Where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrana

Tomorrow I'm off for a weekend to the land of milk and honey...Poughkeepsie.

My good friend Jeffrey is attending culinary school and has a bachelor pad in Hyde Park, so me and fellow rapscallion Chris Tavernese (Tvaz) are going to pay him a visit. For those that don't know, Jeff used to go to Cortland, but he decided to chase the culinary dream. He was already a great cook, so I'm sure he's killing it in school.

Tvaz is coming from Strong Island, and I'm driving down from my house. It's going to be like watching a hurricane close in on a tiny tropical island from both sides. Except instead of gale force winds and rain, Hyde Park will be experiencing record amounts of mischief and public indecency.

God help us all.

I need a bigger car, or a camel...

It's been snowing a lot here on the hill, so for my runs I have been driving to Delhi so I can get more variety of runs, and the roads are more clear, also I lift heavy things in the gym in town after I run.

This is fine, it's only a ten minute drive. The only thing is that I end up changing in my car, either in to or out of running/workout clothes. I have gotten so many strange looks from passing pedestrians as they look over to see a sweaty, six foot tall man flail around in a fogged-up car, trying to wrestle himself out of spandex tights. In my struggles, sometimes the horn gets honked at inopportune times, like when a lady is crossing the street in front of my car. Now I don't mind changing in my car, most of the time I look like I'm homeless anyway. It's the fact that I have such a...uh..."compact" car. It's a little cramped, and my clothes, shoes, skis, bikes, bags, etc... tend to fill up the back seat rather quickly. I like to think of myself as a sort of gypsy-nomad, and my car is like my camel, or maybe my yak, seeing as camels don't like the cold.

Runner's high...nope

This is a fan-submitted idea for a post, from Mr. Jared Francis Newell.

The idea of the "runner's high" gets thrown around a lot in running and fitness magazines. The idea is that the further you run, eventually you get a buildup of endorphins and adrenaline and whatnot and you suddenly feel great, you feel high.

Personally I have never experienced this phenomena, in all my time running, the longer you run, the worse you feel. I think the runner's high is being confused with being fit. When I'm fit, I can feel great on a run, and run for a long way feeling fantastic. But when I'm out of shape, running sucks.

It might seem strange for a runner to say that running sucks, but most of the time everyone can admit that...it kinda does suck.

Being fit and running fast is great fun. But some of the time running isn't fun at all. Ignorant people always have some sort of witty comment, like: (whiny voice) "Well if it's not fun why do you do it so much?"

We do not do it because it is fun, there's something deeper than fun that makes us do it, something darker.

Fear and Loathing in the Adirondacks

The last couple of days have been a whirlwind of activity for me.

On thursday I was planning on racing a 5k in Oneonta, then going up to Albany to spend New Years eve with some runner kids. I had gone to my friend Mike's house to play poker on Wednesday night, got home kinda late and rushed in to get to bed. The next morning as I rushed around to pack everything I needed for the race and the trip north, I discovered that in my infinite wisdom I had locked the keys in my car. With no spare ones, I tried to open the door with the ol' clothes-hanger in the window trick, I've done this before, but it requires time and patience, neither of which I had at the moment.

I ended up taking my parents' car and making it to the race on time, got second place, puked in a flower bed outside the YMCA after my breakfast bagel decided to make an appearance after I crossed the finish line. Showered with a sock as a washcloth and a t-shirt as a towel, because I forgot to pack those items. Then it was off to Guilderland.

We all met at a nice restaurant for dinner, had a good meal, and went back to Mr. Justin Wager's abode to celebrate the new year. We went on a little jog to celebrate midnight, which culminated with Newell taking his clothes off and giving the Wager's neighbors a free show. Opened a bottle of champagne that I did not need to drink, then fell asleep with my hat on.

Woke up the next morning and reminisced with everybody for a while, then headed further northward to pine-tree filled Queensbury for a stay at the Newell residence. We met up with Thomas Williams for a run, the highlight of which was definitely stopping to watch Tom dry-heave in the middle of the road halfway through the run.

The next morning woke up early for a snowy run, then went to watch Jared's brother in a cross-country ski meet. This was a new experience for me, as I have never skate-skied or seen a meet. It was just like a track meet, only on skis. I may or may not be a child-prodigy on skate skis.

Overall a very enjoyable weekend, good to see everyone, especially Shamus Owen Nally, who is leaving for Oregon to be a hotshot pro runner. (Best of luck Seamus, send em and show those Oregonians how it's done.)

Lock Legs

Yesterday I went for a run with my good friend Colin in Delhi, we did about an hour, nothing fast, just a solid run. We decided to go to the golf course, which is usually a good place to run, but the warm weather had left it one big puddle of slushy snow, but aside from some soggy shoes it was a good run. I then went to the gym in town to lift some heavy things. I've been trying to get in the gym on a more consistent basis lately, the stronger you are, the harder you can train without getting injured. Also the stronger you are, the better you look in your underwear, but that's another post for another day...

I was in the gym going about my business, and I got to the point in my routine that called for squats. Not squats with ridiculous amounts of weight, just enough to work a little. I did three sets, as I got done with the last set, I placed the bar back on the rack...and both hamstrings simultaneously cramped up so hard I thought I was going to fall over. I hobbled around on my seized up legs for a while, until I was able to stretch them out enough to become functional again.

I don't know if I was dehydrated, or it was from not squatting for a while, all I know is that I am one sore pup today. That is until I went on my run, after I got warm, my legs felt great, real strong and smooth. The body is a strange thing.

Only in America

In the spirit of Christmas, the movie "Total Recall" was on tv, as I was channel surfing I stopped to watch Arnold Swarzenegar (or however you spell his name, I honestly don't care enough to look it up). I watched in amazement as the GOVERNOR OF CALIFORNIA talked to an alien fetus-tumor growing out of a man's side about saving the universe. No wonder this country has problems, one of the largest states in the country is being governed by a 'roided-out meat head from austria who has been quoted talking about lifting weights, saying: "The pump is like cumming" Oh yeah, brilliant, elect that guy.

Finally!

I follow the world of competitive triathlon pretty closely, it's a sport that I'm getting more and more involved in. I plan on getting some races in this summer, so in my list of websites that I perv daily is insidetri.com, the website brother to Inside Triathlon magazine. On the front page the other day was an interview with Chris McCormack, an elite iron-distance triathlete (McCormack won the world championship last year in Kona, Hawaii). In the interview the topic turns to Lance Armstrong, and the possibility of him competing in Ironman, and his chances of winning. McCormack says: "I don't see Lance winning Kona. I'd put money on him having a solid war with someone like Chrissie Wellington."

Finally someone with the balls to put Mr. Armstrong in his place.

Don't get my wrong, I have the utmost respect for Armstrong as an athlete, he is incredible, he has done what no other human has, and I admire his cutthroat competitiveness, and I appreciate the attention that he has brought to the sport of cycling in the U.S. But I've had it with people being so enamored by him that they insist he can dominate any sport he puts his mind to, basically kissing his ass.

McCormack keeps it real, Lance might have a shot against a pretty good woman!

(I mean this in the most non-sexist way possible, I don't mean to offend my female readers, all one of you)