Yesterday I ran 3.55 miles at the gym. This, in and of itself was no big achievement. That's not the point of today's entry.
The point is......... that I've ran over 100 miles since January 1st, 2006.
I've been keeping track of all of my mileage in the gym, and I'm fairly pleased, given that I've been away from the gym for 2 weeks this year during my ski vacations(which did not keep me conditioned, somehow), and out for yet another week feeling under the weather for working out.
Unfortunately, about 90 miles has been on a treadmill. I hate treadmills. There's such little inspiration to work hard on one--like watching Jeopardy and Ricky Martin videos could inspire anyone. True inspiration is being 3 miles from home and telling yourself that you wouldn't dare walking home.
My longest run yet this year was 8.26 miles....mapped out for you right here. I pulled this off on saturday in a little over an hour.
I hope to reach 365 miles this year on foot. That's a good number, no?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Thursday, April 6, 2006
Hangovers
Hangovers for me start early in the morning when I wake up dehydrated. And while stumbling towards the sink, I usually decide in my half-consciousness that I don't want to be alive. You're so dehydrated that your knee and elbow joints actually creak like an old hardwood floor. On the way I might stop by at the bathroom to rid myself of the 6 martinis still slam dancing about in my bladder. I often ponder just how my body can change gin into gasoline, because that's what it feels like.
Back to bed as soon as possible after drinking the local aquifers dry, I usually pass out a second time. So fast that I'm out before my face meets pillow, and I collapse into a awkward position that will cause an arm to get cut off from circulation, and it will be completely numb & limp by the time I wake up again.
When I wake up with the alarm, I begin to believe that someone, perhaps Chuck Norris, spent the night repeatedly kicking me square in the forehead. This feeling usually transcends two very stiff cups of coffee. The saturation of alcohol on my breath makes me scan my memory of the night before to see if it contains me open mouth kissing a top-fuel dragster.
And the gas. Low in quantity but high in potency, I think it's possible that the secret ingredient in Herkimer's sweet potato fries is weapons grade plutonium. Mmmmmm.
After coffee number 4, I've burnt off most of the acute symptoms, but the glaze will stay for the rest of the day. This is where you almost feel normal, but your brain is fogged over like your windshield on a spring morning. You can sorta see where you're going, but everything is sort of fuzzy & distorted. This state of being is strange, because time can either move quickly or slowly. It moves slowly when you think of your bed. However, once you get back to your desk and stare wide eyed at your monitor, you watch time click off so fast that 30 minutes can pass in between eyeblinks. And a complete time travel experience can occur when your boss is giving you critical action items: complete sentences are lost into a space-time vortex. Yawns frequently outlast the amount of air in your lungs, which makes you kind of gag. The first four words in the sentences that come out of your mouth are usually the same as the last four words are the same as the first four words.
This surreal state makes any semblance of critical thinking nearly impossible, but it is very possible to be productive in this realm. In the course of a normal day, interruptions by incompetents is the greatest factor of not-getting-anything-done-ness, but all it takes is a split second stare with your vacant soulless eyes to send hellish fear into your interrupter. Even the people on the phone.
Driving home usually takes about 3 or 4 eternities. Everyone moron on the road is driving way too slow. or those motherfuckers are driving way too fast, cutting you off. I just want to get to my couch. Please?
I got a good hour nap in this afternoon before I had to drive back out to Chanhassen for my first Triathlon training class at Lifetime. We spun for 50 minutes, and then ran for another 30. I didn't feel too bad.
I still feel kinda crappy. I'm going to bed.
Back to bed as soon as possible after drinking the local aquifers dry, I usually pass out a second time. So fast that I'm out before my face meets pillow, and I collapse into a awkward position that will cause an arm to get cut off from circulation, and it will be completely numb & limp by the time I wake up again.
When I wake up with the alarm, I begin to believe that someone, perhaps Chuck Norris, spent the night repeatedly kicking me square in the forehead. This feeling usually transcends two very stiff cups of coffee. The saturation of alcohol on my breath makes me scan my memory of the night before to see if it contains me open mouth kissing a top-fuel dragster.
And the gas. Low in quantity but high in potency, I think it's possible that the secret ingredient in Herkimer's sweet potato fries is weapons grade plutonium. Mmmmmm.
After coffee number 4, I've burnt off most of the acute symptoms, but the glaze will stay for the rest of the day. This is where you almost feel normal, but your brain is fogged over like your windshield on a spring morning. You can sorta see where you're going, but everything is sort of fuzzy & distorted. This state of being is strange, because time can either move quickly or slowly. It moves slowly when you think of your bed. However, once you get back to your desk and stare wide eyed at your monitor, you watch time click off so fast that 30 minutes can pass in between eyeblinks. And a complete time travel experience can occur when your boss is giving you critical action items: complete sentences are lost into a space-time vortex. Yawns frequently outlast the amount of air in your lungs, which makes you kind of gag. The first four words in the sentences that come out of your mouth are usually the same as the last four words are the same as the first four words.
This surreal state makes any semblance of critical thinking nearly impossible, but it is very possible to be productive in this realm. In the course of a normal day, interruptions by incompetents is the greatest factor of not-getting-anything-done-ness, but all it takes is a split second stare with your vacant soulless eyes to send hellish fear into your interrupter. Even the people on the phone.
Driving home usually takes about 3 or 4 eternities. Everyone moron on the road is driving way too slow. or those motherfuckers are driving way too fast, cutting you off. I just want to get to my couch. Please?
I got a good hour nap in this afternoon before I had to drive back out to Chanhassen for my first Triathlon training class at Lifetime. We spun for 50 minutes, and then ran for another 30. I didn't feel too bad.
I still feel kinda crappy. I'm going to bed.
Sunday, April 2, 2006
Intuition
I've never been able to trust my intuition, particularly when it comes to deciphering the difference between what people are saying and what they are thinking.
Early last week, I could tell I was not being told the entire truth, and I decided that the speech patterns, the non verbals, and the overall scent in the air were completely illusions fabricated in my head. Which is what I do 99 percent of the time when my instincts are trying to tell me something. It is certainly possible for intuition to be wrong, but I have a feeling now that I've been right way more often than I've been wrong.
I'm beginning to understand that I've always had a keen sense of all this, but I'm absolutely nonplussed by my reluctantance to accept the jumping-up-and-down observations of my subconscious/id. I guess the cognitive dissonance of knowing that someone you trust is not being candid with you is difficult to accept.
I think the silver lining to this is that I should have the common sense to trust myself before anyone else. So I'm gonna work on doing just that. Sad that I'm nearly 27 years old and figuring this shit out just now.
Nothing like clarity on a rainy day.
Early last week, I could tell I was not being told the entire truth, and I decided that the speech patterns, the non verbals, and the overall scent in the air were completely illusions fabricated in my head. Which is what I do 99 percent of the time when my instincts are trying to tell me something. It is certainly possible for intuition to be wrong, but I have a feeling now that I've been right way more often than I've been wrong.
I'm beginning to understand that I've always had a keen sense of all this, but I'm absolutely nonplussed by my reluctantance to accept the jumping-up-and-down observations of my subconscious/id. I guess the cognitive dissonance of knowing that someone you trust is not being candid with you is difficult to accept.
I think the silver lining to this is that I should have the common sense to trust myself before anyone else. So I'm gonna work on doing just that. Sad that I'm nearly 27 years old and figuring this shit out just now.
Nothing like clarity on a rainy day.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Where It's at.
I stopped into the Herkimer yesterday to meet a new friend. It was not busy at all; there was maybe 10 people there. The shuffleboard table was empty, if that gives you any idea.
A few minutes later, a very old friend Leah walked in. I hadn't seen or talked to her in years since she now lives in Seattle. She was in town to meet with a pastor because she's getting married here in a few weeks. And upon her homecoming she brought her fiance to the Herkimer. This speaks volumes, because for as long is I've known her, Leah has been floating slightly above the pinnacle of hipster coolness attainable by mere mortals.
Then I saw my friend Adam who showed up. He's like, "Did you see Scott here?" I did not. Apparently I had just missed (my good friend) Scott with a handful of his old housemates, some of who were back to Minny from San Francisco.
So I guess my whole point here is that the Herkimer kicks ass.
A few minutes later, a very old friend Leah walked in. I hadn't seen or talked to her in years since she now lives in Seattle. She was in town to meet with a pastor because she's getting married here in a few weeks. And upon her homecoming she brought her fiance to the Herkimer. This speaks volumes, because for as long is I've known her, Leah has been floating slightly above the pinnacle of hipster coolness attainable by mere mortals.
Then I saw my friend Adam who showed up. He's like, "Did you see Scott here?" I did not. Apparently I had just missed (my good friend) Scott with a handful of his old housemates, some of who were back to Minny from San Francisco.
So I guess my whole point here is that the Herkimer kicks ass.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Lutsen
I shut my cell off and left the real world this weekend without telling anyone(except for the 9 guys with me) and went skiing in Lutsen.
I drank almost an entire liter of Tanqueray. I said lots of funny shit.
I got some pointers from a new friend who used to be on the US ski team.
I skiied really fucking fast.
I played lots of P&A
While encompassingly inebriated, I ran in a dead sprint in my boots and deftly jumped onto the tailgate of a moving pickup, stuck the landing, and made some new friends on the way to the bar.
I saw superior for the first time.
I looked at the double blacks, laughed, and "11"ed the whole way down them.
I skiied in the rain. For the first time.
I scared the living shit out of some snowboarders.
For the first time, I stopped in the middle of my beer and gave it to Brian because I was too drunk.
I got rejected by some subpar girls who drove from Illinois.
Two words. Hang. Time.
PS. I've added photos from my latest trips to my Flickr page
I drank almost an entire liter of Tanqueray. I said lots of funny shit.
I got some pointers from a new friend who used to be on the US ski team.
I skiied really fucking fast.
I played lots of P&A
While encompassingly inebriated, I ran in a dead sprint in my boots and deftly jumped onto the tailgate of a moving pickup, stuck the landing, and made some new friends on the way to the bar.
I saw superior for the first time.
I looked at the double blacks, laughed, and "11"ed the whole way down them.
I skiied in the rain. For the first time.
I scared the living shit out of some snowboarders.
For the first time, I stopped in the middle of my beer and gave it to Brian because I was too drunk.
I got rejected by some subpar girls who drove from Illinois.
Two words. Hang. Time.
PS. I've added photos from my latest trips to my Flickr page
Saturday, March 4, 2006
I lost my phone
RIP
Andy's Motorola V710
Sept 2004 - Mar 2006
Died when V710 was ejected from Andy's jacket during a skiing crash. Andy was uninjured and both skis were recovered about 100 yards downhill, but the V710 body was not recovered.
V710 was Andy's trusted communications liason for nearly two years, but in recent months had lost photo capability, and had intermittent MP3 functionality. The day before the accident, V710's outside LCD failed. It's early demise is sad and will be missed, but Andy knows it will be happy at rest in Snowbird, UT, at the scene of the crash somewhere below the Gad2 liftline cliff.
If I had your phone number, I probably don't have it now. You're probably going to wanna to forward it to me if you want to hear from me in the future. If I didn't have it and you want me to hear for me, here's a convenient chance to give it to me.
Andy's Motorola V710
Sept 2004 - Mar 2006
Died when V710 was ejected from Andy's jacket during a skiing crash. Andy was uninjured and both skis were recovered about 100 yards downhill, but the V710 body was not recovered.
V710 was Andy's trusted communications liason for nearly two years, but in recent months had lost photo capability, and had intermittent MP3 functionality. The day before the accident, V710's outside LCD failed. It's early demise is sad and will be missed, but Andy knows it will be happy at rest in Snowbird, UT, at the scene of the crash somewhere below the Gad2 liftline cliff.
If I had your phone number, I probably don't have it now. You're probably going to wanna to forward it to me if you want to hear from me in the future. If I didn't have it and you want me to hear for me, here's a convenient chance to give it to me.
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