The Hay is in the Barn

So I was talking to my friend Steve, who teaches in the classroom next door to mine. He asked how training was going, and I said, "Hell, the race is next week. If I haven't finished training by now..." And he responded, "So the hay is in the barn, huh?"

I love the South for crap like this. I mean, is there a better analogy for being finished with something, and just waiting to enjoy the fruits of your? This is easily my second-favorite Southerism, right behind something that is "so good, it'll make a train take a dirt road."

And yes, I shall THOROUGHLY enjoy my 13.1 miles this Saturday. I WILL hurt, and I WILL be in pain afterward, but the best things in life require sacrifice. Speaking of which...

Team Tyler is DOMINATING the fundraising goal. Then again, the Captain is doing pretty well, and no, Kristin, Derek Jeter did not donate. I'm over $2,500, and the team is over $6,000!!! To quote the creepy guy dressed like a leprechaun from Beerfest, "Y'all know what that means..."

I'll be going bald, as of Thursday. Shaved bald, since I had some people actually complain that last year's zero-guard cut was too long. SERIOUSLY?!? Like, 3 days of growth for most people, too long, huh?

Just for this, I am looking for Christmas-themed temp tats, for the dome. I'm actually pissed that I can't find a string of Christmas lights. Online is NO help, if you can believe it. Perhaps a temp tat on the back of my head that says, "Your ad here" or something. "Space available" would work, but the quick-witted amongst us would most likely inquire if the space in question was exterior, or interior.

peace love happiness,
Tom
2T4:7

I Hate Runners

Part of what keeps me sane as I do my Saturday morning long training runs is my ability to create what I call my "Mittyian" state of mind. Yes, the music helps (for the most part), but my imagination helps a bunch. I couldn't tell you how many last-second jump shots, bottom of the ninth home runs, or other amazing feats I have "accomplished" while running. The other thing I do is try to come up with ideas for what to write on the blog. Which brings me to mile 9 of today's run...

I hate Runners. Hate them with the intensity of 47 white-hot suns. Why 47? Because 48 is too many. Now, before you start crying out "but YOU are a Runner! You wake up early to RUN!!!" allow me to draw two subtle, but important, distinctions:

1. Runners have running outfits. That color coordinate. From the same brand as the shoes they are wearing.

I run, so I have running shoes, and other assorted items that are in the category of "running gear" but make me look dressed in, to quote Kurt Vonnegut, "Halloween and hardware." I mean, for that Urbanathlon, I had an outfit that would earn me top billing on peopleofwalmart.com had it not been a race. Royal blue UnderArmor compression shirt, gray t-shirt over it, navy blue shorts, black UA compression "running pants", white socks/shoes, a gray hat (backwards, natch) and purple and white football gloves. "Ladies and gentlemen, next on the runway, from the Stevie Wonder collection..."

2. Runners have form. Posture. Dare I say, grace.

At mile 9 of this morning's run, I saw a Runner on the street. These people are the reason I try to do my long runs before 8 AM. She was bopping along, back straight, knees high, perfect foot placement.

I looked like a 3-day old giraffe crossed with a zombie clydesdale from a George Romero movie.

I hate Runners.

Though it is nice to finish that 12 mile run, and hear the Nike Plus feature on my iPod tell me that I had burned about 1,500 calories. Basically, I could DOUBLE recommended caloric intake, and break even. Especially since my house has a number of mature trees. 8 contractor bags of leaves & sticks later...
"I think I will have dessert, thank you."
"Would I like another beer? Why yes, yes I would."

Remember, folks, God didn't give us mountains to set up obstacles. He gave them to us to each us to climb.

peace love happiness,
Tom
2T4:7

The House of Pain

Sigh...so my big sister is trying to shame me back into blogging. The problem with this blog, as I see it, is the problem with many blogs. Bloggers essentially boil down to "idiots with internet access and the ability to hunt & peck", though I touch type, thank you. I must also admit, it's a bit of an ego shot when you know the only people reading this are doing so out of some warped sense of familial loyalty.

ANYWAY...

I officially feel like the dorky cyclist from the Visa "superfreak" commercial...jamming away to "Barbie Girl" for the 3rd time this week did me in. I also need to rededicate myself to the workout portion of my training. I'm running just fine, but starting to feel the "dead legs" again...though maybe that's because I have NO sense of pace, and thus my midweek "training" runs usually clock in at 7:45 per mile for a 4-4.5 mile run. Dumbass, slow down! It's gotten to the point that songs like "All the Single Ladies" are welcome. I wish you could somehow plug in to whatever a person who walks by is listening to, for like, 5 seconds. It would be interesting to hear what people are "tuned out" to on the road, trails, treadmills, etc.

I'm cooking up a "reverse challenge" for all my lovely donors out there...or at least the ones that I think will read my e-mails. So the sibs, mom, Aunt Joanne, Matt, Molly, maybe Karyn and Patti, be on the lookout for some interesting "offers" in the near future. I also have a "special surprise" in store, just in case I make it to my goal and have to shave my head again this year. Apparently, last year's cut wasn't "short enough" for some folks at CBHS, so I'm going to have to break out the Edge Gel and the Gilette Sensor, I guess.

'til Tuesday (weird name for a band, that)

peace love happiness,
Tom
2T4:7