Leave-Leaving-Left Las Vegas

It's been almost three weeks to the day since I blogged, but you really haven't missed much. Due to last week's trip to Vegas (more on that in a minute, pictures when I figure out how to post them), I'm now a week behind on my running--tomorrow will be a long run. Most of my teammates had a long one last week, while I was sleeping off jet lag. I'm looking at 18 miles... no small feat since it's been two weeks since I went as many as 10. Wish me luck. I'll try to post an update tomorrow night, after I'm out of the hospital.

I simply must lead off the body of this post by bragging on my wife. She and her Media II class at Central High School--which puts out the bi-weekly news program Central Intelligence--found out this week that they were a Pacemaker Award finalist for the second consecutive year (the Pacemaker is the high school equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize, Nichole says), this time for a story on a three-years-married couple that is dealing with the effects of serial deployment to Iraq (for him) and multilple children (for her). These two are only 20 or so, and are Central High School graduates. I make a point to watch my wife's classes' work... sometimes she even asks my advice. I wish I had the time and energy--and let's face it, cumulative talent--at GO Magazine to put out work half as good as these kids do. I really couldn't be more proud of her (and them).

Now for Vegas. What can I say? The size and excess of the place overwhelmed me. You literally have to walk for 10 minutes to make it from one casino to the next. They're that big. I didn't have the budget to gamble or go clubbing, our funds were spent on nice dinners (Wolfgang Puck's Chenois at Ceasar's Palace is fantastic) and shows (Cirque du Soliel's "O" is a marvel). It's a sign of how much I needed some time off that the most satisfying three hours I spent was at the Extra Lounge inside our hotel (Planet Hollywood, formerly the Aladdin, pictured), watching NFL. I'm guessing most of the Bears fans around me had money on the game, as they were crying when 'da Bears won by 10 over the Chiefs (the spread was 12). Poor schmucks.

Finally, I have to give a HUH-YOOGE thank you to all of the people who helped me get very near my fundraising goal for the marathon (I'm pretty much there... though you could still be the one who puts me over the top by clicking and donating here.) A number of generous friends (Nath, as one of my three regular readers, I'm cyber-looking at you) and business acquaintances who donated silent auction items (Jeff Jenkins and the Skinny Improv, Randy Bacon, Meghan Chambers and Staxx Apparel, Paul Sundy and Big Whiskey's and my always-awesome sister-in-law, Courtney Schindele and Salon Truth), not to mention my overtly supportive parents (love 'ya mama!) helped me raise almost $2,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Way to go! Now all I have to do is finish the marathon!

Other than a more-than-brutal work schedule the last several weeks, there's not too much else interesting to report. Tomorrow's 18 miles will go a long way toward determining just how ready I am for my October 20 marathon. I'm sure the light (ULTRA light, if you believe the bottle) beer I'm drinking doesn't help, but it's Friday, and I'm alive.

Peace.

ML

Let me see if you can run it, run it

Today's 16.2 miles set a new standard for pain: It's been almost seven hours since I finished, and every muscle in my leg is screaming through the handful of ibuprofen I downed an hour or two ago. I bitched about soreness in high school, but in retrospect I should not have.

That said, it was a hell of a run. I only stopped once every three miles for water, and really gutted through some knee pain. By the end my legs were cramping pretty bad, but my knee had stopped hurting. That's either good or bad. If I can't walk tomorrow I may be in trouble.

Still, I'm only 10 miles from a full marathon--the distance of an out-and-back on my favorite Greenway trail, which I've run a hundred times. If I can take care of my legs, eat right and keep focused, I may actually finish this damn thing!

This is the first time in weeks that I've actually run on Saturday with the Team In Training group and not on Sunday on my own; it's nice because I can now enjoy my (long) weekend. I've been casually watching some college football waiting for the Cardinals game tonight. Damn shame about Juan Encarnacion, the Cardinals outfielder. You don't wish this on anyone. Without that, it would have been one of the better games all year--Rick Ankiel hit a grand slam off a lefty? Inconceivable!

Happy Labor Day!

Peace

ML

(But it's just a) sweet, sweet fantasy, baby

As a baseball fan, I've found that "fantasy" leagues diminish my enjoyment of the game. I get off plenty watching mid-June highlights of Mariners vs. Padres. I don't need to know whether Yuniesky Bettancourt went 3-4 with a double and two stolen bases to increase my appreciation of the game.

Conversely, however, I find fantasy football adds to my enjoyment. Maybe because it's a weekly phenomenon: Sunday, when I'm typically at home either relaxing or working, and require the second browser window on my computer to make games interesting. Perhaps it's because I'm a Cowboys and (marginal) Chiefs fan--not a lot to root for over the last decade. And really, why else would I care about a Titans-Browns tilt?

Anyway, my fantasy draft for this season--my fourth straight year in a league with a bunch of friends from college--was last Sunday. Last year I finished third, my best showing ever. This year, I'm enlisting the help of my blog readers to help make decisions, but you probably ought to know my team before I set out. Here's my (extremely average) roster.

First pick: Frank Gore, RB, San Francisco 49ers
Stud RB, but not sexy. Wish I'd had the third pick (I drafted fourth overall), but way better than some alternatives.

Second pick: Travis Henry, RB, Denver Broncos
So he's got nine kids with nine women. He's an all-pro playing for Denver. Nuff said if he's healthy.

Third pick: Tom Brady, QB, New England Patriots
I see a baby-daddy theme emerging, do you? Hall of Famer, though.

Fourth pick: Roy Williams, WR, Detroit Lions
Not bad for the fourth round, no?

Fifth pick: Vernon Davis, TE, San Francisco 49ers
A steal here. Gonna be watching a lot of left coast games.

Sixth pick: Andre Johnson, WR, Houston Texans
Had him two years ago. I think he's gonna be good... this time.

Seventh pick: Warrick Dunn, RB, Atlanta Falcons
Woulda been a better pick three years ago, but not bad for my Flex position.

Eighth pick: Defense, Denver Broncos
Hey, a quarter of their games will be against Kansas City and Oakland.

Ninth pick: Donte Stallworth, WR, New England Patriots
If Randy Moss is a washout, he's their No. 1, hands down. I think I'll be starting him by Week 4.

Tenth pick: Dominic Rhodes, RB, Oakland Raiders
Here's where things go to pot. He may start, he may not. Ehhhhh.....

Eleventh pick: Vernand Morancy, RB, Green Bay Packers
My worst pick. He's the only incumbent, but dammit if he's not hurt. Probably my first waiver wire drop.

Twelveth pick: Derrick Mason, WR, Baltimore Ravens
Again, three years ago this is solid. May be trade bait.

Thirteenth pick: Matt Schaub, QB, Houston Texans
I listen to too much sports radio. But I only hope to play him one week, so...

Fourteenth pick: Nate Burleson, WR, Seattle Seahawks
I don't know what I was thinking, either.

Fifteenth pick: Stephen Gostkowski, K, New England Patriots
You gotta have a kicker, right?

So there they are. It's a 10-team league, so the waiver wire is thin. Let me know where I'm lacking, who I should trade for, etc. If you give a crap.

Peace

ML

Guess Who's Back... Back Again?

Lemmon's back. Tell a friend.

While I'd like to tell you I was aimlessly wandering the highways of America, acutely lonely with only my superpowers as company, I actually never went anywhere outside the escapist corners of my own mind. Life, as it tends to do, blew up in my face entirely this month, and I'm just now finding myself with a Saturday fit for a little bit o' bloggin'. So much has happened since my last post that I want to comment on...

I'm still running: I'm up to 16 miles, only 10 from my goal. The break in the ridiculous heat has helped my stamina, as have the fancy-pants new shoes I ponied up for a couple of weeks ago (it's amazing how old shoes feel like running on cardboard.) The last week has worried me a bit, as I'm having some significant pain in my right knee (the outside portion, connecting the knee to calf. Whazat, biology majors?) So I've been cutting my weekday runs short and icing at night. We'll see how it does tomorrow morning, which is a 10 mile run.

Barry Bonds: It was with almost feverish tenacity that I watched every single Giants game until he tied and broke Hank Aaron's record. As a self-respecting baseball fan, I felt it was my duty to watch what will surely be one of the most-talked-about home runs in the history of the game. (Actually, I've been paranoid of missing big baseball moments ever since I went to bed before this home run 19 years ago.) My take on Bonds? Let it go. He broke the record, he's one of a bajillion players who juiced over the last 20 years... let it go. Prosecute him for whatever you want, but let the records stand--and cheer like freakin' crazy when A-Rod passes him six or seven years from now.

Work, work, work: Not too much to say here, but the exciting news is that I'm now Web Editor for the whole of Whitaker Publishing, Inc., in addition to my existing duties as GO Magazine editor. Exciting, or suicide? We shall see. Be sure to check out 417mag.com and springfieldgo.com early and often; exciting changes begin soon!

More corporate-export deaths in China: Suicide now. Seriously. When your government executes officials for taking kickbacks, how long until they start cutting out the middle men? Either way, I had to return my lead-tainted Dora the Explorer figurines. How pissed am I? Pretty pissed.

The Cardinals' August resurgence: It's a mirage, but a beautiful one. I was dreading a September in which baseball didn't matter to me--now I'm at least forced to pay attention. Thank you, Albert Pujols.

This makes me laugh a whole lot: dugout.progressiveboink.com.

Props: I absolutely have to give a shout out to my best friend, Nathan. He's an Ozarks Democrat who fled for the relative sophistication of the Triangle area of North Carolina (he lives in Chapel Hill). Not only does he have a rapidly growing birders' blog, The Drinking Bird, (you can't miss his "Single-Issue Voter" column, where he breaks down each presidential candidate by how birder-friendly he or she is, he's now starting a reader-driven blog called Joe America's America. Do check them out and comment often.

I've got my yearly fantasy football draft tomorrow with a group of buddies from college. Last year my team (name not safe to print here, alas) finished third. I'm aiming for even better things this year. More tomorrow (if I'm not too plowed/tired from my run to type.)

Peace.

ML

Worldwide (Running) Pants

Today I ran my first half-marathon. Yup--13-plus miles of southeast Greene County's (and some of Christian County's) finest urban sprawl. I came home and slept for about four hours, so my body feels much better, save a splitting headache. More Gatorade, please!


Ever wonder what goes through the mind of someone running 13 miles on city trails and roads? Here's a Top 10 list (I'm very good at Top 10 Lists).


10. "Those Kenyan guys would be done with a full marathon by now."
This is at, oh, mile 10.


9. "Flies love poop. Poop, poop, poop."
The voice in my head says this like Ron Burgundy downing a glass of scotch in Anchorman.


8. "They way I feel, a naked Heidi Klum could run by me and I would be in no way aroused."
This is more speculation than tested fact.


7. "I can't stand cyclists."
Okay, I know one of my best friends and one of my two readers is an avid (ex?) cyclist, but these guys annoy me. They wear these loud damn jerseys when a one-tone would be fine, they look like they're exerting sooo much physical strength when some fraction of it must be the bike--my quads don't want to hear it, whiner. Finally, some of them (not all) practically run you off the road. If they have the courtesy to say "Passing on the left!" it's when they're already on you, straight in your ear, scaring you half to death. I knew you were coming, Jaques; your ego passed me 20 minutes ago.


6. "Well, it's better than work."


5. "Never again will I eat anything with the word 'Diablo' in the title the night before a run."


4. Whatever song I happen to select from my memory bank.
There's only one, mind you: Once it's there, it's stuck. I've had the ill fortune of having songs from Avril Lavigne, Jo-Jo and Fergie. Today, however, it was Son Volt's "Drown." Ah, much more tolerable.


3. "How do they get all that lovely cream filling inside a Twinkie?"


2. "When I'm done with this, I only have 13 miles to go until I've run a full marathon. Joy!"


1. "Dont' say hi to me."
Seriously, folks. I know we're in the Midwest, and we have some genetic wiring that makes us feel obligated to give out unnecessary salutations to total strangers, but stop it. I'm sweaty, I'm huffing a bit, I look like ass. You look like ass, too. Saying hi, waving or, hell, even smiling takes energy I need to keep going. It's nothing personal. Yes, we are each weekend-morning warriors, pounding the pavement to satisfy whatever issues we have that make us feel the need to be running before sunrise. I get that. But I do not want to greet you unless I know you and like you. Or if doing so would socially or vocationally benefit me in some way. Get over it.


(Would that qualify as a rant? Oh dear.)


Have a great weekend, reader(s).


Peace.


ML

I'm Runnin' (Runnin' on Empty)

I'm starting to think this whole "train for a marathon in the middle of summer" thing was one of the dimmest in my considerable collection of not-so-bright ideas. I hit the pavement at 6:30 this morning, and by the time I made it 3+ miles (my minimum weekday run) I was sweating like Rosie O'Donnell at Ryan's Steakhouse. Missouri in August (well, July) is a stomach-churning humidity, one that's only made worse by that lukewarm shower, that cup of coffee. No matter how much ice water or Gatorade you drink, you can't cool down.

(Yeah, I know. EVERYONE says their part of the country has the worst humidity. It's like claiming you have the worst drivers, or you're the meth capital of North America. Life sucks everywhere. Got it.)

Naturally this has me dreading this Saturday's long run. My schedule has me going 11 miles but I'm going to try and keep up with my goal of staying two miles ahead of my chart. That would put me at 13 miles--halfway to to the finish line. Actually, it's probably more like 2/3 of the way, since everyone I've talked to said it's not training that takes you the last four or five miles, but sheer will.

Or as my grandma Nonee would say, stupidity.

The one thing that is becoming painfully obvious is I'm going to have to curtail--if not eliminate--beer consumption between now and October 20. This has me bummed. I'm a man of few vices: a little baseball, a little man-crush on Albert Pujols, beer. Better than most clergy, I would suspect. But I've noticed as the rest of my body is getting harder (I daresay you could open a soda bottle on my calves right now), my slight paunch has not diminished, and the morning-after beer bloat is even more pronounced. It's a sacrifice that will be good for me, I'm sure, but it's a sacrifice nonetheless. The good people at Leinenkugel's are (along with my family) the only ones who have managed to keep me in some semblance of emotional balance since... oh, February.

Great local blog reading of late:

* Ryan Wiksell of The Core Blog has a pastor's take on The Simpsons Movie.
* My good buddy Nathan is having a squirrel problem.
* The lovely Michelle will be selling her talents on Walnut Street this Friday (don't be dirty).

And, in the comments, leave me your advice for good athlete's diet tips. I'm feeling overwhelmed and I need you all to tell me how poorly you eat, too.

Peace,

ML

Updates, Updates, Updates!

It's been a bit of a zany week, as anyone associated with the magazine or my family can attest. I know only one way of cutting through the shiznit. Bullet points!!!


(Okay, so I don't know how to make a damn bullet point in Blogger on a PC. I hate effin' PCs. Asterisks it is--might be more appropriate anyway.)


* Marathon Update: Much too late to be called coming to our senses, Nichole and I realized that $3,800 each is an absolutely absurd amount to try and raise to run a marathon (or half marathon, in her case), especially when you're splitting all your donors down the middle. Ergo, she has stopped the running program--with cheerleading practice starting this week she was doomed to fall behind anyway--and I have switched to the Kansas City marathon instead of San Francisco. It's not as sexy, no, but far less vertical. It also requires half as much money raised, and Nichole can tag along on our anniversary weekend without paying for a plane ticket. She regrets stopping, but our ability to raise that money--or even find the time to try--just doesn't exist, and we patently refuse to chunk the unraised balance on a credit card. Debt is debt, even if the money goes to a good cause. I'll update this site's sidebar item to reflect my change in destination. Thanks to all who have donated, and keep it coming if you can!


* Reading Update: So we finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in two days--I read out loud for about 20 out of 34 hours over the weekend. I'll put up a more detailed review at some point, but overall I thought it was a fine way to close out the series, even if the ending was a little stunted and treacle. St. Louis Cardinals outfielder Chris Duncan liked it, too (photo from the Riverfront Times website).



* Movie Update: Saw The Simpsons Movie on Thursday night at the mini-premiere reserved for each of the nation's Springfields. It's everything a Simpsons movie should be, which is simply an hour and 20 minute episode, with a few goodies thrown in that you can't have on TV... even FOX... like Bart's private parts and Marge dropping the "GD" bomb. Good stuff. See it.


* Softball Update: Finally, the Whitaker Publishing Write Fielders won their first and only game of the softball season on Wednesday. Read about it here. Woo-hoo! I played shortstop for the winning team.


Have a great week. I'll try to blog about tomorrow's run this weekend.


Peace.



ML