Rest Days Are the Best Days

It almost seems silly to take a rest day after all the not running I've done lately, but it was chilly and windy and I chose not to run. Today's forecast is much more appealing. And it gives me some separation between that surprisingly fast run yesterday and that vicious hill I plan on running today.

Change Your Vote
Clearly, you made a mistake, but it's not too late to fix it. Jess and MCM Mama have erroneously gained the lead in the final stretches of the Last Mile Brewing Virtual Halfathon. But if you go to the voting page, you can correct this trend by changing your vote to me as you intended (that's Viper, folks, V-I-P-E-R). It's OK, I understand that these things sometimes happen.

Run to the Polls

I'm not writing about running again today because there's nothing to write about. I took this last weekend off -- my first running-free weekend since ... since ... since ... March? Yes, the weekend of March 8-9, the weekend when 18 inches of snow fell on Northeast Ohio, the weekend when I unveiled the Guess Viper's Car Contest. Since that weekend, I have gone eight months without skipping a weekend run.

I think I was about due.

I might run tonight. Might.

I know. This not running goes against my plan to crack 1,000 miles for the year. But so does this peculiar pain behind my knee.

You see, work is a dangerous place. That's why I try to do as little as possible while I'm there (i.e., here). However, yesterday, I hurt myself when I used my right leg to scoot my chair closer to my desk and computer screen (the better to see you with). I felt a very unpleasant pull near the juncture of my thigh and knee. It was painful, like bent-double painful.

But it's not a consistent pain.

I can walk fine. I can lift my leg OK. It doesn't hurt to touch. It just randomly hurts. Like, when I take off my pants -- which I do often -- it hurt like the Dickens. And normally, I'm OK with how much the Dickens hurts, because Dickens usually inspires me to stab out my own eyes with a grapefruit spoon, but this pain invokes a touch of pity for the man.

This pain is such that I think I can run, but the doubt is enough that I worry it might affect my gait. The Uncertain Stride will almost certainly lead to the Injured Stride.

Perhaps I'll run tonight after I vote. Or maybe I'll just lie down with a good book. And if not a good book, maybe A Tale of Two Cities.

[Drunkard's Note: Don't forget to vote today, teammates. And if you're having trouble deciding whom to vote for, don't visit Nitmos' blog today. I'm all for third parties, but the Calve Cramp Party? I think not. Vote for someone whose legs won't buckle under the weight of his own ego.]

Flashback Friday: Low-Down Yankee Liar

The lone runner cuts a splinter of a silhouette against the background of a dropping sun. His movements rhythmic and economical, as he bounces slowly toward the westward horizon, leaving a wake of puddled sweat.

A closer look at this figure reveals his rigid brow, eyes squinted and bloodshot from beads of perspiration falling into them. He has the look of a wayfaring stranger, his way rough and steep, face lightly unshaven and grizzled from the effort or the elements. In another life, he may have been a--

Suddenly, a young boy's voice cries out over the passing traffic, "Shaaaaaaaaane. Come back!"



But, as that is not the Viper's name, he kept bounding into the sunset.

The sun may have left me more soaked yesterday than Saturday's rainy fun.

Back Talk
It's your favorite segment! Here are some of your comments from the past week and my clever retorts. And we have some fresh meat to roast!

In response to my weekend boozefest, which included a day at the ballpark, new commenter SJ Goody says, "GO CLEVELAND!! (What I really mean is 'Go Sox' but seeing as this is your blog (which is great) and my first comment on your blog, I'll respect your disgust with Boston but I was at Fenway on Sunday when Cleveland yet again beat the Rays and the Sox beat the Orioles to move into first... and Cleveland was easily the second favorite team in the house!) Indeed, thank you. :)"

Answer: Great, another Boston fan, whoopdeefawkindoo! Welcome to the team. As for the rest of you readers, let this be a lesson to you. You should always note how great I am, as SJ Goody does a good job of here.

And while I'm on the subject, another newbie has done well in noting my greatness. Rundangerously, of ... erm ... rundangerously fame, may be a little behind the times commenting on last week's review of Bart Yasso's book, but he hits the nail right on the noggin when he says, "great review! for another running book, i have 'what i talk about when i talk about running,' by haruki murakami on my 'to read' list. it s/be released on 7/29."

Answer: Clearly, you've compared our Yasso posts and declared me the winner. Thank you for the complement and reading suggestion. On a side note, when I think about Haruki Murakami's book I think about Raymond Carver's book.

[Drunkard's note: Welcoming technique needs work.]

Responding to my kicking ass at the track, Xenia says, "I see you've upgraded from Cringer to Battle Cat. Well done."

Answer: I see when you're not ripping off my nipples, you're picking up on my He Man references.

Regarding the same post, Laminator shows how wise he is and says, "You're a natural on the track! I say make those youth trackers yield to your supremacy!"

Answer: Obviously, I don't have to tell you how I dominated some of those short-legged young runners.

Don't forget about the Chin-Up Challenge! With the weekend ahead, tonight could be a perfect opportunity to throw your hat in the ring.

Run well and drink well.

Keep Your Chin Up

It seems there's this little push-up contest going around, spreading throughout blogdumb like we all hoped Bird Flu would. Well, count me out. I won't be the latest victim. And I won't be satisfied with second loser. I've got my own challenges. Which is why, today, I announce the Team Booze Hounds Chin-Up Challenge.

Yes, you all remember those dreadful gym classes when your arms shook like paint-mixers as you struggled to pull your pre-pubescent face nearer to that bar, your hands slipping on the yellowed friction tape worn smooth by decades of sweat. You felt triumphant when you finally got your little, pointy chin above the bar, and then your sadistic gym teacher said, "One more." And next you had to climb the rope. Why wouldn't the idea of a chin-up contest appeal to you? Of course you're interested.

First things first. You will need a bar. A good sturdy bar, preferably nearby. I wouldn't want you to have to travel far after you've exhausted yourself by competing in the Chin-Up Challenge. The goal, of course, is to keep that chin above the bar by any means necessary!

To qualify as a chin-up, your chin must be able to rest on top of the bar. No halfsies! This challenge will measure the aggregate time your chin spends above the bar. So it doesn't matter if you do 192 chin-ups or one long, sustained chin-up.

There will be awards for the following categories:

• Most Chin-ups: This person is a fighter. No matter how many times your head falls below the bar, you keep coming back up for more.
  
• Longest Chin-up: This person is an endurance god. You scoff at those who keep pulling themselves back up to the bar. You don't need a break!
  
• Last Chin-up: We must always award the last person standing. You're there until last call, asking who's hosting after-hours.
  

Why Chin-ups?
I'm not sure why this push-up thing has caught on. Chin-ups are far superior. You look way tougher doing it.

The chin-up is the distinguished man's exercise. And women boost their Hot Quotient ten-score with each chin-up. It's true! I become increasingly attracted to any gal who can out-chin-up me or at least put up a good fight. Some may think that is because my mind has gone batty after having my chin above the bar for far too long, but I disagree. I like a girl with staying power.

The Chin-Up Challenge will instantly measure your strength and endurance, while increasing your attractability. But of course, like any contest, there are rules. Once you have found your bar, you must stick with it. You can't just go switching bars in the middle. Second, you must hydrate. You can't just go to a bar and not drink anything. That goes against all principles of decency. And third, please remember to tip your bartender.

Good luck, contestants! Let the Booze Hounds Chin-Up Challenge commence!

Flashback Friday: Losers' Parade

What kind of car is this? That was the subject of the latest Team Booze Hounds contest. As the photo to the left shows, my car was buried under a tiny bit of snow last weekend. All that our entrants had to go by was the passenger side rearview mirror and the general shape of the vehicle. The winner would receive a generous helping of jack and/or shit and gain bragging rights for his or her vehicular manslaughter acumen.

I thank all our participants. And I'd like to congratulate you all for being losers. Pat yourselves on the back!

You can tell a lot about a person by the kind of car they drive. But what do the guesses of our contestants say about their perceptions of the Viper?

Laura was the first entrant with what she admitted was a random guess: a Saab. She didn't specify what model, so I just went with what I thought she would like me to drive, a Saab 9-3 (I think the one pictured is a 2003). The overall shape is very similar to my car, but the guess is dead wrong. Laura must think I'm some uptight neo-yuppie who is concerned about safety. Seriously, who drives a Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaab? Not me. Maybe she mistook me for Jerry Seinfeld.

...

...

Vanilla came in second, with his wildly inaccurate Toyota Prius. "It suites you," he wrote. I don't think so, pal. This so-called "green" car is a an overpriced scam that has spawned the environmentally friendly hybrid SUVs. Nope, not for this cheapskate. I'd consider an alternative fuel vehicle, perhaps a BAC-powered car. That, I could see it. But seriously, a hybrid? Give me a break, Nell Carter.

Ted was anxious to win the coveted prize and submitted two entries. First, was the 1972 Ford Pinto.
I must say, that's a beauty of a guess. Wrong, but a beauty nonetheless. But Ted didn't feel secure in his first choice and for some ungodly reason decided that I am some soccer-mom-stalking minivan owner, guessing that my vehicle is a Ford Winstar.
What the eff? Ted, what did I do to offend you? I guess I seem like a Ford man.

Well, Laura, Vanilla and Ted, you're all wrong. You guys don't know a darned thing about automobiles. None of your friends or loved ones should ever trust your opinions on motor vehicles ever again, ever.

But the question still remains, what does the Viper drive?
It's a prototype.

Happy Friday happy hour, all. Don't forget to run well and drink well. Cheers!

Un-Benched

Can I get a "Finally!"?

Since the Blizzard of 2008, it's been nothing but blue skies and warmer temperatures, and there's even a little left over after I get home from work. Last night, I went on the first evening run of the year that actually ended with daylight to spare. The whole geographic mood seems to have shifted toward the positive.

The temperature is still in the mid-30s, but it just feels Spring-like. I think I just heard a bird chirp. Hope has returned to Northeast Ohio.

After the big storm, Martini and I couldn't run outside (and I refuse to run inside), so Monday night, we took advantage of our first weekday of Daylight Savings and went for a 3-mile hike through 18-in. snow. We averaged about 2 mph. Slow, I know, but what a workout! My calves and thighs were tight afterward, and I think it helped strengthen my knee.

Last night was a slow 3 miles, and I'm feeling great today. Some stiffness, but no soreness.

Deadline for Entry
The Guess Viper's Car Contest will wrap up tomorrow. Get your guess in before I post tomorrow, which could be at any time, and enter a chance to win! See previous post for contest rules, clues and prizes. Void where prohibited.

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.

Race Report: Unpredictable

I've never felt so bamboozled. Here, Martini and I enter a race with certain expectations and we get swindled out of our rightful place in the winners' circle. I mean, yes, some things I expect will be a little unpredictable. The distance, however, should not be one of those things.

Up until checking the results online this morning, the race was the Frostbite 4-Mile Prediction Race. That's what it was last year. And that's what I thought it was as I signed my name so that it would be misspelled on the race website. However, it turns out the nefarious race organizers decided to make it a 5-K. Perhaps we were the only numbskulls not to get the message. Instead of being what would have been two minutes over my prediction at the pace I ran, I was six and a half minutes under.

The race was at a new location this year and the course was two laps around a park. This would have been unexciting if it weren't for the sheet of ice that covered every inch of the running surface. I had premonitions of these race conditions the night before while I stumbled and slid home from the bar down the street from my apartment.

On the downhills, some people skidded wildly, willingly or not. Martini took to striding like a cross country skier and even took a spill early in the race. Had I had the guts to turn my shoes into cleats, like I considered, I might have been able to run at a decent clip. Alas, it was just a short, treacherous jaunt in the park to sweat out the booze.

The moment we crossed the finish, we knew we had lost. At 28:09, Martini and I entertained the idea of being so speedy that even on an ice rink we could run faster than either of us ever had. Needless to say, we didn't stick around for the awards ceremony. We headed straight to the pub for a couple of Labatt Blues for carb reloading and fluid replacement purposes and a few shots of Jameson to numb the pain.

The good news is that I now have my stubble time for Vanilla's Shave Your 5-K Challenge. The bad news is that I now have no hope of winning a race this year.

Scene of the race
As we neared the final turn of the race, there was a teenage boy lying on his back in the snowy grass. A top heavy man on the farther edge of middle age, wearing a red jacket and a ballcap, walked toward the boy and shouted in a gruff voice that is what you'd imagine a high school track coach would sound like: "All right get up. Are you OK or what?"

Of Comments and Contests
In response to my last post about predicting my pace for this race, Laura says I should have picked a slow time and worn a watch to make it happen. Sorry, yes, that is cheating. No timing devices or heart rate monitors are allowed at a prediction race. That's the challenge of predicting your pace.

As for the Predict Viper's Finishing Time contest, I see that the prize was so coveted that only one person entered. Congrats, balancingact, you win! Thanks for reading. Leave your choice of blog topic in the comments and I will write about it whenever I feel like it.

Flashback Friday: Predictable

About a year ago, my compadre Martini and I got this dumbfuck adventurous idea to run a race in near sub-zero weather. It was the Frostbite 4-Mile Prediction Run, which I've mentioned more than a few times. Depending on whose memory you go by and which day of the week it is, the temperature was anywhere from 2 degrees to 4 below. At those temperatures, does it really matter?

Tomorrow is this year's Frostbite and the weather should be considerably better: around 30 degrees, cloudy and 20 percent chance of precipitation. Last year, I ran 36:08 (9:03 pace) after only one week of running, as I had taken the previous two months off with an injury and demotivation. This year I've been running throughout the winter and have a much stronger base. However, I've only cracked the 10-minute pace in my last two training runs. So the dilemma: What predicted time will put me in the winner's circle?

Looking back, my pace has only ever been over 9 minutes for this race last year and for the Akron Marathon (10:12 pace). Last year, I ran 8:54 pace for my better half marathon, 8:34 pace for 10-K and 7:50 pace for 5-K. And I predicted a time of 38:35 for the Frostbite.

Oh yeah, and it's also likely I'll be hungover.

So, dear readers, what will my finish time be? I'm a gut-feeling runner, so I won't decide until tomorrow morning at registration. But for fun, leave your predictions in the comments. Whoever is closest wins!

What do you win? You win a blog topic! Hurray! If your prediction is the closest to my actual time, you get to decide a topic for me to write about. And it can be any old thing you like--no matter how asinine! Just remember, you have have to suffer the results of your choice. Let the predictions begin!

Coming Next Week!

• Frostbitten race report
• A review of Strides:Running Through History with an Unlikely Athlete, by Benjamin Cheever
• You decide?

Evidence I work at the right place: We're shutting down a half-hour early for pizza and beer!

[Drunkard note: I've never used so many exclamation points in my life!]