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13.1 Again.

Well, we did it again.
 
Mark and I stood in corral 14 for twenty five minutes before we were able to cross the start line. Others (I’ve heard) had to wait upwards of an hour after the initial gun went off. I guess that’s what happens when you run in an event with 25,000 people.
 
It was a good race, though. The course got pretty scenic around mile 6 as we ran along Lake Washington. Elevation gain wasn’t nearly as bad as the map indicated. People were in good spirits, the weather cooperated perfectly and as I quitely predicted, Mark kicked my ass – not that I’d have it any other way.
 
Next time I’ll do two things differently: Not eat as much breakfast and run harder in the last three miles. Oh, and get new shoes three weeks from the start of the event. I ran in my trainers which (by the time of the RnR) had almost no support left in them.
 
Next race: Seattle Half Marathon 2009 – November.
Who’s comin with me!
Fin
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Daily Questions

I find that I ask these five questions every day. Without fail.
 
1.) Wanna go poop?
2.) What are you barking at?
3.) Have the doogs had vittles yet?
4.) Where’s your xxxxxxx?
5.) Who’s a sassy pooch?
 
xxxxxx = ball, sock, sister, squirrel, bone, frisbee, cookie, etc.
 
Fin
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Rock & Roll !

See that picture in my profile? Two cool dudes doing their "serious" faces for the camera.
 
That’s me and one of my best friends, Mark. About four years and 20lbs ago.
 
We were roommates with another buddy of mine, Bryan, in Redmond. The apartment complex we lived in was built close to a network of trails that ran for miles and eventually joined the Burke-Gilman Trail. Damn near each day after work we’d set out on a five mile run. Left to our own devices we’d probably think of an excuse to stay home and veg – Xbox, Simpsons, WoW, Bud Light – but we kept each other motivated. Verbally taunting one another until we all had our running garb on.
 
Bryan and I were in relatively good shape. He a soccer player and me an avid hiker, we weren’t slouches by any means. But Mark… avid swimmer, PCT hiker and self imposed distance runner… was by far in the best shape of the three of us. And he kicked our asses.
 
Daily.
 
It was great.
 
On 6/27, Mark and I are running the Rock & Roll half marathon together. 13.1 miles of ass kicking.
 
I can’t wait.
 
Fin
 
 
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Plantar Fasciitis

I may have it.
 
And on the other hand I may be a giant pussy. Either way you slice it, my feet really hurt.
 
My friends at Wikipedia define PF as: "…a painful inflammatory condition of the foot caused by excessive wear to the plantar fascia or plantar aponeurosis that supports the arches of the foot or by biomechanical faults that cause abnormal pronation."
 
While this supports my self diagnosis to a T, I’m still not convinced. See Exhibit A.
 
Exhibit A.
 
My pain isn’t located in the Most Frequent Area of Pain as the diagram points out. Instead I fall into the 5th percentile on the abovementioned survey. Leading me to believe it’s not Plantar Fascitis.
 
Perhaps I should visit the friendly neighborhood Podiatrist before things get out of hand.
 
More to come.
Fin
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Door Dings

My car, while it’s not "new" by any means, is still new to me. I’ve only had it since December ’08. When I got her she was perfect. Not a scratch on her. Detailed, shiny, perfect new car interior complete with new car smell. My new car.
 
When I ran into a sign at the Tiger Mountain trailhead and dinged the front bumper, I was pissed at myself because, well, I’m a good driver and I don’t do stupid shit like that. But it was okay because I did it.
 
When I took an intersection a little too fast and smacked the front fascia on the street, scraping the hell out of it, I was pissed at myself. But it was fun and it was okay because I did it.
 
When I spilled diet coke in the door jam while trying to get my tech bag out of the passenger seat I cringed. Man, that’s gonna be a sticky mess. But it’s okay because i did it.
 
When the asshole in the green SUV parked next to me in my office parking lot, leaving barely a foot betwen our cars and dings the shit out of my door in order to get out, I got pissed. Because you’re an asshole. What is the deal?! You know you drive a giant piece of shit. You know you need at least two feet between you and the car next to you in order to open your door. So why park so close to me? Why did you do that? Why are you a big jerk?
 
First I wanted to break your drivers side window. Then thought better of it. Instead I was going to kick a giant dent in your quarter panel. But I couldn’t. So I waited in my car for 35 minutes working on the tirade of expletives I’d unleash on you once you came back to your busted ass POS.
 
But what good would that do.
 
I probably stand a better chance of winning the lottery while being struck by lightning then having you read this. But if the planets align and somehow, one of these days you end up reading this weak, passive-aggressive rant and you realize this is directed at you, I’ll leave you with some sage like advice. Something I try to live by:
 
Don’t Be A Dick.
 
Fin
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Tour de Fin

God I miss cycling.
 
My cycling passion started circa 1995 when I started doing yard work for one of my neighbors while living out on the Issy-Hobart Rd. Don and Barb Shelton were avid cyclists and kept all their bikes in the garage close to where they stored their lawn mower. Every week I’d go over to their place to mow their lawn, but before I set out on that grueling two hour task, I’d spend 10-15 minutes oogling their cycling mecca. Don rode a custom Land Shark. Black red and yellow carbon fibre frame, full Campangolo group and fresh Continental Gran Prix rubber. The thing didn’t weigh more than 13lbs with pedals. A real work of art. Barb had a blue Serotta – aluminum frame and midde of the road components. More of a touring bike, but far more expensive than I could afford. They also had a brushed aluminum Santa Cruz tandem that was just a beast. 2" aluminum down tube, perfect TIG welds – just awesome.
 
Don saw me admiring their collection one day and mentioned that he and Barb were going out on an STP training ride that coming weekend and asked if I wanted to go. I had purchased a Specialized mountain bike a few weeks back and hadn’t done anything "big" with it yet so I said sure, not knowing what I was really getting into.
 
That next weekend we loaded up their Taurus station wagon with their tandem, Barb’s Serotta and my Specialized and set off for a park and ride somewhere on SR202…
 
…wow this is getting long winded.
 
Long story short, I was hooked. I had no problem keeping up with "pros" on road bikes while riding my knobby tired Chromoly mountain bike. It left me wanting more.
 
Not too long after that my mountain bike was stolen. It was replaced with a 50cm Cannondale R800 – team colors (red/yellow) full Ultegra 600 and fast – omg was it fast. I rode that thing all over the place – easily logging 1000’s of miles.
 
I knew I had offically made the switch from mountain biker to roadie when I was riding home from a friends house one day. He lived up on the top of Cougar Mt and the road down averaged a 12% grade back into Issaquah. I stopped at the bottom of the hill, my face streaked with tears from the wind, red cheeks and racing heart. A convertable porche pulled up next to me and the guy said, "Hey, did you know you were going 55 down that hill?". I smiled, "Yeah.", was the only thing I managed to get out.
 
55mph on a bike. Unreal!
 
Over a decade later, my Cannondale now sits in my garage. Neglected and collecting dust. I haven’t put a foot to pedal in years. My cycling flame was snuffed out with the advent of a drivers license, sports cars, school, work and a million other excuses.
 
Until last week.
 
Walking through the MS Commons to get lunch with Meghan, we happened upon the newly opened campus bike shop. A glimmer caught my eye and I turned to see a super sexy ’07 S-Works Roubiax Dura Ace on display. Needless to say the spark was re-ignited. But, like with other gear intensive hobbies, cycling isn’t cheap and I didn’t have their $3000 asking price just laying around.
 
We’ll see what the summer brings.
 
Fin
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