Flashback Friday: Tainted Love Edition

There has been a lot of talk about "taint" this week. So, let me talk about it even more.

First, for clarity's sake, a little tainted etymology.

And as a display of my sweet lexicography skills, here is a tainted definition:

Taint (taynt) - n. 1. a trace of something bad, offensive or harmful; 2. a trace of infection, contamination or the like; 3. a trace of dishonor or discredit; 4. Slang (vulgar) -- the perineum, the area between the genitals and anus, male or female; although the term is said to originate from the saying, "It ain't pussy and t'aint ass" -- vt. 1. to modify by or as if by a trace of something offensive or deleterious; 2. to infect, contaminate, corrupt or spoil; 3. to sully or tarnish (a person's name, reputation, etc.) -- vi. to become tainted; spoil.

Of course, I know when you read the tainted title of this blog your inner ear immediately heard one thing: ERNT-ERNT!



And now to the tainted comments!

Back Talk
Wherein I taint your minds further with tainted rebuttals to your tainted comments.

Responding to my statement that "I didn't not taint one of the batches of [Ommegang] beer with anything too toxic," the erratic epicurean asks: "[S]o you DID add something toxic then? [O]r has being away affected your grammar?"

Soon to be running his first race ever, but tainted by the same question above, Vava asks: "What did you not 'not taint' it with?"

Hoping to lend some tainted clarity to the matter with a comment that may fall under the category TL;DR, the loquacious Glaven Q. Heisenberg suggests: "You need to say something along the lines of 'I didn't not untaint the not already not untainted by me taintless (or wasn't not it?) de-tainted taint-free-less untainted trippelbock by not undipping my untainted taint in it. Not.'

"Then, while the grammar cops are doing the math ('wait, wait! ... carry the "not," divided by the cubed root of "un-" multiplied by Pi ... IS THIS WHOLE FREAKIN POST IN BASE 8?!?! Start Over!!") you could have another post ready explaining that grammar's one thing and math is something entirely else.

"Not!

"Show of hands - whose mind is TOTALLY blown?

"Please confirm that you did NOT dip your taint in any beer."

And Chia? Well, her mind is in the gutter: "He said 'taint.'"

Answer: I'd say that pretty much sums it up.

Some of you posed some questions and offered your own advice on cold weather running.

Vanilla suggests: "If you wear a scarf or something to cover your mouth and chin then don't forget to move it before you spit. I know a guy who always forgets to do that."

Answer: That guy sounds like a Class A moron.

Mr. Heisenberg (again) poses a tainted question: "Does that really work with the shaving cream on the glasses? Hmmm ... stands to reason, then, that Visine on my bikini area should be helpful in some way. But dare I risk my defiling my taint?"

Answer: Yes, the shaving cream works on glasses. Keep your defiled taint to yourself.

TFH shares a dated lesson: "The most important lesson I learned from my high school cross country coach was: your sleeves are not gloves. He was dismayed to see thumb holes in the lower sleeves of most of his runners."

Answer: Running gear today is too expensive to put holes in it ... says the guy who wants to drill holes in his shoes.

Big suggests an alternative to my advice: "If the 'run faster' isn't working, try the run shorter, it gets you home even quicker."

Answer: But then you might miss out on the exciting sensation of numb-face.

Xenia recognizes my brilliance, but asks a ridiculous question: "Well, aren't you Mr. Know-it-all. So, does this mean you're going to become a morning runner for the winter?"

Answer: No. (Duh!)

Ted reveals a peculiar penchant for lubrication: "If the weather gets miserably COLD, you can apply Vaseline over your face. It acts like an insulation. It works !"

Answer: Whatever floats your boat.

The Addicted Tiger suggests you keep warm by robbing a bank: "Like the tips about cold weather running ... I'm willing to try anything. But I will add one -- go out looking like you're going to rob a bank -- you'll prevent chronic bronchitis with the ski mask."

Answer: What kind of weapon do you suggest?

And as usual, Nitmos tries to brow beat me into treating my running shoes like trash: "Use them. And discard them. Stop being a wuss."

Answer: You see, Nitmos treats his objects like women.

Right Back at You
Lastly, I somehow stumbled into the Carnival of Running at Running Is Funny. Thanks a lot. Now, I'm paranoid that my hands are small and that I smell of cabbage.

Have a fine weekend, teammates. Good luck to all you racers out there. Run well and drink well.

Downhill Domination

These two fatty, old guys rounded a corner from a side street and just about collided with me as I approached the park entrance for the final three miles of my long run. The chatty Kathies said something about finishing at the same time I figured I would. No effing way was that happening.

Their voices receded into the telescoping distance as I torched them on a downhill. By the time I was due for another sissy walk break, the Brothers Chub were nowhere in sight. Being that guy is addictive.

Mark it, dude, another strong run in the books. Three more weeks until Cleveland.

Hometown Pride

[Drunkard's note: Thanks to With Leather for the link.]

A little shout out to fellow Akronite Chris Bryant, the real car jumper, for his Nike commercial. I think I'm next! What for? Perhaps highlights of this would suffice. I got mad skills too!

Flashback Friday: Hitting My Stride, No Updates

[Drunkard's note: image courtesy of Despair Inc.]

I've hit my stride in terms of training, but I've hit the wall re: blogging. Each run has been focused toward the goal of getting stronger, faster and going longer to the point that I quickly reach the Running No Mind state. Time and distance seem to disappear. It's akin to the sensation I get when I look down and wonder where that last pitcher went. I've been so mindless that I didn't even flashback last week. I'm sure you were all aghast at my negligence.

Perhaps I'm just too accustomed to consistently writing about my latest screw-ups that I don't know what to say when things are going good. So, perhaps some bragging is in order.

Being That Guy
Last night's six mile tempo run may have turned me into No. 12. Martini and I set a strong pace early and managed to keep it up despite the hilliness of our usual park path. Usually, the only runners we pass are going the opposite direction. However, we overtook a grand total of five runners, two on the steepest hill. One we passed on the upslope and another on the down, whom we had passed going the other way before we chased down the first guy.

Initiate chest bump! Arm flex! Grunt!

And then I went out and pounded some beer and watched sports.

Go Bother Someone Else
All right, that's all I have. Go elsewhere, young reader, and grow up with the Innernets:

• Vanilla has the cure for the loneliness of the long distance runner.
  
• But sometimes you can't avoid such solipsism.

• Nitmos has returned from Boston with a dramatic race report. Part 1 and Part 2 are filled with tension and strife. UPDATE: Part 3 is presumably on the way once he stops being so lazy finally here.
• Sarah reminds us that even though the weather is nice, we can still complain about it, repeatedly.
  
• And since it's Friday and Happy Hour looms, here are some tips from the United Booze Federation in case you find yourself in a situation where you have to act sober.
  

And if you don't like those links, go find your own distractions. Do I have to spoon-feed you ways to slack off? Or, I don't know, you could do your job.

[Drunkard's note: Thanks Kissing Suzy Kolber.]

Boston Unbound

[Thanks to ZeroToBoston for the link.]

Unless you live under a rock or don't give a rat's ass about running, you know that the Boston Marathon is Monday. Above is the finish of the so-called greatest Boston Marathon ever when Dick Beardsley and Alberto Salazar battled each other in 1982. For you geeks who like to read, there's also a book about that race.

I'm going to pass on Boston this year. It's not that I didn't qualify, I just don't feel like running that day. And it's 112th running of the race, and 112 just so happens to be my least favorite number. And I couldn't find a flight. And I think the beer there stinks.

I'm avoiding Boston because I think the sports fans are wasteful ...



... or just half fast. Just remember that Bill Belichick learned to cheat in Cleveland. And Manny Ramirez learned to hit a baseball as an Indian. And I'm still a little bitter that both guys left Ohio and won championships in Beantown. And I'm just waiting for the Celtics to knock the Cavs out of the playoffs. And if I still had a horse in the NHL playoffs, I'd say something mean about the Bruins too.

I'm not going to Boston because I don't like clam chowder. Or beans. Or tea parties. And I never liked Paul Revere. Or the Raiders.

I'm turned off by Bostonians because they're a little uppity about their vocabulary and I'm not OK with that.

And I just don't like Boston.



I'm not running Boston this year, but I do wish some fellow runners good luck.

Nitmos, be not afraid of Dick Beardsley. Have faith in the police motorcycle that will allow you pass him unscathed.

Dean, heed your own advice. You'll need it.

Good luck, fellas, and to anyone else who happens to stumble by.

Dream a Little Dream

I think in psycho-analyst circles they would call this conflict avoidance. But the fact is, I'm sick of this weather now thank you very little. It was fun while it lasted, but these sub-freezing temperatures have overstayed their welcome. Hey! It's blizzarding again! And so, I've been concentrating on the Summer Solstice Challenge.

Thanks to Ted, I have a fine solution for proper hydrating during such a long endeavor.

The oak cask fluid necklace would allow me to store my liquids like a Saint Bernard rescue dog. I believe the traditional beverage is brandy.

However, there is a chance that the weight of a keg of booze lashed to my Adam's apple could slightly impede my running. In which case, I have been examining alternative hydration products.

Fuel belts are quite popular among long distance runners. Generally, I'm not a fan of these contraptions. However, back in a November post I did come across one that I thought might be suitable.

The Booze Belt is a fine accessory for the Booze Hound's long distance arsenal. What I like most about this item is the opportunity to add some variety to my hydration needs. With two holsters, I can carry two brands of Scotch. Yum!

However, again, I'm not used to so much bulk when I run. I like to run adhering to the minimalist's ideal: enough to cover my posterior.

Perhaps, then I should consider self-contained, disposable hydration products. There's GU, but like, eww! And why? There is absolutely zero ABV.

Solution!

Pocket Shots are available in all sorts of flavor varieties: rum, vodka, tequila, whiskey and gin. [Drunkard note: Yes, I'm rehashing this topic too. Deal with it.]

I'm so glad that running has become so popular. We are lucky to have so many gadgets available to sort our individual needs.

Boston-bound!
No, not me. As if! Dean Schuster at Zero to Boston achieved his goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon last weekend with a time of 3:15:02. I've been following Dean's sometimes harrowing, sometimes heroic and most times humorous journey for the past few months. Go give his blog a read and congratulate him on a job well done.

Stuck?
Vanilla, helpful to a fault, has a step-by-step emergency guide over at Half-Fast for when you get stuck running. Remember, you're being timed.

Welcome to 2007 2008!

I know the last week has been almost unbearable without me. At least I did you the favor of one last Flashback Friday for 2007. And now, here we are in 2008, during which we shall all mistakenly put 2007 on anything we add the date to for the first few weeks.

I think this will be a good year--especially for my running and boozing livelihood.

But first, a little about good ol' 2007. I capped the year with a final long run on Monday. Seven to end '07, which put me at 817 miles for the year. In 2007, I wore out my first ever pair of running shoes, gave up on another pair and now am alternating between two other pairs. I participated in six races and PR-ed in all but one. That includes my first half and full marathons. After each of those races--and uncountable times between--my liver conquered its own workouts for an equally successful year.

To kick off the New Year, I participated in a very Viper biathlon. First, the seven to end 'o7, then a fifth to bridge the New Year and finally a three-mile recovery detox special to start 2008. As I mentioned, I've spent my racing budget for the month. However, as you can see, I did not spend my liquor budget ... yet. (Thank you for your concern, Ted.)

Caol Ila is a new Scotch for me. I selected it after my local booze mart was out of my favorite flavor. I must say, the newbie held its ground. Caol Ila is pronounced "cull eela," which is hard enough to say as it is. I kept slurring it to come out somewhere between "cool ewok" and "Kaw-Liga," like the Hank Williams song. I got the 12-year, which has a rich, smoky flavor yet goes down smooth. Give it a try.

I have yet to plan this year's racing schedule. However, I think my first race will be a 15K in March. I've never done a 15K, so I'll be starting the year off with a PR. My other goals include running 1,000 miles, breaking 50 minutes for the 10K and breaking four hours in the marathon. I'd also like to run an out-of-state race, but that will depend on my work schedule and finances.

Well, happy New Year all. Thanks for reading. This year has plenty of running in store with many trips to Blackout Island along the way. I hope you'll join me as I try to run faster and drink stronger. Cheers.

[Drunkard note: Sorry, ladies, for the photo. It was the first one that showed up when I searched for "happy new year" and I'm too lazy to find something less gender biased. Gentlemen, you are welcome.]

Considering Claw Feet

After reading the race reports of some of the other dumb competitive running bloggers who ran the 8 on the 8th, I noticed more than a few of us had too much fun with a snow-blanketed race course.

Vanilla at Half-Fast, for instance, was collecting snow in the tread hollows of his Mizunos to build a post-race snowman. My own race was atop a thick layer of new flaky snow, which forced me cut down my strides to avoid a face-plant.

As you should all know by now, I don't do treadmills. Won't go near 'em. This winter is the first time I've tried to run despite the Northeast Ohio wintry elements. Each run has me wondering two things: 1) When did I get so stupid? 2) How can I get better grip on the runways?

The first question is probably the subject of my memoirs. The half-assed answer to the second shall now be revealed before your very eyes.

Herewith are my findings from the extensive research I have conducted during the past five minutes. From what I can tell, there are three options for the snowy runner.

One, I could buy a pair of trail-running shoes or some other sort of cleated shoe. My first instinct is, Why the hell would I want to clutter up my already cluttered apartment with yet another pair of shoes? My New Balance 767s have been resting by the side of my couch, on hiatus since the marathon. I have been breaking in the Brooks Adrenaline GTS 7s I got free for running the marathon, so those lie in the middle of my living room where I last took them off. And then there are those craptastic Asics 1120s that have been sitting in a box by the door while I put off finding a place to donate them. However, I saw a sale on New Balance trail shoes for under $40, which is a pretty choice deal. But considering the upcoming holidays I doubt I can afford shoes anytime soon -- whatever the price.

Two, after reading Jenny what's-her-face's blog at the Runners' World site, I learned about specialized overshoes for snow running. And since then, I have seen two recommendations for the Yak Trax brand from a non-running friend and from Marcy at I Signed Up For This? There are other varieties of these contraptions, but I'm too lazy to list them, but it looks like a $20-$40 investment.

Three, you know how I love cheap solutions. Another find via the RW site: make your own screw shoes. Matt Carpenter at skyrunner.com has step by step instructions for mutilating your shoes for better traction. Basically, get some short screws and screw them into the soles of your shoes. Long screws are not a good idea. This sounds like a bonehead move. I'll tell you how it turns out.

[Drunkard note: Read all the 8 on the 8th race reports at race director Nancy's blog.]

Race Report: DNB

To a runner, the letters DNF are the mark of doom. Or so I'm told. I've never had to admit that I did not finish a race. But I DNB-ed this weekend. Martini and I were going to run the Home Run for the Homeless 4-miler on Thanksgiving morning. That never happened. But, you see, we couldn't DNF because we never started the danged race in the first place. Didn't even register. Instead, we did not bother.

Thursday morning was ugly. Cold rain and cold coldness. And with a mere four hours of sleep and a slight hangover, a race was not something either of us wanted to do. So we scrubbed the mission and slept in.

However, I did confirm that I gained 10 pounds and I managed 20 miles for the week. Completing two of three weekend goals ain't bad. With or without my DNB.

Vanilla at Half-Fast was kind enough to link to me twice in the last week or so. I have been remiss in thanking him here. It just so happens that his post today is required reading for every Booze Hound teammate. This is how you take an ice bath.

Rebounding

Perhaps I've always been a cold weather guy. A younger Viper played ice hockey for six years. Without hyperbole, I can boast of walking a mile to school uphill in the snow. Indeed, both ways sometimes. I've only been snow skiing a handful of times, but I've never felt as if any other activity was as innate. I simply feel more drawn to the outdoors during autumn and winter than I do in the summer. And as the air grows chill, I feel more eager to head out for a run.

For the first time in I don't know when, I ran five days in a week. I kept myself to three days per week training for the Akron Marathon and four days a week for the half marathon in Cleveland. It suited me well, but after a four-week layoff in October I've been determined to get my body back in gear.

Granted, I'm not exactly racking up the miles, sticking to my three-mile neighborhood loop. However, the consistency has put me back on the rails. Which is a good thing with a race in 10 days.

That's right, I'm racing Thanksgiving morning in the Home Run for the Homeless, a four mile race for which I will most likely be hungover. Everybody knows that the Thanksgiving eve is a prime night for drinking. But there's nothing better than a short race to clear the boozy cobwebs and stir the appetite for the feast that will follow.

In addition to the race fee going toward feeding the homeless, the race organizers are collecting shoes for donation and I can finally get rid of my good for nothing Asics. I'd been considering donating them to a running charity, but I'm too damned lazy to actually find one. And in this case, the shoes go to someone in my community, which I prefer. I also prefer when charity is convenient.

The race will be a nice reminder of what running hard is like and will hopefully springboard me back toward higher mileage for racing in early 2008. In theory it should take about six more weeks to work back up to my marathon training level, which would put me in decent shape for my I'm-a-dumb-idiot plan to race in an ultra marathon in the middle of winter. On a trail no less. A lot of that decision will be based on what Dick Goddard decides the weather will be like. But right now I'm stupid enough to think that this race is perfectly reasonable.

Blog Against Cancer
Running is my therapy. I run off a variety of personal issues I'm not nearly bold enough to write about here. In that vein, Bolder in Boulder writes that the tri-athlete he has become was borne of losing his wife to breast cancer. He shares his story and calls us bloggers to action in the fight against cancer. [Thanks to Vanilla for the heads up.]

Bolder has established Bloggers Against Cancer as a site to share cancer experiences, donate money and brainstorm about how we can better fight this disease. Cancer killed an estimated half million people in the United States in 2006, according to the American Cancer Society, but stats mean nothing to somebody who has experienced cancer first hand. I hope you'll take a minute and read these posts.

Flashback Friday

I have now run more this week than I did in the last three weeks combined, and this weekend I plan to make that four weeks. I have not been running fast. Nor have I been running far. But I have been running pain free.

My hip and groin finally feel normal, but I feel like a newbie, rebuilding my distance and speed. I'm sure my body has done a fine job of untraining since the Akron Marathon, but I still feel like there is still a lot of base left. I just have to get my injured parts and lungs caught up.

On average, it takes about two weeks for every week you're off to retrain. I'm hoping since I wasn't completely off in these past four weeks that I can come back a little faster. However, I have to avoid flashing back to just about every other time I've been injured and tried to do too much, too soon. In that effort I'm running watch-free, which helps me better listen to my body.

I'd like to hit these next few months with enough gusto to run right through the dreary Ohio winter. Running was my antidote seasonal affective disorder, and it has since become my Prozac. Any time I need let out some steam, I go for a hard and fast run. If I need to think things through, I go for a long run. But like life, running is full of its own pratfalls and pains, from injuries and poor race showings. And this has all been a lead up to me pointing you to the Salty One, who has a great post about facing those hard moments in running -- and more importantly in life.

Pain is part of running. It's part of life. Overcoming it is what makes both things great.

A damned good quote. Wish I'd written it.

Booze News
Make sure you shoe any fruit flies away from you beverage. Those little bastards are stealing your drunk and pretty soon they'll be drinking you under the table. In a new study, have proven that genes might have something to with the flies' -- and maybe even your -- drinking prowess. Well, I'll be damned! I mean, I always bragged that I was built to drink, but now I have proof!

Shoe fly don't bother me ...

F#CK.

Thanks for ruining my weekend Boston (and you too Vanilla). This heartbreaking Cleveland loss in the ALCS shall go down as "the choke" or "the stop sign" or perhaps "the curse of Joel Skinner."

However, baseball was the only reason for my cussing this weekend. I got back on the roads Sunday with a 30-minute run. No route in mind. I just ran until my timer went off and turned back toward home. Sometimes those can be the best runs. Running without direction or regimen.

Obviously, the world was glad to have me back. One kindly old lady aimed her car for a friendly bumper nudge. And I swear I heard a faint cat call from the window of a passing SUV. It's good to be missed. And this morning only a little soreness. But it's not the hip pain I was feeling before. This is more like the soreness of muscles that aren't used to moving so much. I even played with my big green bouncy ball again. Without falling!

It's time to get back into race shape. There's the Home Run for the Homeless, a four-mile race on Thanksgiving morning (read: hungover). And Martini is baiting me with an ultra in January. Apparently, he thinks we'll be able to train for a 50K during the typically mild Ohio winter. All I have to do is ramp back up to my marathon training in a couple weeks and then double the mileage. I'm sure it'll be fine. Good times! Now I can get back to writing about running instead of that rambling nonsense I posted Friday.

Just Because You Are a Character Doesn't Mean You Have Character

My friends said it when I passed them after Mile 23 during the Akron Marathon. My folks said it as I neared the finish. I saw it for myself when the race photos were posted online. I don't look like I'm having much fun when I run.

My dad was surprised when I said I'd run another marathon. "I may not look pretty when I do it, but I can do it all the same," I replied. And then I saw this Frazz, which pretty much sums it up for me.

Amy at the Runners' Lounge answers the question every runner eventually hears: Why the heck would you do that to yourself? Team BHI can really relate to this answer:

My beer tastes even better.

Amen. I've told that to a few people.

But why must we have a reason? Yes, I can list several things I like about running. It makes me feel good. It occupies my alone time. It gives me a reason to go outside. It gives me time to think. I like the competition. I like pushing myself. The beer is better. However, these are just byproducts of running -- reasons why I don't stop. Why did I start running? I don't know.

It was a frigid March morning. I had had my last cigarette in January after 10 years of smoking. My closest approximation for running shoes were three years old and a size too small and would eventually give me shin splints. I had been shut in for a long Ohio winter and I thought it would be nice to go outside a do something. I didn't even make it a mile.

October is no longer hot in Ohio. We've entered autumn, the dying season. I haven't gotten back to my weekly routine since the marathon, and all is not right in the world. That's the real reason why I run. Because it just feels wrong not to.

October Is Hot

It seems that Team BHI aren't the only runners who had a rough weekend. Martini followed up his best marathon ever at Akron with his worst at the Towpath. I have yet to hear from AH, who was attempting to qualify for Boston at Chicago. To do so, he would have had to come in under the 3.5-hour cut-off point. X-mas Ape at Kissing Suzy Kolber DNF-ed not with too much hot, but with a severed leg and crotch burn. Ali at Just One More Mile seems to have survived her Chicago fun and 99th run. And Ben at Bad Ben's Ramblings has added his two cents. Me? I ran a brutal 2.3 miles on Sunday and headed to the pub for an all-day liver workout, the second of the weekend. Last night, more working out at the pub as Cleveland (wahoo!) finished off the Yankees. We are now back in prime drinking condition for the difficult winter months ahead.

This morning liver and I are recovering and improving endurance all at the same time -- go coffee! (Old news, but still good news.)

Beer recommendation: Moylan's Tipperary Pale Ale. I've tried most of Moylan's brews, but this one was new for me. Another quality beverage.

Thanks to Vanilla at Half-Fast for the shout-out and for swiping the photo I swiped. But I'm not reading his blog anymore because he's a wicked filthy Red Sox fan. Go Cleveland!

Akron Marathon Preview: One Day

The marathon is tomorrow. Expect a race report sometime afterward -- barring death. Bill Rodgers is in town for the race, which is pretty sweet. I haven't run since Monday, so I hope my ankle is ready. The Booze Hounds Running Team is dry and prepared for fluid replacement. Our colleagues in drunkery have staked out a spot along the course to provide a special BHI-sponsored fluid stop, complete with drunken fans and a special runners' cocktail. I'll be sure to report how well Martini and I finish those final four miles with a shot of vodka in the tank.

The Runner's Cocktail
When in the heat of battle, the runner knows that each stride counts. The Booze Hound Running Team member also knows just how important proper hydration is. But sometimes, he needs to replace some electrolytes too.

One part vodka
One part sports drink [Drunkard note: Martini and I have chosen Vitamin Water]

Pre-mix, sprint, sip and enjoy. When racing, have good friends stationed strategically to hand out beverage for the home stretch. Once the body starts digesting again, you'll already be a leg up on post-race festivities.

Flashback Friday
Last Friday, in a very long post that I'll save you from reading again, I mentioned that I don't run on treadmills. Vanilla at Half-Fast has a few good reasons why you shouldn't either. He also reinforces why I don't own a video camera.

Flashback Friday: Marathon Preview Edition

The Akron Marathon is eight days away, which means my racing season is about to climax before it rolls over and falls asleep. In the two years that I have been running, I've raced a whopping six times. Here's a long look back.

Kent Heritage Fest 10K, July 2006: After starting to run in March 2006, I decided to try this race, which I used to watch my dad run when I was young. However, he hadn't run the race--or much at all--since I don't know when because of back and leg problems. So I asked him to race me.

Come race day, we ran side by side for the first 5K (this course is two laps of a 5K out and back), but my dad wasn't feeling it and dropped out. I found a pace partner, an elderly woman whose granddaughter had been a year behind me in school. (Yeah, I was 27, so what?) At the final mile, I realized I had a lot left in the tank and let grandma get a long look at my ass. My dad joined me for the last quarter-mile and I finished at around 1:06.

Crossing the finish is what really got me hooked on running. Training motivated me to run every week, but the finishline was an instant addiction. Unfortunately, I finished the year injured after I ramped up my distance too fast trying to break the 10-mile barrier for a long run.

Frostbite 4-Mile Prediction Run, February 2007: You want a dumb way to start your racing season? Try negative 3 degrees at start time. The winner was the runner who came closest to predicting his finish time. I wasn't even close. My only reward was the Cognac that Martini and I shared after the race to warm up.

Cleveland Half Marathon, May 2007: This was a test. I knew I wanted to run a full marathon. I just didn't know when. I figured this would be a perfect way to see what I was getting into. However, it meant I had to train smart during the snowy season.

Here's something to know about me: I don't run inside and I don't run on treadmills. Sometimes that means being flexible when the weather gets nasty. Not surprisingly, a massive mid-February snow storm blanketed the area and forced me to take a couple days off. I went for a six-mile run as soon as it looked like my favorite trail was plowed and torqued my knee because my feet kept slipping when I pushed off. I had to take a week off before resuming with a run/walk program.

Martini signed up for the full marathon in Cleveland, but he also ended up with an injury. Only his kept him from even attempting to run. That morning, I was on my own in a throng of 9,000 runners. And then I had to piss.

It was about 10 minutes before start time and I was in line for the porta-poopers. Now, here is a study in physics. The space-time continuum is clearly not a constant. In line, time slows down as the act of digestive relief stretches over eons. Meanwhile, time blurs by outside this sphere, especially in the starting corral. I was three turns away from glory when the race announcer told runners to walk toward the starting line.

Rationally, my mind tells me this is a chip-timed race and I don't have to start with everyone else. But my bat-shit bonkers mind has a long history of ignoring its logical twin. That's when I know I'm going to miss the race if this line doesn't hurry up. That, or I'm going to have to learn to urinate while running. And I must admit, I'm a bit pee shy. A door opens and it's my turn. Did I say something about pee shy? The starting gun is about to go off and I go. Repeat: it's just me and my chihuahua, it's just me and my chihuahua ... ah, there we go.

I burst through the door and cut through the crowd toward the corral, but it's gated off. I have to walk all the way to the end to enter. And the end is like three miles away. Luckily, someone has wrenched part of the gate sideways to allow us stragglers in.

I started slow but feeling strong. I skipped the first water stop and enjoyed the sights, crowd and other runners--especially the runner who veered off course to pee on a tree, glad it wasn't me. The half marathon course wends through West Cleveland and finishes with one of my favorite views of downtown as you cross the Lorain Avenue Bridge. After the finish, I set my sights on the Akron Marathon. [This is my current PR.]

Tallmadge Memorial Day 5K, May 2007: Just a week after the Cleveland Half, Martini goaded me into this race. Even though he was laid up for about a month with an injury and had only one training run under his belt, Martini toasted me by about three minutes. He's annoyingly faster than I. No matter how much I think I'm on his level, he still leaves me in the dust during a race. However, I managed a sub-8 mile pace for maybe the first time ever. [Current PR.]

Kent Heritage Fest 10K, July 2007: The only race where I'm a veteran. Again, dad and I ran, and he finished this time. We are well aware that we are by no means a speedsters so we didn't stick around for the awards. About a week later, a friend told me a guy I had passed around the fourth mile placed third in our age group. Turns out, I placed second. My dad placed third in his group. It was obvious the race had a smaller crowd than last year, but jeez. Somewhere there's a trophy waiting for me. [Current PR.]

Buckeye Half Marathon, September 2007: This is already well documented on this blog. I didn't do as well I wanted to. I started out too fast. My shoe came untied. My stomach cramped. I puked. And I almost bled to death from nipple hemorrhage. Blah, blah, blah.

However, none of these was my first race.

For that, we'll have to take a trip in the Once Upon A Time Machine to when I was 8 years old, the age I always am when I share childhood memories. It was a one-mile race in November, called the Turkey Trot, where the top three finishers received a turkey for Thankgiving. The course was one lap on a dirt road around a local park. There were six of us racing: two athletic boys, who finished first and second; two rolly-polly kids, a girl and a boy, who fell behind early; another girl, who just so happens to be the granddaughter of the woman who paced me in my first 10K in Kent; and I, who only ever ran when being chased.

The two athletic boys sprinted away from the pack early. I managed to hold steady in third for most of race. I rounded the last turn and the finish was in sight. But I could hear footsteps closing in from behind. I started to sprint. Then it happened. I got chicked. And all my hopes and dreams of bringing home the Thanksgiving dinner turkey evaporated in the wheeze of a breathless young boy.

At least I know I'm faster than her grandma.