blanket of snow, however, isn't a fun experience with nothing but a thin layer of rubber and a silly pair toe socks to protect me from frostbite. 

At any rate, it was good to get out and exercise. I even added some dumbbell curls and sit-ups to my routine to help stave off the holiday chub. I also abstained from the candy dish and cookies for the first day in who knows how long. Will power, I has it! 

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.

Hooray!!! More Snow!!!

It has been more than a week since I've seen any new fallen snow, but thankfully the weather satellites have delivered us a few more inches of very fresh, soft, fluffy, happy, joyful, delightful, smile-inducing, jump-for-joy-inspiring, I-wanna-do-naked-snow-angels-in-this-stuff, buy-a-round-for-the-house-why-don't-ya-compelling, delirium-tremens-calming, over-hyphenating-causing white stuff.

[Drunkard's note: Perhaps if I pretend like I like the snow, it will go away.]

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.

This Is a Protest Song

Hell no! Viper won't go ... run in temperatures of 20 degrees or lower until next winter. I'm done with it. This weather is better suited for single malt whiskeys than moisture wicking fabric.

February is over and done with. It was better than January, but not great.

Here is February's statistical run-down:

• Total Miles: 56 (10 runs, one race)
• Highest Weekly: 20 miles
• Average Weekly: 11.3 miles
• Average Pace: 9:43 per mile
  
• Longest/Fastest Run: 10 miles, 9:55 pace

I didn't get in a long run on Saturday or Sunday. That's not great preparation for a race for which I'm already not prepared.

In the (Whiskey) Still of the Night

There were many firsts of the year on this fifth (not that kind of fifth) of January. My first run of 2009. My first run in Sand Run park during the dark of night. My first run in the free Brooks Adrenaline GTS 8 I got from running the Akron Marathon. My first run of the year with Martini, with whom I have not run since the Towpath Marathon. My first discussion with Martini about what challenges may lie ahead in our ongoing running and drinking competition.

Ever since the dark started arriving early I have avoided the parks in favor of lighted and surer-footed streets for my weekday runs. However, Martini invited me to join him last night, and we braved the wooded pathway with only the un-full moon to guide our way.

I had not run since Wednesday and was a bit hesitant to go too far because I knew that my pace with Martini would be faster than my runs have been in the last month. At the outset, we were only going to run four miles, but by the time we reached the turnaround point I decided to push it to six.

I took on the duty of greeting other runners and walkers, doing so well in advance to alert them of our approach. One pair of walkers didn't pay heed to my warning as the one with a headlamp didn't budge from our side of the path until Martini nearly collided with his keg-belly.

Though our speed wasn't blistering (9:48 per mile), we managed a negative split (29:52/28:53) -- something I've been paying more attention to recently. The added wrinkle of conversation at that pace most certainly improved my lung power.

Challenges Ahead
Martini and I have not yet confirmed or set any parameters for the 2009 challenges, but here is a preview.

Summer Solstice Challenge: Redux
June 21 falls on a Sunday. We didn't make it out and back last year as hoped. Perhaps this year we can.

Streaking Consecutive Days of Running
The first one to miss a day of running at least three miles loses the challenge. This will likely be sooner rather than later.

TBD Drinking Challenge
We have to do something. I casually mentioned Mata Hari.

Viper Is Sure He's Dying

If I sound paranoid, blame Jess.

After yesterday's cryfest about not enough running and feeling sick, Jess commented, "With all that alcohol in your bloodstream, I'm surprised viruses have been able to live at all!"

I know, right?

That's what scares me.

Alcohol is a proven cleansing solution. It should be disinfecting my body. I've been following a strict consumption regimen, but to no avail. The beer is not working. But perhaps the beer is the problem. (GASP!!1! No, he didn't!)

I fear that perhaps I'm consuming the wrong kind of alcohol. Beer is not as pure of an alcohol source as, say, Johnnie Walker or Tullamore Dew is. Furthermore, beer has yeast. I'm sure the ladies out there know the dangers of yeast, and probably not a few males out there know as well.

Yeast infections are known to occur in warm and moist locations. You know, like maybe like my stomach lining? Or my sinuses? And get this: "Rarely, the yeast infection may spread throughout the body. In systemic candidal disease, up to 75 percent of people may die." Die! D-I-E.

So there you have it. I can't run today because I'm dying.

Tonight: whiskey.

Not So Magical Actually

Three days into my new running plan and I've already deviated from the schedule. But I assure you it was for a good cause. That cause? Why, beer, of course.

Last night, a local chain restaurant, the Winking Lizard, hosted a Magic Hat beer tasting. On tap was No. 9, Circus Boy, Lucky Kat, Single Chair Ale, Roxy Rolles and Braggot, the latter of which is this season's Odd Notion.

I've already sampled half of these in the bottle and No. 9 on draft, but I was excited to taste the rest from the tap and see what exclusive beers were included in the tasting. I enjoy most of the Magic Hat beers. They tend to be light and refreshing. However, tasting these six flavors in succession made me realize just how similar they all are.

All were ales, save for Circus Boy, which is an American Hefeweizen. Sadly, none of the beers distinguished themselves. Half were a variety of pale ale. One was a golden ale and the other a honey ale. Mixed together, all the flavors seemed the same.

In the winter, I prefer darker beers. The majority of these are light and would be tasty on a warm day out on the porch. This is November in Northeast Ohio. Give me a porter or a stout. According to the Magic Hat site, the brewery does make a stout, called Feast of Fools. Where the heck was that?

Demerits!

In addition to the underwhelming selection of beers, the tasting itself was a tad under-organized. Now, granted, I haven't gone to many tastings, but it seems to me that the brewers are the experts on their beer. Shouldn't they tell me what order to drink these beers for proper enjoyment?

Well, there was none of that. It was willy-nilly: pick your flavor from a sheet of paper that described the beers. Perhaps the top-to-bottom order of the beers was the suggested sequence of consumption, but this was not made clear.

Piss. Poor.

I did however get a sweet T-shirt, a pint glass, a keychain bottle-opener, a sticker, and I actually won a raffle prize, a Magic Hat flag. Don't get me wrong. I still enjoy drinking Magic Hat, but I was not impressed with the variety -- if you can call five ales out of six beers a variety.

I would like to get my hands on the stout, but until then I will wait until the Spring to enjoy another No. 9. As the evening went, a Christmas Ale nightcap was the cure for a bored tongue.

Running tonight? Sure, why not. And perhaps some hot, mulled cider and whiskey to warm the cockles. Cheers.

1 Fast + 2 Slow = 0 Right

In typical fashion, I've waited until the last possible moment to worry about my next race. I've certainly put in the miles, but my speed work leaves something to be desired. Something like speed.

My combined tempos and intervals amounted to just 15 miles in June, the last workouts being three weeks ago. So perhaps you can imagine how my intervals went last night. Something like Yeesh!

For the second time all year I went to the track and did some 800-meter repeats. I was aiming for a range of 3:32-3:41.9 for each 800.

Repeat 1: My body felt like it was doing everything but going forward. My gait was Willy Wonka-ish. My lungs felt encumbered by bowling balls. And I hate bowling. But somehow I managed a 3:25.

Repeat 2: It's amazing how 7 seconds too fast can affect the rest of the workout. My legs started to stride in something resembling an actual stride. My lungs however still felt bowling-balled. I finished in a huffing 3:59.

Repeat 3: I kept waiting for my lungs to snap to it. Kind of like remember, Oh yeah, we've done this before. Not on this evening. I strained for a 3:50.

Repeat 4: Canceled. I'd blame my running mate for feeling injured and wanting to call it a day, but I'm not sure I had another one in me.

But look at that. Not a single 800 in my goal range. Pathetic! How demoralizing. A sub-50 10K is feeling pipe dreamy. I celebrated my failure with some St. Pauli Girl lager.

I wonder how my tempo run tomorrow will go? I may need more St. Pauli Girl.

Rant of the Day
OK, so I have no problem sharing the lanes with a youth track team. I can even excuse these youngsters for their poor track etiquette, but the coaches? Fucking get out of my way!

Snow Daze

As I mentioned last time, the weather gave me a reason not to run this weekend. I just realized that I made a mistake (shocking!) in my weather forecasting. I said we were supposed to get 7-10 inches of snow, well it was actually supposed to be 7-14 inches. Well, it turned out to be about 18 inches.

As an illustration, I have included a photo of my car (left), taken on my phone. That was after non-stop snowing from Friday to Saturday night. Instead of running, I spent 50 minutes digging out my car and helped some woman who got stuck in the driveway of her apartment building, which you can see (look toward to light) in the background. And then I really did myself in and went grocery shopping. Carrying around that little red basket really made my arms and chest sore today.

OK, new contest! Guess what kind of car I drive. The winner gets jack and/or shit. Anyway, you can take pride in your keen ability to identify vehicles by their passenger side rearview mirror.

Flashback Friday: Hmm ... I Got Nothing

For all my complaining about the weather, it has never forced me to give up on a run. Extensive heat and humidity has made me walk more than I'd like to admit, but I still completed the miles. One of my favorite runs was during a torrential summer drencher, when I whipped a guy who had been on my heels for most of the final mile and a half of a six-miler. (That mile and a half was where I saw him turn around.)

Like many of my fellow idiots runners, I take perverse pleasure in conquering the weather by putting sole to pavement. Bitch and moan though I do, once I'm out there, I'm fine and always feel better about the run in the end.

However, mark Wednesday's intentions as an exception. I was just going to do four miles after work. I checked the weather before I left the office and saw that I would need to bundle up. No surprise there. When I set out on my run, it was about 20 degrees, but the severe windchill put it somewhere around zero. No worry, after a few minutes my body would heat up and I'd be fine.

Wrong. That beastly wind just kept sneaking through my layers. My face felt chapped and stiff. I was sure my left cheek would have to be chiseled off my face with an ice pick. After the first mile, I was starting to question why I was out in this weather. I couldn't hack it. At about a mile and a half, I diverted back toward home. Four miles became two.

I tried to make the most of it by ratcheting up my pace for that final half mile. In the end, I didn't feel better. I wished instead I had followed my own advice for this kind of weather. The warm shower afterward thawed me out.

Yesterday, the temperature was about the same. But no wind. Those four miles went by without even a shudder. I wore the same clothes and felt too hot.