Photo(s) of the Week -- Blaming "Them" 20 Dec 2010

Well, I went and supported Mrs. RoSA and some friends at a combined 5K/10K run this past Saturday called "The Christmas Caper." (We're all familiar with the reason I don't run anymore.) It was early, it was cold, and it was icy on the running path -- which, fortunately for my half-frozen self, made for an amusing experience when compared to other running events that I have spectated.

Ben H ran the 10K in a full Santa outfit. I personally like this one, which shows off the Santa Mullet in all its glory, flowing in the wind.

As awesome as this was, the more entertaining and/or confounding spectacle was this creepy guy, who stood, unmoving and sentinel for at least 25 minutes, about 50 yards from the start line, with an enigmatic shirt:

"They" are such convenient scapegoats for everything, aren't they? "They failed to forecast rain, so I didn't bring an umbrella to work today and now I'm soaked."  "They are doing nothing but advancing the left- / right-wing agenda."  "They climbin' in your windows, snatchin' yo' people up, tryin' to rape 'em, so ya'll need to hide yo' kids, hide yo' wives,...and hide yo' husbands."

Awesome. Happy Monday and an upcoming Merry Christmas to you. Enjoy your week.

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Weekly Selects #38

I was asked to fill-in for a dodgeball game last night -- my first organized one -- which was surprisingly fun. My two personal memorable takeaways: (1) The dude on the other team who was pointing people off the court that he had hit, and who also gave me the "come and get some" wave of his hand when it was just me and him left; (2) The Asian-dominated team we were playing thought I was on their team. Oh, good times. And yes, my arm is sore.

Your videos, and then your Highlights:

Videos:
-An Ian McKellen impersonator doing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air intro
-NASA How to Poop in Space Tutorial (a little long, but no wonder they cut the shuttle program)
-Watch me run 300 yards of my marathon (not really all that exciting, but you can hear Casey narrate and Shigeko laugh merrily. Thanks, Jay!) 
-Stupidest commercial EVER (and the song is stuck in my head. I hate whoever made this commercial.)

-Via Email from Casey, who sent a strange article about people in Japan (sigh) whose job is to break-up couples instead of matching them up:

Have an ex that won’t go away?  If you live in Japan, you can call on a wakaresase-ya or "splitter-upper": "The function of the wakaresase-ya is the direct opposite of a dating agency: with great ingenuity, and the right fee, they will prise apart human relationships."  For example, these professionals will trick a spouse or undesirable future daughter-in-law into committing an affair, and provide photographic evidence of the indiscretion. "We produce a drama at the request of our clients," says Osamu Tomiya, a splitter-upper.

I apologize on behalf of Japan.

As sad as this is, and as much as I think that reality TV is ruining television society, these type of guys has the makings of a successful reality show. Some sort of cross between "Rock of Love," "Dog: The Bounty Hunter," and "Survivor." It has manipulation, drama, scandal, and tumultuous relationships -- all key factors in melting American brains into a soupy mass of stupid-reality-show-addicted gruel.*

*(In the interests of full disclosure, I was flipping through channels a couple months back and came across "Jersey Shore"...and was so mesmerized by the Guido World and it's complete deviation from everything I've known to be normal, that I watched for three hours. I just couldn't turn away)

-Via GChat from JMill:

we should go on a high dining experience in NYC

Marijuana-inspired food -- not meaning "special brownies" or anything like that, but meaning food whose creation was inspired whilst under the influence.

Something tells me that the key ingredients to most of these recipes will be Funyuns, Doritos, and pork rinds. Maybe some Oreos.

-Via Email from White Josh:

After seeing this picture, I can't tell what the Japanese would be most concerned about.  The fact that the base is staying in Okinawa, or what this guy wears out in public!  wow

Oh, Prime Minister Hatoyama.

I was more concerned about Hatoyama and his party taking power last year from the Liberal Democratic Party -- a political party that was pretty much in power for 50+ years straight -- and whether his administration would have the cajones to battle entrenched bureaucrats, endemic and pervasive governmental corruption, and Japan's aging society.

But now I'm more concerned about his fashion sense.

-Via Email from Banker, who just got in to a prestigious university in Europe for a postgrad program. In celebration, Josh M got him a gag gift of an Indian dreamcatcher, which Banker mocked. This email came in a couple of weeks later with attachment:

this thing must have brought me luck, as I hung it up last night, and this morning I wake to have an email from *university name* saying that one who was awarded the scholarship declined, and since I was the runner up, guess who gets it?!

(see below)

so thank you for the dream catcher, as it certainly caught something. 

(I'll never make fun of these again)

Lesson: NEVER QUESTION THE POWER OF THE DREAMCATCHER.

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Post-Marathon Check-up -- 3 Months Later

You'll be happy to know that since the marathon, I have not gone on a run. Not a single one. I think my mind and body still refuse to submit themselves to anything vaguely resembling the trauma I put it through back in November. Instead, I've been playing soccer (sure, you run in soccer, but there's a BALL -- it's different).

I got a package from Jay in the mail last week -- some photos he took at the November race. An unexpected and pleasant gift. Here's my personal favorite:

Aside from shooting sports, landscapes, and architecture to prove his awesomeness as a photographer, Jay has also been known to provide his photography services for other things: Weddings and engagement photos; pro bono work for The National Enquirer and other publications of fine repute; incriminating photos of your boss having dinner with his mistress (for blackmail, dummy), etc, etc.

Wait, hold up. I just got an email from Jay saying that he doesn't do weddings anymore.

Anyway, you can check his photos out at tannerphotography.net. There's some amazing stuff there. Enjoy -- and thanks again to Jay for the photos!

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Blackberry and The Beatles

I'm up late watching another bowl game that is of no interest to me -- it's really just a final binge of football watching before I go into withdrawals starting in February.

The unfortunate part of watching this game right now is that my demographic (football fan staying up until 2am) seems to be the target of this annoying Blackberry ad, which keeps running over and over again:



These have to be some of the most redundant lyrics ever. Really. They are mind-numbingly stupid:

There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

Rough translation of the lyrics: If you can do X, X is not impossible to do. PROFOUND. And then the text at the end of the commercial also reminds us to "Do what you love -- Love what you do." Thanks, Blackberry! The wisdom you have chosen to impart to us is invaluable. We had almost forgotten that possible things are NOT impossible, and that we should do things that we like to do. Unbelievable.

I did some further research and the song was originally written by the Beatles. Coincidentally, I just got back from a Beatles Rock Band Party with friends and we talked about how the Beatles were not lyrical savants. So, while acid and LSD may have taken the Beatles to crazy places -- songs called "I Am the Walrus" and singing about yellow submarines, to name a few examples -- they also made them sound like idiots most of the time.

At least Blackberry and the Beatles provided me with something to occupy my time while watching South Florida play Northern Illinois. Snore. Off to bed.

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The Marathon -- Photo(s) of the Week 16 Nov 2009

Well, neither of my worst-case scenarios happened while I was out for my little run on Saturday:

(If given the choice, I personally would have preferred the fate of the former [collapsed, naked, and about to die] than the latter [streaming, bloody nipples... you ever try to shower with those?] Luckily, it came to neither)

Some might view traveling 2600 miles to run 26.2 impractical; or training for 10 months to run for 3.5 hours disproportionate. But it was worth it, and Nartker and I finished Run the River Marathon with the help of supportive family and friends. Couldn't have done it without them.

The smiling, un-pained looks on our faces are indicative of these pictures being taken at the 4-mile mark, and not at the end. If they were at the end, my face would have been contorted and twisted in a display of unbearable pain.

Some quick awards:

• Mike Ditka Award: Coach. He may not have the mustache, but he had the same demands for discipline and high-performance that Dit-KAH demanded of his football teams. If I didn't have Coach driving me, I would still be collapsed on the side of the race trail today.
  

• Pre-Race Comic Relief and Gutsy Performance Award: Nartker, who grabbed his Body Glide stick (anti-chafing material) before the race, headed into the bathroom, and came out declaring something along the lines of: "I think I just violated myself with the Body Glide." The man's legs also fell apart like a Saturn sedan, but he fought through a hurt knee, an Achilles heel issue and his body sucking up electrolytes faster than he could put them in in order to finish. Well done, sir.

• Traveling Fan Base Award: Ma and Pops Dalton. Flew down from WA State to watch me a total of five times over the course of 3 1/2 hours. Granted, the painted faces and incoherent, drunken screaming of die-hards were not present in my parents, but their support was greatly needed and appreciated.

• Dale Earnhardt / "I didn't plan on running 1/3 of a marathon today, but I did" Award: J and Casey Tanner. Tore through the suburbs of Sacramento, CA, channeling Fast & Furious driving skills (likely scaring my passenger parents half to death in the process) in order to get to as many spots along the trail as possible. They also ran a ridiculous amount alongside myself and Nartker as encouragement.

• "They say patience is a virtue -- but damn, virtues are boring and lame" Award: AM. For having to deal with my "I've gotta go for a long run today" statements over the last half year.

• The Consummate Dumba** Award: The Idiot-Girl in Sacramento. Unfortunately I wasn't there for this, but at one of the stops my parents and the Tanners went to, some imbecile impersonating a 20-year old girl got out and started dropping f-bombs on my mom and J because they thought they were dropping off marathon runners by car to get ahead. Right. The Imbecile, of course, could not be reasoned with because the capacity for logic and intelligent dialogue is housed inside of the cerebrum, a part of the brain that is reserved for the more evolved species -- like people, or reptiles, or amphibians and such. Well done, ma'am, and let's just say that the two fingers I'm throwing in your direction are not my thumbs.
  

Lest you get Marathon Recap Fatigue, I will end this entry here. I may have some more thoughts on it later, but for now I am going to go enjoy my vacation.


Happy Monday, all. Time for me to nurse my sore legs.

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Weekly Selects #13

Digital correspondence for the past week. Apologies, most of the selections involve my upcoming marathon in Sacramento. I hope this doesn't provide TOO much insight into my life/relationships. Let's do this:

-Via Gchat with Casey, from last Friday, regarding my trip to Sac-town:

just think, this time next week, you'll be waking up next to me

The plan for my trip was to spend Thursday night at Casey's. Operative word: WAS.

-Via Email from Gnomie, who is well-acquainted with my undying affinity for bacon (the article):

not only have you probably already seen this, but you probably have already incorporated it into your robust daily diet of bacon product:

Squeez Bacon! Finally, something the Swedes have seen fit to bestow on the world besides Stockholm Syndrome and the inability to take sides in a major world conflict! From the article: "By precooking it and blending it in a special way, he [the inventor] was able to make a fully cooked 100% bacon paste that could be squeezed from a tube."

To take something as beautiful as bacon and twist it like this is wrong. Like...like... oh hell, let's unleash the inner nerd: It's like in Lord of the Rings where the Elves get disfigured and mutilated and the end-product is the Orcs. There, I said it.

-Via Gchat with Butz, while we were discussing my upcoming marathon and how I was planning on mitigating the chafing of sensitive areas in my chest region. I explained that I had bought a deodorant-like stick to prevent chafing, and told him this:

...so I will be coating my nipples in that

I know some of the readership is not comfortable with the terminology, and I pray I will never be typing that sentence ever again in my life, but I'll do whatever I have to avoid this poor sap's fate:

(I realize by quoting myself on my own blog, my egotism has reached Kanye Westian heights, but fear not: I will be interrupting Taylor Swift acceptance speeches before you know it.)


-Via Gchat with Nartker, who told me that the forecasted temperature for the start of the marathon has continued dropping as we get closer. I think right now we're looking at 38 degrees. His commentary:

I think my junk just shrunk just thinking about it...sorry for the tmi

Anatomical references are in abundance this posting. Again, my apologies.

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A-Rod the Centaur -- Photo of the Week 9 Nov 2009

This may be old news to some of you, but...

(writer's conception)

To answer the quizzical look on your face, NY Yankees star Alex Rodriguez, is reported to have a portrait of himself as a centaur hanging in his bedroom. A painting he commissioned. Commissioned: As in he proactively thought of the idea, sought out a painter, and paid said painter.

Now, many of you may be thinking this is strange. Beyond strange. Vain. Egotistical. But before you become judgmental of A-Rod, I suppose a confession is in order. I actually commissioned some paintings of my own a few years back. The problem I ran into -- besides finding a portrait artist whom I could afford -- was that I never specified what sort of creature I wanted my head to be placed on. Needless to say, the portrait didn't turn out so well:

Not what I would classify as flattering. Oh well. Some things just don't go as expected. I hope A-Rod is happy with how his turned out.

But really, it's super creepy. Previous to knowing this about A-Rod, here's a rough estimation of how my Top 3 "Things That Creep Me Out To No End" list was laid out:

1. Clowns
2. Creepy movie-children
3. Ventriloquist dummies
   

And now, the new list:

1. Clowns
2. Creepy movie-children
3. Alex Rodriguez

On a career note for him, maybe once he's done with baseball, we'll see if A-Rod makes a cameo in the next few Narnia movies.

Happy Monday. Spend the rest of the day being jealous of my MS Paint skills.

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Weekly Selects #11

Back in the saddle with some D.C. from the past week or so:


-Via Facebook from Jenny P and Nartker, respectively, regarding the growth that is my hair:

I'm more concerned that your hair is going to make your marathon time 5 minutes slower at least...


That is some serious salad Josh. . . I'll be able to draft behind that thing during the marathon. . . I like it.

As mentioned before, I am of the firm belief that my hair is sentient, so I think it's just glad that it's still a topic of conversation. Large hair has needs, too, ya know.

-Via Email from AG, a rather hilarious article titled the "Brocyclopedia" defining the term "bro." An excerpt:

Brosephs are best known for taking bro-like behavior to its extremes. For example, while the wearing of a backward visor is a strong indication of a bro, a broseph may be identified by wearing a visor backwards and upside down.

-Via Email from Saree, which I found to be related to Jay's nascent crusade against my people:

 Honestly, I can't argue with that. Now hanging in my cubicle at work.

-Via Gchat from Banker, a proud Philly native and staunch Phillies fan, who just sent me the URL to this article. The gist: A Philly woman offering sex for World Series tickets.

Now, Banker never actually expressed pride or disgust at his fellow Philadelphian, so the jury is still out on how he feels about it.

-Via Email from cousin Mei Mei, who is hosting a Mac & Cheese contest this coming Sunday, where we will all make and bring our own homemade dishes to enter into competition. She was throwing out suggestions on a prize for the winner:

we could smear all the mac and cheese down a slip and slide, winner gets first slide.

Disgusting, yes, but you know you'd watch a YouTube video of it. It is likely that the real disgusting thing will be whatever I concoct for said contest, considering I have no competency in the mac&cheese department, and will likely conjure up some blob-mass that will be indistinguishable from The Swamp Thing, hardened caulking, or some sordid combination of both.

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Shoe Retirement -- Photo of the Week 5 Oct 2009

It's a sad day for my first pair of running shoes. After more than 1,000 miles (slightly past the recommended 300 for a pair), they're getting retired and replaced by a nice shiny new pair.

So, while these put in all of the hard work (I will label them my "Michael Jordans"):

These will be running the 26.2 and receiving all of the glory:

I will be calling these my Phil Jacksons; riding the coattails of harder workers to success. Zing, Phil. Zing.



Happy Monday, everyone.

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Weekly Selects #8

And the DC just keeps on rolling...

-Via Email from Coach, after I recorded a long Saturday run in my running log:

great work today. i was moved nearly to tears while reading your log. you met the beast face to face and you slew the freakin thing.

My recording of things like mile splits, mid-run nutrition, and how my knees felt is apparently poignant enough to be semi-poetic.

-Via Email from Ben, who's email account got hacked and started sending Spam:

Subj: EXCTING OPERTUNTY!!

Dear Denizen of my inbox,

Many of you have inquired as to the nature of some emails you received earlier today from my gmail account. You may have thought that I (and you) were the victims of a virus that sent an email to everyone in my inbox.

That would be incorrect. I have actually started an upstart dotcom company selling cheap knockoff electronics. Please order with confidence from the link you received earlier and I guarantee your satisfaction!

Ahhh, what is happening? The gmail virus added that last line!

It's a virus. Run away.

Sincerely,

Ben

By the way, a virus hijacks my email account and I hear from dozens of you. It was nice. I'm thinking of doing something similar at least monthly.

-Via Email from Case, planning for his lack of marathon preparation:

it looks like the race ends at 3:30pm. That only gives me 8.5hrs to finish. Is that doable?

Let me make it clear: If anybody is going to finish a marathon with no training, it is Casey. As for the post-race condition of his legs, his ability to pick up and carry his son, and getting on and off things like the couch and his toilet in the weeks following said marathon? Well...

-Via TXT from Nartker, as follow-up to the competitive eating instructions he sought last week. I guess he ordered the burger that he is scheduled to eat in order to do some advanced scouting; you know, get a feel for the beast. Based on his accounts, he didn't come close to finishing it, and ended up disliking the taste of meat (hopefully temporarily):

And Nartker doesn't have small-person pygmy hands, either -- he's a man! (although he is not 40, it would be funny if his post-eating contest press conference went something like Mike Gundy's... 2:20-mark if you are short on time)

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Tough Guy Race -- Photo of the Week 29 June 2009

The Boiler sent me this article. This PotW is taken from the accompanying photo gallery.


The article really is worth the read.

Obstacles called the "Vietcong tunnels" and the "Stalag escape"? Electric and barbwire fences; contestants dropping out from hypothermia? Are you kidding me?? Suddenly, my Run Amuck "achievement" makes me feel quite ashamed -- like I went for a nice, leisurely Sunday morning stroll while these dudes got taken on some sort of death march.

Oh well.


Happy Monday morn, everyone. Use this morning to pick the marinade you want for your 4th of July BBQ.

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Preempting Myself

Remember in the 2004 presidential campaign, when the Republicans "swiftboated" Kerry? I'm going to do some swiftboating of my own. Only in this case, I'm going to be playing the role of both Republican (revealer of incriminating events) and Kerry (attackee) and undercut my own future political career by relating some more random antics.

This actually works out quite nicely, as I despise politics, and have no future aspirations to run for office. In a way -- by recording my stupidity here in a publicly available blog -- I've preempted any serious contemplation of running for political office by crippling any of my own future candidacies. There's just too much incriminating stuff here that an opponent could point to in order to portray me as unfit for political office: My watching of Battlefield Earth as an indication of poor judgment (he'd be right); my refined taste for gourmet root beer as an indicator that I am an elitist who is out of touch with the common man (correct again); my troubles with the law as indicative of some buried anarchistic tendencies (debatable). Just to name a few disqualifiers.

So, future self: You're welcome, and you can thank me later.

But back to undermining myself with the latest adventure: The Run Amuck 5K in Maryland.

It was a 5K, yes, but I wouldn't call it a race. It was part-obstacle course, part-5K, part-"excuse for anybody to dress as weirdly as they want, minus the presence of ecstasy and glowsticks." Something about races that have you jump through tires, hop walls, and trudge through multiple stretches of swamp-like muddy water serve as an excuse to don strange attire. (My psych minor-receiving self has no logical explanation for this.) Headbands, dudes wearing animal print tights, etc etc.

Not one to be outdone, DJA sported some awesomeness, and even made on-site wardrobe adjustments to be more competitive in the appearance department:

Cutoff jean shorts: Check. Rope belt: Check
Improvised belly shirt: Check. Now we're rolling.

The most I could muster was tying my shirt to the side, a la the entire team of high school soccer girls I was asked to coach one summer (a story of torture for another day). Here's the Run Amuck Team photo:


And, the final, decisive nail in the coffin that was both mine and DJA's future political aspirations:


Whereas most races are held to benefit or raise awareness for good causes (ie cancer research, diabetes), I don't have the foggiest idea what cause my $40 entrance fee went toward. It could have gone to fund Nic Cage's next crappy, high-budget movie for all I know. As long as it didn't go to PETA, I can rest well at night.

The 5K itself was enjoyable. The most amusing part for me was not falling in mud; rather, it was the militaristic woman with short-cropped hair who happened to be in front of me for the first couple of walls we had to scale. The walls served as bottlenecks, so as I was standing in line to get over the wall, I mentioned offhandedly to my team that I should just go around the wall instead of waiting in line. The woman turned around and said "You'd better scale that wall, and you'd better get dirty! I want to see you dirty!" (emphasis was for real, and also represents an index finger wagging in my face) It was semi-amusing the first time, but by the second wall it had crossed over to and set up camp in the disturbing realm.

I promptly passed her after the second wall, and never looked back. Fear of that woman being somewhere behind me, yelling "I want to see you dirty!", was likely the strongest factor that propelled me to the finish line.

Anne M came out to support as well. She got an enthusiastic reception from the team afterward:


Now, to meet the genius who organized the thing. This guy gets people to pay him $40 so that they can run through mud. He would be a genius campaign manager for any politician-- but I guess that's not an option for me anymore.

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Photo of the Week 13 Apr 2009

Remember Gladiator, in which the Maximus character is forced to take on distinctly different roles? You know what I'm talking about. He goes from being a general to a slave. From a slave to a gladiator. And then becomes a gladiator who defies an emperor. Lots of transitions for him.

Well, I had one of those transitions this past week, in which I crossed the threshold of identifying myself as a "recreational runner" and officially became "hard-core runner-nerd." Why, you ask? I purchased and used one of these:

As some of my runs are lasting more than hour, I need to "refuel" mid-run. This necessitated the purchase of my "fuel belt," a term that is really a sad euphemistic attempt to save my ego. Friends have asked what it is, and there is no way to describe it without the explainee either getting confused, or pausing for a second while to process my description and then saying: "so you mean it's like a fanny pack?" It's unavoidable. Trust me, I've tried.

This whole marathon-thing is spiraling out of control.



Happy Monday to all.

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Spectating the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler

DJA and I woke up at some unholy hour on Sunday morning to go support some friends who ran the Cherry Blossom Festival 10-miler in DC. Don't ask me what we were thinking.

Anyway, I texted Josh M to get his bib number, his starting "wave" (group), and any distinctive clothing he might be wearing so that we could spot him. The reply:

"8072, blue wave, flesh-colored leotard"

Oh really? This could get interesting. If only.

"Naw, white shirt and black shorts"

Sigh. Too bad.

We did catch our boy along the course at about the 3.5-mile mark, after DJA and I trucked across the Mall:Shortly thereafter and out of nowhere, a runner tossed a shirt that landed right at DJA's feet -- now, either the runner had overdressed, or they saw DJA's flowing locks of hair and wanted to treat him like an onstage rock-star. Only in this case it was a long-sleeved shirt, and not underwear.


Again, if only.

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Wish I Was There

Time for a new addition to the repertoire that I am going to call "Wish I Was There." Quite simply: Talk about some events that I wish I could have witnessed firsthand. Easy enough, right?

Alright. Let's do this.

--Samson and the Jawbone
I don't revel in gore, but how crazy would it have been to watch a man kill a thousand others with the jawbone of an animal? If jazz is the penultimate of improvisation, and MacGyver is the golden standard for resourcefulness, then Samson -- in choosing to take on an entire army with, of all things, the jawbone of an ASS -- solidified his status as some sort of Miles Davis/MacGyver hybrid of ancient hand-to-hand combat. Braveheart, Maximus: Get out the way, yo.

--The Battle of Marathon
The Persians tried to invade Greece, blah blah blah. Not really what I'm concerned about. What would concern me is stopping that stupid messenger from running the ~26 miles between Marathon to Athens. Stopping him would have done myself and humanity a favor, because marathons as we know them would not exist. (And yes, most of this is myth & legend, but this is my blog -- and dammit, fictional events are just as fun to speculate about being a participant in as real ones)

I haven't decided if "stopping" the messenger involves me mugging him or explaining to him the concept of a relay. I'll mull it over.

--Jimi at Woodstock, 1969 (suggested by JH)
Hopefully we're all familiar with Hendrix's improvised rendering of the "Star-Spangled Banner" at Woodstock. It is legendary. I personally would have been slightly uncomfortable around all of the "free love," drug-smoking/injecting/snorting, and overall lack of proper hygiene at the festival, but to see Jimi in his element would have been other-worldly -- with or without the drugs.


Thanks to those who have already submitted suggestions for future "Wish I Was There"s. Keep sending me events -- real or fictional; historical, literary or cinematic -- that you wish you would have been there for.

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Asian Knee -- Photo of the Week 9 Mar 2009

Here's a new equation for you:

("Staying at Sister's" + Asian Knee) x 4.5-mile run + Hello Kitty Icepack = JD losing a man-card

At least my knee felt better. It's the least I can salvage.

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Random Thoughts From a 12-Hour Shift

--The more I think about it...and believe me, the more I think about it, the less I want to... Bundaberg, the Australian root beer that pulled a Matt Leinhart and essentially rode the pine as a non-competitor in the Root Beer Royal Rumble, was horrible. Absolutely horrible. I honestly think it's bottled kangaroo urine. So now I have three bottles of kangaroo pee chilling in my fridge that I don't want to toss because it was expensive. How pathetic is that?

Maybe this scenario bears a similarity to the bottling process? (No, I haven't the slightest clue as to the subtitle language):



A similar post-consumption facial tic (see 2:15) has presented itself in me, and has yet to go away.

--This is my notebook of thoughts:

She has endured a full year+ of sitting in the back-left pocket of my pants. If anybody in the future wants to recreate an accurate and precise die-cast replica of my left butt-cheek, this notebook will no doubt serve as the authoritative mold. It's no time-capsule (lame!), but just a little something for future generations.

--What with my weird work schedule and battle with insomnia, I run at strange hours. Worried people tell me not to run alone so late. And then ask if I have reflective clothing. Or a rape whistle. And if I have life insurance. And if they can be listed as the benefactor if anything happens to me.

But really, I don't have reflective clothing, and I'll tell you why: I live in gang-territory. I debated the merits of high visibility and decided that I'd rather be hit by a car than shot or beaten with a tire iron. That's just me, though.

--Get ready. Get ready. Get ready:

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Random Thoughts From the Running World

--Injured my knee a couple of weeks ago, and when I listed the symptoms to Ben M.D. to get a diagnosis, all he could give me was "Hmm...I have no idea. Sounds like 'asian knee.' " Which was initially unhelpful -- both for its racism and its Michael Scott-esque "I just made this up on the spot because I have no real answer"-type feel -- but then actually served as an amusing way to confuse people when they asked about the injury.

"Oh, the doctor told me I have some slight asian knee. I just need to take it easy for a few weeks."

Try it sometime. Tell someone you have "caucasian ear" or "african heel." The confused "I need to look that up on Wikipedia on my iPhone as soon as this conversation is over" eyes/feigned understanding of what you just said (either one) is absolutely priceless.

--A playlist for the iPod is essential to my completion of any run. I discovered early on that the best running songs involve some sort of hand-clapping because they help me keep rhythm and bring a smile to my face for some reason. If you happen to notice a man clapping his gloved hands, bobbing his head, and grinning like an idiot while running the trails/streets of northern VA, chances are it's me.

Here's one of my favorites, from an amazing Nike commercial:



--I picked the wrong damn time of the year to start running.

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6 Is Basically 26.2, Right?

As some of you know, I talked about training for a marathon.

Well, I am now officially committed to the 14 Nov 2009 Run the River Marathon from Folsom, CA to Sacramento, CA. I heard that they give the runners a 50-meter headstart, then release the prisoners from Folsom Prison to chase after us -- like the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. Added incentive to run faster than we normally would, I suppose.

I acquired a coach about two weeks ago -- he's my sister's coach and was kind enough to take me on after I applied for admission. (Actually, between you and me, I'm convinced affirmative action played a role in the decision...with my sister being only half-Asian, and Coach undoubtedly needing to fill his quota of at least one full-Asian runner, I was allowed in)

Anyway, I logged my longest run to date yesterday: 6 miles. I know. This is chump change to you seasoned distance runners, but it was raining and freezing out there. And those running/training montages from the Rocky movies? Not nearly as cool or inspiring when you're the one doing it.

Anyway, here's the running diary from yesterday's run:
Mile 0.02 - I hate this. I want to quit.
Mile 1 - Still hate this. Want to quit.
Mile 1.5 - Need to start brainstorming possible injuries that justify quitting.
Mile 2.5 - Thank you, thank you, thank you for iPods.
Mile 5 - Focus. All. Effort. On. Breathing.
Mile 6 - Just chant it. Tylenol. Advil. Motrin. Tylenol. Advil. Motrin.
Cooldown - There was a 30 minute span of time where I don't remember anything, so I'm assuming I blacked out.

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Why I Would Suck As a Diplomat

Remember that integrity thing I was talking about earlier? Why don't you just go ahead and toss mine out.


The other day I was talking with my sister Jen on the phone, doing some catching up. She told me she just got back from running 13 miles. An immediate alarm went off in my head.

JD: Wait, Jen. Are you--? **deep breath** ...Are you training for a marathon?

Jen: Yeah. I was thinking about running one at the end of February.

**Insert crotch-punched-feeling here**

See, for the past few years, I have slowly been getting boxed in on the Endurance Sports Front. Various family members and friends have -- unsuccessfully -- attempted to persuade me to run marathons or other distance races. I was always against long-distance running. All that self-discipline, goal-achieving, and sense of accomplishment was for snobs. Being the stubborn person that I am, the more people suggested I participate, the more I dug in my heels.

Jen was my last hope. Although Jen ran a half-marathon this year, I felt like she had yet to cross over to join my sister Juli and her husband Ben on the endurance sports side. Yes, 13.1 miles is more than I've ever run and is extremely admirable, but the operating word there was "half." She was still with me; not with them.

It all changed with that fateful phone call. With that conversation, I became the pariah of my family; I am the North Korea/Iran to my family's international community. I am isolated, becoming marginalized, and my family is tightening the grips on me. Am I being passively coerced into doing a marathon?

I'm afraid I might go against everything I've preached for the last few years and choose to run a marathon. Something tells me I would suck at the negotiating table in international politics -- I'd buckle before the other guy even said anything.

It's all politics.

As for everybody else that contributed to the pressure, you know who you are.

Folsom, CA -> Sacramento, CA. Bring it.


Endnote: My family has never tried to manipulate me into doing this -- This must be my competitive side kicking in.

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