Well, I started Saturday at 5:45am and had a quick breakfast. I met Thoele and we went to the Fargodome. I was wearing a sleeveless outer armour shirt and my tri-shorts, which doesn't provide for good insulation against 45 degree weather....I was really cold. It even rained for a couple minutes while everyone was lining up. Fortunately, the supposed 5700 bodies kept the wind off me while I was waiting.
The first few miles felt great. There was plenty of people watching to keep the eyes busy, and I even ran into a few people I knew.
As the crowd thinned out, I just kept my pace, and enjoyed the views around town. There was also plenty of spectators cheering -- these people had way more enthusiasm than the people at the finish line in the fargodome.
There were plenty of people who had water/gatorade cups along the way in addition to the race sanctioned stations, so I wasn't too surprised to see an old philanthropic acquiantence, Erik Hatch, holding out drinks for the runners around mile 10. Knowing him, I should've known that he'd be holding out cups of beer for the runners. I had a few sips anyways.
I finished the race 1:48:02, a little short of my guesstimated goal of 1:40:00, but I was satisfied to have finished without breaking stride. Right now, the race results say I placed 44/124 in my age group.
Then I helped Tim move the last of his stuff out of his apartment. *tear* He's all grown up. We then had Q'doba. Then I supported him as he took a last walk down the halls of his former employer--Happy Harry's. He picked me out a few decent wines and got me his employee discount, even though he doesn't work there anymore.
I met a big group of great people at Outback for drinks, and had a very mediocre steak, and then was invited over to the Mariners' house, who were grilling some of the biggest steaks I've ever seen. It's quite possible they were frankenstiened together from several cows. I wasn't hungry at first, but the beer I was drinking gave me a little appetite, and I had a small chunk of steak, some of Joanie's kickass cheesybread, and some asparagus. (sidenote: doesn't asparagus just taste way better when you've got a few drinks in you?)
Afterwards, we played trivia at TGI Fridays, where I, of course, dominated (that is, when I was paying attention.) Then we went to Dempsey's, the new Irish pub on broadway. I commandeered a large booth, and sat in the middle, and some very good looking people filled in on both sides.
People couldn't help but stare.
The evening ended with deep discussion over coffee and breakfast at Perkins-- the way any great day in Fargo ends.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
A few random notes from the weekend...
While having a nice evening run around the lakes, it's possible that all the chicks looking at you are attracted to you. It's even more possible that you have a ton of gnats stuck to your face.
The best part of my weekend was Wade and Erin testifying to my father that my hair is awesome. (My dad's straightfaced response: "Nope")
Note to all random gay men: I am no longer flattered by your come-ons, which have completely lost their novelty. Please cease and desist.
Isn't it ironic that Red Delicious apples are completely not delicious? To swap in some truth to their descriptive moniker, I would suggest tank-armor-peeled Red Grainy Blands. Seriously. They've got to be at least 50 peel by weight, and the inside of those damn things has the texture of couscous. Blech.
If you can't walk straight, it's completely unnecessary to buy a bottle of gin on offsale.
I learned this weekend that my Dad's cousin has a guest room in his house that I'm welcome to stay in at any time. He also has a pool. He also lives on Oahu.
In all the combinations and permutations that can be possibly made using all alcohol & mixers, Tequila and Tonic is perhaps the worst concoction that can possibly be made.
Golden Idea: A sweet trash TV reality show could center around the lives of security guards at wedding receptions. If you feel bad about your life, you definately wouldn't after witnessing the meaningless of their existence.
If you chip in for Pizza Patrol at a late night house party in Fargo, don't leave the kitchen until it shows up. If you do, your share will probably be eaten by some obese roadie for an 80's hair metal cover band crashing the party.
The best part of my weekend was Wade and Erin testifying to my father that my hair is awesome. (My dad's straightfaced response: "Nope")
Note to all random gay men: I am no longer flattered by your come-ons, which have completely lost their novelty. Please cease and desist.
Isn't it ironic that Red Delicious apples are completely not delicious? To swap in some truth to their descriptive moniker, I would suggest tank-armor-peeled Red Grainy Blands. Seriously. They've got to be at least 50 peel by weight, and the inside of those damn things has the texture of couscous. Blech.
If you can't walk straight, it's completely unnecessary to buy a bottle of gin on offsale.
I learned this weekend that my Dad's cousin has a guest room in his house that I'm welcome to stay in at any time. He also has a pool. He also lives on Oahu.
In all the combinations and permutations that can be possibly made using all alcohol & mixers, Tequila and Tonic is perhaps the worst concoction that can possibly be made.
Golden Idea: A sweet trash TV reality show could center around the lives of security guards at wedding receptions. If you feel bad about your life, you definately wouldn't after witnessing the meaningless of their existence.
If you chip in for Pizza Patrol at a late night house party in Fargo, don't leave the kitchen until it shows up. If you do, your share will probably be eaten by some obese roadie for an 80's hair metal cover band crashing the party.
Tuesday, May 9, 2006
Basic Bicycle Maintenance...
If you ever need a pedal wrench, don't buy one. I already did, and it was in a fit of rage.
I'll let you borrow mine.
A few weeks ago, I bought some new pedals & cycling shoes(the most expensive shoes I've EVER bought) and was VERY excited to take a ride with them on that very sunny & warm spring day ...
I carefully installed the cleats onto my shoes, and got out my toolset to take the old pedals off my bike. I grabbed my crescent wrench with my muscled arm in the same fashion my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather have been doing for the last 110 years.
I yanked. And yanked on that motherfucker until I rounded off part of the nut on the pedal. "Ah, SHIT!" I yelled as I wiped the beading sweat from my brow. I deduced the thread was seized, so I sprayed some WD40 on the threads and waited anxiously for a half hour as the daylight burned away....
I tried again, this time on a different orientation to the smashed hardened Chrome-Molybdenum steel on my first try. I looked at my hand, which had the reddest & deepest indentation I've ever seen on flesh. No more screwing around. I can get some ice later.
I close my eyes and mustered every last sodium-potassium receptor in my left bicep, deltoid, and lat. I feel the wrench move abruptly.........because I broke the wrench.
Our hero spreads his arms, fists clenched, teeth bared and looks to the sky/ceiling while emitting a primal roar.
I come to consciousness in my car headed toward the nearest bike shop, Erik's in St. Louis Park, to get a pedal wrench and slap down $30. Yes. I paid $30---a satisfying evening at the Herkimer.....for one wrench. This wrench has a slot to grasp the pedal nut, and a long handle. That's it.
I got home and pulled the wrench from it's bag. Which....appeared to have directions on the back.
Huh....the left pedal has a reverse thread.
Oh.
I had a good ride.
I'll let you borrow mine.
A few weeks ago, I bought some new pedals & cycling shoes(the most expensive shoes I've EVER bought) and was VERY excited to take a ride with them on that very sunny & warm spring day ...
I carefully installed the cleats onto my shoes, and got out my toolset to take the old pedals off my bike. I grabbed my crescent wrench with my muscled arm in the same fashion my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather have been doing for the last 110 years.
I yanked. And yanked on that motherfucker until I rounded off part of the nut on the pedal. "Ah, SHIT!" I yelled as I wiped the beading sweat from my brow. I deduced the thread was seized, so I sprayed some WD40 on the threads and waited anxiously for a half hour as the daylight burned away....
I tried again, this time on a different orientation to the smashed hardened Chrome-Molybdenum steel on my first try. I looked at my hand, which had the reddest & deepest indentation I've ever seen on flesh. No more screwing around. I can get some ice later.
I close my eyes and mustered every last sodium-potassium receptor in my left bicep, deltoid, and lat. I feel the wrench move abruptly.........because I broke the wrench.
Our hero spreads his arms, fists clenched, teeth bared and looks to the sky/ceiling while emitting a primal roar.
I come to consciousness in my car headed toward the nearest bike shop, Erik's in St. Louis Park, to get a pedal wrench and slap down $30. Yes. I paid $30---a satisfying evening at the Herkimer.....for one wrench. This wrench has a slot to grasp the pedal nut, and a long handle. That's it.
I got home and pulled the wrench from it's bag. Which....appeared to have directions on the back.
Huh....the left pedal has a reverse thread.
Oh.
I had a good ride.
Sunday, May 7, 2006
1st Try
I just completed my first triathlon of 2006. Sort of.
I just participated in Lifetime's first annual Indoor Triathlon. Now, something this insipid doesn't really count given that I got into triathlon because I loathe treadmills, but I figure I could chalk it up as a decent workout.
10 minutes pool swim
30 minutes on a stationary spin bike (all bikes set to the same resistance)
20 minutes on a treadmill. (2 degree incline)
Everyone was scored on the distance the completed in each leg.
I got to Lifetime only to realize I forgot my goggles, so I had to buy a crappy pair at their overpriced sporting goods shop for $15.
I thought I swam ok, got up to the cycling studio only to find out the girl next to me swam EXACTLY THE SAME DISTANCE. Fuck. Well, I kept talking to her and found out that she's a professionsal swim coach, and swam for Minot (ND) High School--a phenomenal swim team, hands down. Well, maybe I didn't do so bad, but she is a girl.
The guy cycling on the other side of me is fucking cruising. His pedal cadence was probably around 125-130 easy--which means your shoes are a blurry white(or whatever color your shoe is) circle. I'm going at a decent clip relative to him, and all the Lifetime employees were sure that he was going to beat the day's record by a mile. He goes 17.5 miles, I hit 16.4....which was also really fast for the day, according to the proctors.
The run was painful. They made you set an incline to replicate running outdoors, but I think everyone agreed it was more difficult. I ended up hitting 2.46 miles which was an attempt to best my last tri's run pace. I would've run faster given the views of Lake Harriet instead of stupid R&B videos on the TV. I a nice consolation would've been some some nice-heinied(sp?) women running in the treadmills in front of me.
I spent a good 30 minutes in the hot tub afterwards, and now I'm relaxing with a Summit Maibock and listening to some all-encompassingly kickass music. (thanks J-Mo)
This is the way Sundays should go.
UPDATE: I took 2nd place in points.
I just participated in Lifetime's first annual Indoor Triathlon. Now, something this insipid doesn't really count given that I got into triathlon because I loathe treadmills, but I figure I could chalk it up as a decent workout.
10 minutes pool swim
30 minutes on a stationary spin bike (all bikes set to the same resistance)
20 minutes on a treadmill. (2 degree incline)
Everyone was scored on the distance the completed in each leg.
I got to Lifetime only to realize I forgot my goggles, so I had to buy a crappy pair at their overpriced sporting goods shop for $15.
I thought I swam ok, got up to the cycling studio only to find out the girl next to me swam EXACTLY THE SAME DISTANCE. Fuck. Well, I kept talking to her and found out that she's a professionsal swim coach, and swam for Minot (ND) High School--a phenomenal swim team, hands down. Well, maybe I didn't do so bad, but she is a girl.
The guy cycling on the other side of me is fucking cruising. His pedal cadence was probably around 125-130 easy--which means your shoes are a blurry white(or whatever color your shoe is) circle. I'm going at a decent clip relative to him, and all the Lifetime employees were sure that he was going to beat the day's record by a mile. He goes 17.5 miles, I hit 16.4....which was also really fast for the day, according to the proctors.
The run was painful. They made you set an incline to replicate running outdoors, but I think everyone agreed it was more difficult. I ended up hitting 2.46 miles which was an attempt to best my last tri's run pace. I would've run faster given the views of Lake Harriet instead of stupid R&B videos on the TV. I a nice consolation would've been some some nice-heinied(sp?) women running in the treadmills in front of me.
I spent a good 30 minutes in the hot tub afterwards, and now I'm relaxing with a Summit Maibock and listening to some all-encompassingly kickass music. (thanks J-Mo)
This is the way Sundays should go.
UPDATE: I took 2nd place in points.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Milestone
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?
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?
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)