Sunday, April 28, 2013

Hiatus Week 1 or Stupid Foot

Some of you may remember that I used to go barefoot all the time. My feet were allowed to frolic freely through the lush green fields of life. They were unconstrained by shoe's evil choke hold. They were happy. They loved their freedom.

Enter the villain.

Driven crazy by years of Lucky Charms and Pixie Stix abuse my pancreas saw their happiness and hated them for it. It devised an evil plan to end their freedom. Slowly but surely it converted nerves to its cause; those it couldn't convince it killed. When my nefarious pancreas finally had enough nerves on its side it struck. It gave my feet neuropathy.

My feet never saw it coming. They rallied and tried to fight back, but their constant attempts to trip the pancreas out of the body just made my chin and nose really mad. In the end they were forced to concede defeat. Totally unintentional pun. I swear. Mourning the loss of  the tickle of soft grass on their soles or the cool squishiness of mud oozing through their toes, they lay limp and resolved to die.

Since I am allergic to having parts of my body amputated I resolved to do what I could to save their lives. Unfortunately that means  I have been forced to keep them imprisoned in tiny cages of leather and rubber.  They hate it. And because they no longer have to fortify themselves against concrete and rocks they have become weak, thin skinned, whiny babies. Which is why my right foot got a blister.

For a normal foot a blister is not that big of a deal. Put a Band-aid on it and move on. But for my foot it is the end of the world.

My foot: "Aghh! A Blister! Let's fall off his leg before he makes us run more. "
Me: "You'll be okay. I'll rub some anti friction stuff on you -- no worries."
My foot: "Ohhh-kay, I guess."
A day later
My foot: "Aagh! It's worse! You are trying to kill us! We need to stop running!"
Me: "Calm down. We can keep running."
My foot: "Take me to a doctor NOW!"
Me: "Okay, okay."

At the Podiatrist.
Doctor: "Are you trying to kill your foot?"
My foot: "Yes, he is! And ... and he keeps us locked up in his smelly shoes all the time -- arrest him! "
Doctor: "You need to stop running."
My foot: "See? We told you so … wait, what is she doing with that knife?"
The doctor carves away half of my foot.
Doctor: "There, that should heal better now."
My foot: Sniff sniff "You quack! Who gave you your degree? Hannibal Lecter?"

So, my doctor has told me to stop running until my foot is fully healed. Hopefully it will be soon. Regardless of the state of my foot you can still donate money so that people can have access to clean water.


Thursday, April 18, 2013

Skipping Training or Addictions

I am prone to addictions. I discovered this at an early age when I got hooked on the marshmallows in Lucky Charms cereal. I would spend hours in front of the television watching Space Ghost and riffling through the cereal box in search of the marshmallows. My mom would often find me bouncing around the basement, eyes glazed over, half eaten moons, stars, and clovers stuck to my face.

She was finally forced to get me help when I was five. We were in Rosauers, our favorite grocery store. We came out of the soup aisle and I saw it: a colorful pyramid display of boxes -- boxes filled with the magically delicious charm shapes. I went into a frenzy and ripped open all the boxes. Before my mom could do anything I greedily devoured twenty boxes worth of the tiny marshmallows. (Yes, kids it's true that that kind of eating leads to type 2 diabetes -- just say no.) Needless to say, we were banned from Rosauers. The shame eventually drove my mother to leave Spokane and hide out in Idaho. Where the stench of Nampa's sugar beet factory is a constant reminder of the evils of sugar addiction.

Being aware of this proclivity for addiction has made me cautious. It's the reason that I have not watched Downton Abbey or The Walking Dead. I know I would become addicted to them and inevitably be drawn to read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. This of course would lead me to the rock bottom squalor of reading Pride and Prejudice when not required to buy a sadistic English professor (Yes, kids it's true that reading Jane Austen leads to fits of boredom and the desire to get your single friends to date each other -- just say no.) But what does this have to do with running? Well, I'll tell you.

Today is one of the days I normally run. It has been thundering and raining nonstop for a while. This would not normally be a deterrent, after all, when I lived in England it didn't stop raining for three years and I would swim by the glow of the sheet lightning. Lightning strikes just make you run faster right? But then I saw Noah float by on the ark, so I thought I should just skip it today. That's when I noticed it -- the jonesing for a run; the all too recognizable itch of addiction. When did this happen? Why are there no PSAs about it?
"Parents know the signs of running addiction -- worn out shoes, referring to distances in kilometers, improved math scores, and incessant stretching. If you suspect your son or daughter is addicted to running, there is help. Get them to your local McDonald's and order a Big Mac right away. . . . The More You Know."

If I'd known running was addictive I never would have tried it. I would have closed my ears to the marathon pushers, and never succumbed to its endorphin laden goodness, but I didn't and now it's too late for me. I'm addicted.

But it's not to late for you. If you aren't a runner, don't start. Just say no to the fancy shoes and sophisticated water carrying devices. Turn away from the promises of being healthier and losing weight. Close you ears to the siren call of those who tell you, "It'll make you feel good,". If you don't  you might end up like this man. (Yes, kids it's true that running leads to being related to the Kardashians -- just say no.)

If you are already trapped by running's sweet, sweet endorphin laden goodness, there is hope … okay, there really isn't hope, sorry.

Please help me glean some good from my fall; turn my tragedy into triumph for others. Give $50 or more to turn my running addiction into clean water for those who do not have it. It'll make you feel good.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Training Week ... Dr. Who!

I was sitting at my daughter's gymnastic class all set to write about the run I just completed (2mi -- woo-hoo!) when I was distracted by a magazine sitting on the table: "50 years of Dr.Who". So, who cares about running? Let's talk about the Doctor.

As you have probably guessed from my frequent SciFi references, I love science fiction. I have yet to show up to a movie premiere dressed up like a character, but you better believe that I am there. Most of my books are science fiction or fantasy as is my DVD collection. My wife has tried to get me off the stuff by laughing hysterically at plot lines and special effects, but she's too late to do anything.

I got hooked young. I was six when Star Wars came out and excitedly waited in a line that wrapped around the block. I don't remember who was with me or even how long we waited. However long it was, it was worth the wait. I loved it. I needed more. Where can a six year old boy go to get his scifi fix? Now it's easy, there are scifi shows everywhere. There's a whole channel devoted to the stuff, but back then? There was no cable or DVDs or even VHS. Heck, we still listened to AM radio and had to wait for the DJ to play our favorite songs. What was a boy to do? Thankfully, a new TV series started -- Battlestar Galactica (a much kid friendlier version than the more recent one).  I was set until the next Star Wars movie. Then something tragic happened: We moved to England.

Moving to England messed me up in a lot of ways: wanting to spell tire as tyre, fearing sacks of potatoes placed under cars, and knowing what bubble and squeak tastes like, to name a few. But to a nine year old the most tragic thing was the loss of American TV. There were some familiar shows like The Dukes of Hazard and Dallas, but there were also strange and boring shows like All Creatures Great and Small. I began to panic. Where was theSciFi? Why are there no kids shows on during the day? Why are there shows about math? Waaah! But then I discovered The Doctor.

Doctor Who was (is) brilliant. Low budget special effects; goofy looking villains? His most lethal foe stymied by stairs? Who cares? Here was a time and space traveling alien who defeated evil through intelligence and cunning -- not violence. I was hooked. Who wouldn't be?

(My wife, that's who. Both her father and sister are fans, but not her. I'm not sure what went wrong. A recessive anti-SciFi gene or something. You'd think she'd at least be in love with the TARDIS. A nice blue box that is way bigger on the inside than the outside [a common theme of British authors]. If we had a TARDIS then maybe we'd have enough space for all her running shoes.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I fell in love with Doctor Who and fantasized about the Doctor Showing up at my door. I would gladly have gone on adventures to other times and places with him.

I still would, but I'm not as keen on him showing up anymore. Why? Because I have a daughter. She's no where near dating age (she's 4), but it's never too early to be wary of boys showing up at your door.

The Doctor would be any father's worst nightmare. What would you do if your daughter started dating a fascinating alien with an English accent and a fancy "car" with an interior big enough to fit an entire bedroom? He could take her anywhere in the universe; be gone four hours, or days, or years; and be back before you even knew she had left the house. Can you imagine? You wouldn't even be able to lock her in her room to protect her, he could just materialize the TARDIS inside the room!

No thank you, I'll take a nice normal earthling who'd better have her back by 9:00 or he'll loose a knee-cap. (Some of you are probably wondering why I'm not worried about my son's dates. I've delegated that to my wife. Oh, hey honey, you're in charge of keeping our son's dates in line).

The Doctor is hardly ever portrayed as a sex crazed maniac, but you can't trust most of what is on television, so, stay away from my daughter Doctor Who! And you too Captain James T. Kirk! (Can you imagine if he got a hold of the TARDIS? You'd have to handcuff yourself to your daughter to keep her safe.)

I mean it, stay away. I have a Dalek and I'm not afraid to use it. 

Stay away, unless you are going to let me borrow the TARDIS for a bit. It would be especially nice on the day of the race. Run two miles, pop into the TARDIS, rest for a couple days, use the TARDIS to go back to the race at the exact time I left, run a couple more miles, pop back into the TARDIS, rest a couple of days, use it to go back in time to the race, and so on until the race was completed.

So, anyway, Doctor Who has been around for fifty years. That's a long time. If I had a dollar for every year it's been around I could supply one person in Africa for clean water for a year. I doubt the Doctor is going to show up to help me with that, but you could. Click the link and donate.