Pictionary Man Game

Really? It looks like they just threw some nouns into a hat, yanked out three, saw what fit together somewhat and tacked the word "game" onto the end before even thinking of a concept. I seem to remember a time when Pictionary wasn't a mixture of charades and Pictionary, as the two games were separate concepts. Not with Pictionary Man Game!
Elations!

Sassafrass.

Tonight after class I'll be showcasing some Ignition City, perhaps with sales in mind. I'll be hawking wares of course! CDs as usual are to be had for $4.

Race Saturday, just a 5k for charity through downtown. I'm hoping to do well!

So Many Miles

It's been a long time since the last post, eh? Something to the order of 172.3 miles, to be exact, or, in "real world" terms (which runners only arbitrarily abide by), something like 78 days and loose change in hours, minutes, and so forth. I like to space out my musings.
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What I'm thinking about today is winter running. Winter running is, for me at least, a pretty important part of fitness, but here in the snowy wastes of Mid-to-Northern Michigan, it can become an afterthought. The issue at hand here is that I hate treadmills, with a fiery passion not unlike how much Napoleon hated being called "short." They're the bane to my existence: whenever I run on one for any appreciable length of time, I feel like my stride has rebelled against me and wants to separate my lower half from the upper half, a mutiny I do not much like when races come calling and I'm chopping away at the frozen concrete like a lumberjack. I'll put it this way: treadmills are to born-and-bred outdoor runners ("purists," you could say) as George W. Bush is to general English grammar: a face-palm nuisance at best and a pathetically ill-conceived monstrosity at their worst (cf: the world record for a 5k on a treadmill is nearly THREE MINUTES SLOWER than the track record; "Border relations between Canada and Mexico have never been better"). Not that I'm saying a nine-lap-mile track (approx. 177.778 meters/lap for those keeping score) is much better, but at least I can accurately track mileage and speed by use of a $5 watch and handy-dandy rudimentary mental math (daunting tasks like counting, addition, and, when necessary, division by numbers lower than six) instead of reading a bloody LCD screen that tells me (erroneously, might I add) that I'm running a 10:50 pace. Besides that, what the hell is the workout center layout coordinator's beef with runners? Honestly, do I really want to stare at a wall for thirty minutes while I traipse about and sweat all over a $600 machine (answer: not really[1]) or be peered at through a plate-glass window whilst the masses walk by and stare at my mutated running style (answer: this is actually slightly better [2])?

Back to this indoor track idea. You know, a nine-lap-to-mile track is not such a bad idea, especially with space in mind. It's pretty economical and counting to 9 is something most collegiate runners can master (don't go above 5k on the thing though, you'll lose your marbles and want to race NASCAR). The only issue with the current layout is its three lanes. Yes, three: walkers, joggers, runners. Except no one follows the "outside>slowest" rule: it's always "let's walk three abreast and glare at you angrily every lap you have to squeeze between us for disturbing our (ultimately trivial) discussion about how we're going to walk off these beer guts (which they never will)" instead. If I wanted to dodge hips, I would go to a bar or strip club instead.

Case in point: the beard stays until fitness centers pull their faces clear of their radioactive assholes.

The Death of a Friend

This is my first post, laden with an equalized mixture of sorrow and joy.

My trusty Nikes, the exact model number I cannot remember, have run their last run. The retirement of my dear friends is nigh, and with it comes a certain kind of sadness. I've had the shoes since the fall of 2005, my senior year of cross-country, and they have served me faithfully in the three years since then.

Wait a minute -- three years? How many miles have I put on these loyal digs?

I actually figured out the mileage in my head while using them in their final run today: in the 2005-2006 season, I ran approximately 510 miles between three sports. Over the summer, they saw probably another 90 miles, and in 2006-2007 they put on another 300 (we're up to 900 total, for those who don't add well). That summer added another 100, and this previous year put on maybe 300 again (1300 miles!). Since the summer of 08 till this day, they're accumulated around 100 miles -- and I'd dare say they're past their prime.

So, Nike, my friend, my companion on all those long, lonely runs, I must salute you and thank you gratefully -- you've supported me, called for me to run, and been there even when others faltered. You smell like a cup of rancid milk, you're covered in paint, the treads from my mildly overpronating stride have been worn smoother than the stones in a river, but I love you nonetheless.

The joy?

I get to reward my efforts these past weeks with new shoes.