Crazy is as Crazy does, as Crazy finally concedes

My good friend Drew recently reminded me of this folksy definition of crazy: Repeating the same action and expecting a different result.

Apparently, I am a nutcase, and have been one for quite some time.

I run (or at least try to) regularly. I ran two weeks ago and my left heel hurt, so I rested. I ran Saturday and my left heel still hurt.

A year ago, I saw a doctor for left leg problems. He told me there was nothing really wrong, and that I might need to strengthen my hamstrings. I followed that advice for two months without improvement. I consulted second doctor, who gave me a variation of the original advice. I followed it for a few more months, with slight improvment.

I visited a new doctor Tuesday for my left leg and heel problems.

He told me there was nothing really wrong, and that I might need to strengthen my hamstrings. He told me to go run.

I ran. And -- surprise! -- my heel hurt.

So to bring it back: If I can't expect improvement with rest, and I can't expect improvement under the doctors' orders, am I broken -- or crazy?
__________________________

This line of thinking works for other things too -- like my Quixotic quest for the perfect pumpkin food. I have sampled at least six more treats that I didn't write about, including:

• Panera's pumpkin spice latte
• Nana's Frozen Custard -- pumpkin
• Sweet CeeCee's pumpkin fro-yo
• Trader Joe's pumpkin spice granola
• Clumpie's pumpkin ice cream
• Market Street Tavern's pumpkin ravioli 

Guess what? It all tastes like pumpkin. Some is too sweet, some is too expensive, but there is no magical  pumpkin food that will end the world's hunger problems. 

Now it's November, and the gourd goodies will be pushed aside to make way for peppermint-white chocolate-mocha-flavored reindeer jerky.

Essentially, it all comes down to this: If it's in your budget (either monetary or dietary) it's probably pretty decent. Unless you don't like pumpkin -- then it all sucks, and your wallet is unnecessarily thinner.

But that pumpkin ravioli was damn good.

Say "Cheese!"

My mouth says "Yummy!" but my stomach says, "Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?"

At risk of sounding like a pansy (it must have been the initial pumpkin spice latte) I'm not sure I can keep up the pace of posting for every pastry I eat.

Case in point: Olive Garden's pumpkin cheesecake. I split a piece with Hillary, but I helped her maintain her girlish figure -- while destroying my own -- by eating well more than half the slice. As a special, it's not listed on the website's nutrition info, so I found the closest thing:

Item	Calories	Total Fat (g)	Sat. Fat (g)	Sodium	Carb. (g)	Fiber (g)	Protein (g)
White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake	890	62	36	490	70	6	13

Let's say I ate 2/3 of the slice. That's nearly 600 calories and 40 grams of fat.

From an evolutionary standpoint, I would be the ultimate champion. Men have been shown to eat more in the presence of women; some people speculate that it's a social construct affirming gender roles. Alternatively, it could just be a primitive fight-or-flight mechanism: Eat as much as possible when you have it, because the food might disappear without warning.

I vote for the latter, because who knows when this special menu item will disappear? Who is Olive Garden to determine the end of fall -- and, consequently, the end of autumn-flavored artery cement?

You could probably buy a whole cheesecake and freeze it for the off-season. Assume eight slices at 900 calories per slice, and that's the equivalent of two pounds' worth of energy. If you ate the whole cake sometime around Christmas, you could hibernate until March!

Not to mention the sweet dreams of having this delicious cake as your figurative "last meal." (Although, with the nutrition content, it could actually be your last meal. You might go to sleep and never wake up.)

You could make it at home...but why?

Eat it: Thick, rich, delicious, flavorful, pumpkin! At $6.50, it's less than $1 per 100 calories -- take that, Nabisco!

Beat it: All that thick, rich, delicious, pumpkin flavor has to come from somewhere -- namely butter, cream cheese and sugar. Eat at your own risk.

Rembrandt's: An Artist's Approach to Autumn

My mid-week, mid-morning treat came from Rebrandt's, in the form of a caramel-apple cupcake.

Maybe my measurement estimates were off...

Let me start by saying that I don't enjoy real caramel apples. They're too much hassle, and the hardened caramel plays heck with my teeth. Dipping apple slices in caramel sauce is a bit better, but only if somebody else does the slicing. However! Bake it into a bite-size morsel of flavors and textures, and you have a winner.

The price is $2.25 for what is, by today's standards, an exceedingly small cupcake. Maybe 1.5" across at its widest point, and 2" deep, including the icing. This is precisely what makes it a winner in my book.

Instead of paying $4 for a dense brick of cake with an almost-inedible glop of icing three inches high (not to mention the symphony of stomach grumblings and days of guilty self-starvation and exercise), Rembrandt's has managed to keep their offering within the realm of acceptable indulgence. In fact, I only ate half of one, and yet I managed to enjoy the experience.

The apple cake base was tasty enough to stand on its own, and I'd be surprised if Rembrandt's doesn't sell loaves (I didn't check). It had a light, springy texture. The modest spread of (cream cheese?) icing gave some complexity of texture, and the drizzle of caramel on top imparted just enough flavor.

Eat it: Perfectly portioned; Powerful flavors that wouldn't feel right in any other season; Support local business!

Beat it: The cupcake bubble may have already burst



Apparently I can't identify shapes.



I decided to bookend my lunch with another Rembrandt's sugar bomb: the Autumn Dream Cookie. Two leaf acorn-shaped sugar cookies, dusted with cinnamon and nutmeg, provided a crumbly exterior.



The real gem of this cookie is the tea-infused icing in the middle, however. What kind of tea? Well, the barista mumbled, so I can't tell you. But it had a lot of syllables, so it must be exotic and delicious.

You might say it was more complex than the plain cream cheese icing on the cupcake. Or you might say, "This tastes like a snickerdoodle and a wedding cake made sweet, sweet love."

Eat it: A big, fancy Oreo!

Beat it: Wipe away crumbs before you get little grease spots on your pants

My Fizzy Fix of Pumpkin Ale

If I were a smarter man, I would have gone to a progressive market like GreenLife to get a mix-and-match 6-pack of fall-flavored beers.

As it happened, I bought a full sixer of Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale from Bi Lo. At $8.29 plus tax it's not cheap, but it's a steal compared to the typical four-dollar pour (or more) at a restaurant. And if I didn't like it, I could surely find somebody to unload the other five on.

The epitome of mass-produced "handcrafted" goodness

Luckily, I liked it. A lot. There are a few critical elements that characterize a good beer for me; namely, color and flavor. "Lite" beers typically skimp on both. Harvest Pumpkin, however, has plenty of each.

Actually, let's review some real beer traits:

• I generally prefer ales to lagers. Harvest Pumpkin Ale: Check.
• A good beer retains drinkability as it moves from ice-cold to room temperature. HPA was still tasty as I reached the bottom of the bottle. (NOTE: If you don't nurse your beverage like a baby, you won't know what I'm talking about.)
• Fall seasonals trend toward a slightly higher alcohol content, probably so they can stand up to the heavier dishes they accompany. At 5.7% ABV, one bottle provides a nice tingle for a lightweight like me. Two bottles would make Thanksgiving dinner with extended family seem tolerable. Three bottles would have me passing out in the gravy.

The packaging describes the brew as having "vine-ripened pumpkin and flavors of cloves, nutmeg, and allspice." I would describe it as "beer, with some pumpkin." It has a light, pleasant taste that would be at home with late-summer/early-autumn grilled meats, and it wouldn't be out of place preceding a slice of pecan pie. Harvest Pumpkin Ale would be a good fit for watching football on the first chilly Saturday that forces you into your favorite team's sweatshirt.

Blue Moon does every limited-run drink well. Harvest Pumpkin is no exception. If you don't feel like paying extra, however, regular Blue Moon knows no seasonal boundaries.

Eat it: Great taste, only mildly filling; No weird pumpkin aftertaste

Beat it: Love-it-or-hate-it flavor; Doesn't pair well with certain foods; At close to $9 for a 6-pack, you'll only want to buy it once

First Flavors of Fall

It's officially been fall for two days, and to celebrate this often-underrated season, I've decided to create a regular installment called Flavors of Fall. The project is exactly as it sounds: a review of autumnal faux-artisan food and drink creations. Why? Because as Americans, it's our God-given right to pay huge premiums for limited-edition things we could probably make cheaply at home!

This series begins in earnest today, after I unwittingly sampled two limited-time-only flavors from competing coffeehouses.

Breakfast was a cherry-vanilla bagel at Panera, and it can best be described as pretty good. Not great, not bad. It's a bagel with two pretty common flavors. What more do you want from it?


Eat it: Sliced cleaner and toasted more evenly than at home; Sweet, but not overly so; Novelty evokes the impending cool weather; Only 370 calories (if you're counting)

Beat it: Not nearly as satisfying as a Panera breakfast sandwich with eggs/cheese/bacon; Still not the best Panera bagel (cinnamon crunch still holds that title); Cream cheese costs as much as the bagel?!?! WTF??


My afternoon splurge was the venerable Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks (decaf, for what it's worth). Just yesterday, I read about what its yearly return is doing to the American man -- mainly, turning us into a bunch of pansies. But if I order it with the awareness of its 380 calories and 23,075 grams of sugar, and make sure not to insert any sibilant S's into my ssspicce, and hold the scalding liquid in my calloused hands without the protection of a cup sleeve: Does that make it OK?

In a word, no. It's still goofy to nurse a grande Pumpkin Spice Latte while writing about said Pumpkin Spice Latte. I hate myself. Starbucks loves me.

It's pretty good, though. Seriously. At least the first few piping hot sips. Like most flavored coffee drinks, however, 12 oz should be the maximum allowable size. Any more, and the last sips run the risk of souring (literally) the delicate balance of milk, espresso and diabetes sugar.

Eat it: Like it or not, pumpkin really is the flavor of fall (until they come out with a turkey-flavored latte); Pumpkin spice is a powerful aphrodisiac for men

Beat it: Only good when it's really hot -- another vote for keeping it small; The sugar leaves an undesirable aftertaste; All the pumpkin spice in the world won't get you laid if your breath smells like fermented sugars and coffee; Freakin' expensive

---
Disclaimer: I do not get anything for free. I know you think manufacturers throw product at professional writers such as myself, hoping for a favorable review. But in the interest of fair assessments, I pay for everything. That means price is a factor in my reviews. I'm big on value. And really, this whole undertaking is just my excuse to eat and drink a lot of stuff that's probably pretty bad for me.

This Is The Most Confusing Sentence Ever

Also, the idea it conveys is totally whack.

Is this paragraph single sentence the most difficult thing to read since Beowulf or what?

The former lawmaker speculated that BlueCross' move may stem from what he says was a backlash from national gay organizations this spring after the Republican-controlled General Assembly passed a Fowler-generated bill that banned cities from enacting ordinances banning anti-gay discrimination by local government-contractors.

Sorry, what? Ignore first half, which is all he-said/she-said drivel. Just look at the main clause:

...the Republican-controlled General Assembly passed a Fowler-generated bill that banned cities from enacting ordinances banning anti-gay discrimination by local government-contractors.

Ok, so the bill is passed. What does the bill do, exactly? Look at the last quarter:

...banned cities from enacting ordinances banning anti-gay discrimination by local government-contractors.

One more time (emphasis my own):

...banned cities from enacting ordinances banning anti-gay discrimination...

Just to be clear, this law says that anti-gay discrimination is OK, as long as it's a local goverment contractor holding them down.


Huh?


So gays need basic human rights, which would normally be afforded to them by...the government. But this bill says that city governments can't tell their privatized affiliates to be nice to the gays.

The subtext of the story is as follows:
1. Don't work for city government if you plan to disclose your sexuality.
2. Don't disclose your sexuality.
3. Don't be gay.

###
From Wikipedia: Twelve states, over one hundred local governments, and the District of Columbia^[6] have passed statutes that forbid discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation; also, the Employment Non-Discrimination Act will allegedly make sexuality a protected class, but this bill has yet to pass Congress.

• That act will apply to "civilian, nonreligious employers with at least 15 employees"

Yes, I Quote Myself

I'm aware this is one of the worst things I could do: Quoting myself out of context to prove that my grasp of the English language is, if not beyond compare, at least beyond the comprehension of people whose brains function normally.

But because it totally relates to the title of this blog, which also happens to be what I write when applications ask for my profession/industry, I have to do it.

Below is a transcript of an actual conversation that took place on 8-18-2011.

####

me: what up, Mighty Bro Young?

Drew: haha
Mighty Bro Young
where do you get this stuff from.. its amazing

me: how many times do i have to remind you of my status as a word magician?
a linguistic Houdini?
a linguini?

Drew: haha
im just blown away by your powers of awesomeness
 
###

By the Numbers: The Chattooga Century

Once or twice a year, I get the urge to commit some foolish test of my own endurance and willpower.

Last summer, it was my first Half Ironman, followed a month later by the 103-mile Cherohala Challenge. This year, on the strength of one poorly executed 4-hour ride that left me feeling worn and withered for a month, I decided to up the ante.

The 125 Chattooga Century presented an interesting challenge. By the time I decided to register, I didn't have any time to build up mileage. But what good is an adventure if you're already certain of the outcome?

Now, two days later, I want to examine my critical statistics in several key categories. A lot of these numbers are estimates, but I'll do the best I can.

The ride:

• 125 miles
• 7:10:00 moving time (Total ride time -- 8 a.m. to 4:15 p.m.)
• 17.25 mph average speed
• 5,482 calories expended
• 3,443 calories eaten

The food (calories):

• 8 bottles of water
• 7 bottles of Gatorade (1,050)
• 5 bananas (350)
• 4 Endurolyte capsules
• 2 peanut butter & jelly/honey sandwiches on Wonder bread (700)
• 2 packs of Fig Newtons (400)
• 2 Payday bars (480)
• 1 chocolate chip cookie (150)
• 1 Oatmeal Cream Pie (310)

The miscellany:

• I can ride 124 miles until my legs begin to cramp
• The number of Negative Thoughts Per Hour increases by 50% each hour after 60 miles
• There is no amount of hydration that can prevent my jersey from being a salt-streaked mess
• Reapplying chamois cream at each rest stop is a must

This jersey is not supposed to look "marbled"

It was both comforting and discouraging to be on familiar roads, knowing that the loop had taken me closer to my own house than to the eventual finish line 50 miles away in Georgia. All said, it was a fun ride that I would do again -- although now that I've done 125 miles, I don't have too much more to prove.

If you've ever been too exhausted to sleep, you'll understand how I felt Saturday night. But by Sunday morning I was back to feeling somewhat normal, if not "fresh." It's a good forecast for the River Gorge bike race coming up in a few weeks -- exactly when I should start seeing the fitness-building results of this Herculean ride.

Not the best I've ever felt

Flintstone Triathlon #winning

It is with a much happier outlook than last time that I report my victory at the 2011 Flintstone Triathlon!

Where to begin? For starters, I was grateful at 6:30 a.m. to know that I would not be skulking around the race site alone, thanks to the friends I made last year. Life is a much happier prospect in general when you don't insulate yourself, and are surrounded by people who are cooler than you.

It's also fun to know that other competitors are trying specifically to beat me. I'm not sure whether it's respectful rivalry because we're on a level playing field, or because they think I'm a jackass for wearing a pink tri suit or, most recently, a mankini.

Scoping out 2nd place Tom Knopp, a 3-time Kona finisher. 

Either way, I've never been "the hunted." Pressure, schmessure. It's a 50-minute race (48:47, actually, but who's counting?)

I didn't use a watch, but by my estimate, I biked a few minutes faster and ran a minute or two slower. Put that down to a rockin' new bike and the fact that six miles still constitutes a "long run" for me. For what it's worth, I led the entire two-mile run course, so I focused less on churning my legs into butter, and more on maintaining good form and posture. And I'll be damned if, every time I gave myself a form check, I didn't run easier and quicker.

I missed my own course record by two seconds, but I also avoided a sprint finish. I'm just happy to be running and competing again without injury.

Thanks to: my dad for taking some great pictures and supporting me, even when I act like a brat; Liz, Drew and Tony for being awesome friends; Denny for the bike and the great race management; Ken and Scenic City Multisport for the great race and venue choice.

Charles Woodson? No, that's Liz Regnitz, Green-Bay packin' some serious moves.

The eyeball windtunnel says: aero achieved!

Small world: this guy works at Unum, too.

Drew scared off all the other M25-29 challengers.

An Unfair Trade: Early-Season Race Report

Summary: When you take 6 months off from running, you get a lot slower. When you spend most of that time swimming, you get a tiny bit faster. And no matter how nice your bike is, if you don't have the legs on a given day, neither of those things matter.

I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. Competing, running pain-free, doubling over with side stitches -- I love all those things.

But if I could do them now as fast as I could have a year ago, I'd love them a tiny bit more.

In a remarkable and somewhat disappointing development, the swim at the Scenic City Triathlon was my best split. The cold winter months spent cranking out sets like 16 x 100m and 4 x 500m obviously paid off a bit. It was my hope that coming out of the water less fatigued would set me up for a better ride and, like always, I would seal the deal with a quick run. Aboard a real TT bike, how could that plan fail?

As it turns out, all it takes to derail that plan is three weeks of bad rides. I rode into form -- maybe too early -- back in February and March, but an ill-fated 70-mile ride sapped my legs for almost a month. My "training" was severely damaged (not to mention my psyche).

So I entered the race on the strength of two decent rides, which were apparently nullified by two days of cutting and hauling trees that were felled in the storm. I felt pretty good during the ride itself, and I rode without a computer or watch to let my body dictate the pace. Had it been a 9-mile course, my overall placement and sensations would have been higher. During the last five miles, though, all I could do was watch as stronger riders went past.

I left T2 with a small group. Again, the lack of miles in my legs was apparent, and I ran the short 5k with a double side stitch. I made up a few places, and unleashed a strong finishing kick to pass one more. Unfortunately, he had started three minutes behind me in the 40+ wave.

Overall, it was a great first race. Weather was awesome; my body felt fine, if not "great"; and I finished among some of Chattanooga's best triathletes. I think I will spend some time rebuilding my base, though, before I try to pick up speed. With no real target races, I'd rather train the right way than the easy way.

The Pink Panther is on the prowl.

Oh, and did I mention I wore a pink kit?

A New Era in My Awesomeness

It's (almost) official: I finally have a triathlon race bike. My good friend Denny has hooked me up with a champion steed, a Cervelo P2C  that should make me somewhere between 1 and 8 mph faster at every race. 

My parents were kind enough to motorpace me and shoot some video last night, so I could confirm how awesome I looked on the new ride. Footage w/ commentary courtesy of Patty Streip; filmed with a Pentax something-or-other:

There you have it: the fit and form of a winner in waiting. Watch out. It'll getcha.

Good Form is a Bitter Pill to Swallow

Can you spot "bad form" when you see it? Can you tell a jogger from a runner when you drive past at 40 mph?

Let's try it another way. Great athlete, right? Winning a 70.3? Gotta be pretty good to do that...

I bet as a world-class triathlete, he represents the pinnacle of good form....

OMGF NOOOOooooOOO!!!! WHO IS THAT EGREGIOUS HEEL-STRIKER IN THIS PICTURE THAT CAPTURES ONLY A MICROSECOND OF A 4-HOUR RACE IT CAN'T BE TERENZO BOZZONE MY MIND IS BLOWN RIGHT NOW :::::::::(((((((((((( <- THAT'S A SUPERFROWNY FACE.

Defining good form


Can we finally admit that "good form" is a whole-body descriptor that has no empirically identifiable bearing on overall ability, race results or self-worth as a person and frequent internet forum poster?

And we know that there is good form, because we judge every athlete we see, anywhere, any time, based on some set of criteria that we've either been taught or intrinsically absorbed. I judge girls and old guys at the gym. I judge guys my age to see if I could beat them in a race. Even if they can haul ass, well, dammit -- I'll look better in second place because my form is way better. You do it too. Do not hide it.

It's all in the hips...and the feet, and the arms, and the neck, etc.


Why have we limited the "good form" discussion to heel vs midfoot strike? What if a heelstriker wins the marathon and a dedicated midfoot striker in New Balance Minimus shoes finishes in 3:42 and runs the last 10K bent at the waist, arms flailing, with two cramping calves? You wouldn't say he has better form. Why not? Because he ran slower. 

I have a 5K personal best of 17:19.* The way I see it, I have (or had) better form than everybody whose PR is slower than that, and probably worse form than everybody who is faster. Form is also a function of fitness. They can improve and decline together. I'm not in 17:19 form OR fitness right now, but I could get there again in a couple months without altering my footstrike, or my arm swing.

Ryan Hall basically midfoot strikes...but his arms look goofy. They swing wide and low, when nearly every other top marathoner's arms stay mid-chest at a 90-degree angle. He has "bad form," but if you are reading this, he would kick your ass in a running race of any distance. So he has better form than you.

This might over-simplify things...


...except that it doesn't. Screw my minimalism experiment. I ran two miles yesterday the same way I ran a 17-and-change 5K, and the same way I ran two 1:30 half marathons. And guess what? It felt better than the last three months of careful midfoot striking with a clipped stride and plantar fasciitis.

Quit being insecure about your form. If it sucks, your results will tell you. If it's good, your results will tell you. If you get hurt all the time, maybe you have bad form. If you get hurt once, maybe it's just a fluke. Either way, maybe you could work on running more upright, or activating your hamstrings more.

Just quit this footstrike debate until you can prove that every runner's chronic injury or abysmal 23-minute 5K is somehow related to the fact that they don't complete every run in zero-drop racing flats.

Train hard, train smart.
###

*No, I don't feel bad about dropping my race times. I've never averaged faster than 22.9 mph on the bike in a triathlon. I swim somewhere between 1:20 and 1:30/100 yards during races. I graduated with honors (but not a 4.0) and I am very average below the waist. Direct other queries to the comment box below.

Pro-Antisocial Media

I predict a new trend will soon sweep the internet: antisocial media.

You read that right. It's not that I'm anti-social media. Indeed, I am pro-antisocial media. And I fully believe there is room on the Web for both.

I'm not quite advocating a regression to the days of old, to the time when you could click on a website and not be pressured by a dozen buttons to Like, Digg, Retweet, Reddit, Mash or Stumbl the particular article. If you still want to do that, great.

But what if you want to remain willfully self-contained, with your privacy intact and the fact that you actually clicked on "One Weird Old-Timey Trick to Lose Belly Fat" unknown to each of your Facebook friends?

What I would suggest is a separate domain of "mirror" sites that look just like the originals, only without all the social features. Can you imagine a New York Times article without the tacky sidebar of sharing options? To their credit, they urge you "Recommend" instead of the boorish, monosyllabic "Like."

(Also: Can you imagine a New York Times article that you don't have to pay for? Through social media, you can jump the paywall! But I digress...)

My personal method of spreading content is admittedly officious:

1. A specific person or group of people has to come to mind when I read an article -- usually one that requires a triple-digit IQ to comprehend. (If you're reading this, you probably qualify.)
2. To make sure it only reaches the desired audience, I lovingly copy the URL and paste it into an email or private Facebook message. This move says, Hey, I thought you'd enjoy this -- and I don't want Facebook stalkers to know what we discuss when they aren't around.
3. If the article/video is so low-brow that I feel it can be appreciated by most of my friends, I'll post it as a link on Facebook. This ensures I get credit for having found it, read/watched it, and deemed it worthy of sharing.

Cherry-picking individuals when I could easily click one button and send it to nearly 800 people? My friends, there's nothing more antisocial than that.

How many people even remember the keyboard shortcuts for copy and paste? Most people's left pinky and forefinger have atrophied, because the one-click-fits-all mentality of social media has led them not to even consider who they're being "social" with.

By treating media as antisocial, I've immeasurably raised my appreciation for the social interactions I do have. It can't be long until other great minds understand this concept and ditch the Tweetcaster app from their iPad home screen. Instead, they'll return to paying a few quarters for a paper copy of the Wall Street Journal that they'll then leave behind to enrich another lucky soul.

And you can stop sharing Washington Post stories about Libya to make yourself look engaged. It's OK if you spend more time looking for shirtless pics of Robert Pattinson. With antisocial media, it's just easier to keep it to yourself.

Things Are Shaping Up (Part 3)

I've always had a nice butt.

That is, at least by "skinny white boy" standards. My female peers who know a thing or two about ghetto booty have praised its shapeliness, and the few lucky enough to lay a hand (or two) on it have commented on its firmness.

But the winter which was devoted to rehabbing my knee has produced a favorable side effect: a reshaping of my rear.

I may not feel like a runner at the moment, but I'm getting close to the elusive "sprinter's butt." A few months of squats, lunges, leg extensions and rowing to balance out my muscles have produced enhanced gluteal fortitude.

Pants don't sag as easily. Bike shorts squeeze and compress in an unfamiliar way. I feel improved self-confidence when I walk -- into work, bars, coffee shops and boxer-brief retailers. And I didn't even die from a botched butt enhancement.

Of course, in reality it's the kind of miniscule change that only a self-obsessed quasi-endurance athlete would notice -- akin to seeing Lance Armstrong in December and thinking, "Wow, he's about 3kg too heavy to win the Tour de France."

Now, back to the actual problem I've been trying to solve: my knee. It's getting better! I've done three or four pain-free runs of 15 to 20 minutes each, all on treadmills, and all with at least two (pain-free) days of rest in between.

I invite you to help me set my next recovery landmark. Pick from the list below, and leave your response in a comment. Thanks!

Survey: Where should I go from here?

1. Run two days in a row. This could (and probably should) still be done on a treadmill.
2. Increase my distance per run to 20-25 minutes. Again, treadmill.
3. Run outdoors for 15 minutes. Terrain and temperature are the big variables. I don't want to freeze my knees. (But Dr. Seuss would tell me to "Stay loose!")*
4. Race the Cupid 5K this Saturday. The prospect of crushing dreams on Valentine's Day based on swim/bike fitness, coupled with a chance of meeting single, lonely female athletes? Tempting.

__________________________________________________________________________________
*Sorry about that. I read the whole "freeze my knees" thing and couldn't let it go.

The Recovery Chronicles: Part 2

I'm at an intriguing crossroads. One path leads toward seemingly pain-free knees, by way of a more natural/minimal/barefoot/"good" running form. Along that path, there might be arch pain and a section of Two-Steps-Forward, One-Step-Back quicksand that wants to drag me deeper into a pit of injuries.

The other path is more familiar: it's lined with relatively cushy running shoes, the staples of my running wardrobe, begging me just to give them another chance.

So which kind of stubborness do I want to exhibit? Follow the road more traveled -- or choose the path that looks difficult, but might offer greater rewards in the long term?

Before I start, let me set some boundaries. I am not buying Vibrams ("toe shoes," "weird foot-shaped things," "VFFs"). I am not going to trot barefoot across Walnut Street Bridge. I don't want calloused, blackened feet. I will not try to convert anybody else, if this experiment works.

It makes sense that humans are capable of doing many things without the aid of shoes. We did it for the great majority of our existence. And I'd like to think that we haven't evolved to be weak, incompetent creatures over the last couple thousand years.

That said, our distant forebears didn't run recreationally in circles at 12 mph to exhaustion, nor did they run on urban concrete past crackheads and hypodermic needles for two hours to intentionally burn calories and feel superior to those lazy hobos. (In fact, it's amazing that we run to work off food, as they most likely avoided running -- thus wasting energy -- unless it was specifically to catch dinner.)

My immediate goal is consistency and injury prevention. Right now, that means 10 minutes of running plus 20 minutes of stretching, yoga or foam-rolling to keep the muscles healthy. Theoretically, the new running style will be taking care of the joints. I'm continuing my glucosamine regimen just in case.

Sunday, January 23

• 7-minute run: Up and down my street, wearing my XC flats. I feel slow, fat and clumsy; the asphalt is a jarring departure from the YMCA soccer fields. It offers, however, more feedback about what I'm doing right and wrong. The knee wasn't sore Monday. My left arch felt vaguely PF-ish. I did yoga and rolled it out with a tennis ball.

Monday, January 24

• 11-minute run: Up and down my street (two times), wearing my XC flats. It feels more natural today, but still not without hitches. My feet and ankles feel like they're working harder to keep me moving forward. I'm trying not to over-protect my heels, for fear of plantar fasciitis. I don't want my Achilles heel to be my...uhh...Achilles heel. There's a little soreness Tuesday morning, which I fight with yoga. Tuesday and Wednesday off.

The Recovery Chronicles; or, how I learned to keep a public journal and still be a man

In general, things are looking up! I'm easing back into short, short runs and trying not to feel guilty that my weekly total of 20 minutes is probably less time than I spent trimming the crazy straggler hairs in my beard.

I should probably keep a progress diary, in case something works extraordinarily well or causes a horrendous relapse. My plan is to gently push the limits of what I think it can handle. Based on recent experiences, two hours of standing at a bar and three hours of dancing is off limits. But 10-minute runs, even broken down into three parts, are good!

Monday, January 17

• 2,400-yard swim
• 10-minute run on the treadmill. I was a little disappointed not to run outside, but it was cold and icky, and I wanted this experiment to have airtight controls. The incline function was broken on the only available treadmill; I usually use a 1% grade to make it feel more natural, but what is less natural about running than doing it on a mechanical belt stationed in front of FOX News?

        I ran in my Mizuno Waveriders, trying to "feel" the ground and stay light on my

        feet. It didn't work well; I could feel the clumsiness of a stride that had

       atrophied for three months. But my knee no pain during the run, and no 

       (unusual) soreness Tuesday. Verdict: Success

Wednesday, January 19

• 2,500-yard swim
• 2-minute run on the treadmill. I know. I found one with working incline, and wore my Brooks Launch. Still felt awkward, and though my knee was OK, my old friend Morton('s neuroma) showed signs of a flare-up. So I put on my old XC flats and ran for 4:37 in the field outside.

        To the casual observer, I probably looked delusional running with outstretched 

        arms, head cocked over my shoulder, at a haulin'-ass pace. But in my mind, I 

        was running the most natural way possible: as if I were trying to catch a Hail Mary

        touchdown pass. What has more impetus than that? You have to run fast, run

        loose, run relaxed, run free. It felt great, until my thigh muscles reminded me that I

        shouldn't sprint yet.

        At home, I jogged for another four minutes without the screaming from my 

        hamstrings. Maybe a little Thursday and today, though. I can't really tell. I didn't 

        push it today. Verdict: Inconclusive

Friday, January 21

• 2,250-yard swim (just for the record)

I'll try again soon, with updates. Until then, run happy!

An analogical war of attrition

Reporters for CNN and others, while not directly blaming inflamed rhetoric and military metaphors for real-life violence, are denouncing its usage and trying to eliminate it from their mainstream vocabulary.

Bravo! For four years I languished  in J-school classrooms at the hands of Draconian print-media champions, learning of the perils of succumbing to cliched and lazy writing. But old habits die hard. In that same article,

Major Garrett...said that he's been trying to avoid some of the "pugilistic metaphors" and "bombastic clichés" that are prevalent not only on his former network but across cable news. Garrett said that he found himself "less and less journalistically inspired by the tone of the debate on cable and the brevity of the debate" on cable news and decided to return to print journalism. "I've been reprogramming myself ever since," he added.

That reprogramming includes being mindful of using clichés -- describing two political parties as being involved in "trench warfare," for instance. And "since Tucson," he said, "I've really tried to police myself."

Well, well, Garrett: you may want to bunker down and work to excise that verbal shrapnel. Military metaphors may have won this battle, and it appears they're well on their way toward winning the war.

You can't spell "slaughter" without "laughter"

How did this unfortunately named TV station get the scoop on Loughner's girlfriend? Check the headline:

Loughner’s High School Girlfriend Tells Tucson’s KGUN ‘I Don’t Think He’s Mentally Ill’




I thought it might be a joke or a PR stunt but it's painfully irony-free.

Oh, those crazy leftist media outlets and their subtle propagandizing!

Sarah Palin is a bloody 'orrible orator

Everybody is wondering why Sarah Palin chose the words "blood libel" in reference to the Giffords shooting. How could she insult and degrade an entire people at a time like this? Hasn't she read the Wikipedia page devoted to the history of the sanguine slander?

No, probably not, given her history of rhetorical gaffes. "The media," "the journalists and pundits," in a rush to defend themselves against Sarah's accusations of incitement to violence, have made a serious rookie mistake: they have given Palin too much credit by assuming she knew what she was talking about.

If you don't believe me, just say "blood libel" aloud. It stings, doesn't it? It almost feels wrong, like saying the "N-word" when asked to read Huckleberry Finn to your English class (if you were lucky enough to go to school before the 1950s).

And it just sounds deliciously bad. Everybody knows blood. Everybody knows libel. Everybody knows tragedy when they see it. Right?

So in the world according to Palin, it follows that:

If
Shooting => blood
and
Journalists => libel
then
Journalists who caused a man to shoot based on their incendiary column inches ==> BLOOD LIBEL OMG

Politicians have a tendency to sieze a recognizable phrase and distort it for their purposes. (Think "kabuki theatre" and "death panel" --  haven't heard either of those recently, have you? And we're all better for that.)

So don't buy into the story that Palin deliberately chose to throw Jews under the bus with her word choice. I believe she remembered hearing a catchy phrase that seemed appropriate for this especially heinous tragedy.

Never mind that she said killers alone are responsible for their actions, then one sentence later refudiated herself by blaming journalists.

If she can't get words and phrases correct, who really expects her to nail the logical part of her argument?

Regardless of political agendas and the media climate, random horrors like this will unfortunately happen and we should always be aware that we are not immune to violence; but we can all do our part to help minimize the damage.


I just hope all those hateful, venom-spewing, irresponsible left-wing journalists forget this gaffe (at least until the next election cycle -- but by then, they'll have new material to work with). What should matter is that Gabrielle Giffords is alive and recovering, and now that Jared Lee Loughner is locked up, there is one less real danger among us.