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Giggy Not Allowed?

Saturday, July 30th, 2005

Quote of the Day: “There are clubs you can’t belong to, neighborhoods you can’t live in, schools you can’t get into, but the roads are always open.”

- Nike

Bad news today, people. I just found out that the JFK 50 mile race I’m going to run in November does not allow personal listening devices.

What?

Yeah, that’s right.

I’m the veteran of 13 marathons and 2 ultra-marathons and I have NEVER been told I can’t wear earphones. Never.

And why would they care?

They claim it’s a stipulation of the insurance they have for the runners.

Don’t I sign a waiver for every race saying that if I die out there, I can’t sue? OK, well, my FAMILY can’t sue seeing that I will be busy being all dead and stuff. But the point is, I sign away all my rights to run these things anyway so if I fall down and crack my head open because I was too enthralled in Duran Duran singing about the Union of the Snake (oops, maybe a bit TMI…) then that’s on me.

Can I run 50 miles without my music?

I really don’t want to find out. But I have to have this race to qualify for the 100 miler in April.

(That really sounds like a crazy argument, doesn’t it? Never mind the distances, people, just be there with me on the whole “one requires the other” concept.)

Free Advice for Today: “Don’t work for recognition, but do work worthy of recognition.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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Well, It Had To Happen Eventually

Friday, July 29th, 2005

Quote of the Day: “When I came back, after all those stories about Hitler and his snub, I came back to my native country, and I could not ride in the front of the bus. I had to go to the back door. I couldn’t live where I wanted. Now what’s the difference?”

- Jesse Owens

My Ultra-Cool-Guy parking spot is no more. And I’m not too happy about the ticket.

About a year ago, a Staff Sergeant I worked and lived near let me in on his little parking secret. He parked along the street in Fredericksburg which, technically, was illegal from 0800 to 1000 but justified it by pointing out that he parked in front of an open lot so TECHNICALLY was not taking up the local indigenous population’s parking space.

Why push the ethics envelope? Because the regular Cool-Guy parking lot is filled by 0500. And Loser-Parking is way down a small side road in a big parking lot. Parking down there will cost you a 10 minute walk to the train but more significantly, a 10-minute walk back after work followed by a 15-20 minute parking jam just to get out of there.

Add in a 30 minute launch time to get to the train station on time, the 30-40 minute train ride, and the 10-minute walk from train to office and you get, from doorstep to office: 1 hour and 20 minutes to work and about 1 hour and 40 minutes home andthat’s if there are no delays.

Driving is about 40 minutes in and 50 minutes home. Plus, I don’t have to deal with VRE and all that goes along with it.

OK, so what happened to push this over the edge? Walking back to my Ultra-Cool-Guy parking spot that saves me ½ hour of frustration per day, I see the gay-ass pink ticket flapping on my windshield. Not a good way to start my Friday. The bastard caught me at 0900 (dead center of the 3-hour unallowed time frame) and it cost me a whopping $10.

But that was not the important thing. It also didn’t soothe my nerves that I had always vowed that whatever the cost I might incur one day would be worth a year’s worth of Ultra-Cool-Guy parking.

I was just pissed that this was such a petty thing. And fine, if you want to do petty, Fredericksburg, I can DO petty! I practically INVENTED petty!!!

So you can take your parking space, and your VRE, and my $10 and cram it clear up there along with the Civil War musket. You’ll get no more out of me.

Free Advice for Today: “Be enthusiastic in your expressions of gratitude and appreciation.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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18 Years And I’m Still Running

Thursday, July 28th, 2005

Quote of the Day: “I cannot have survival as my only goal. That would be too boring. My goal is to come back in my best running form. It is good for me to have that goal; it will help me.”

- Ludmila Engquist (Olympic champion hurdler facing cancer and chemotherapy)

For the past three days, it’s been stupid hot here in Virginia. Over 100 degrees with insane humidity. Now I could complain but I have to face the fact that I drive my air conditioned car to the air conditioned train which takes me to my air conditioned office. At lunch I walk to an air conditioned gym before returning to my air conditioned office to await the air conditioned trip home.

To my air conditioned house.

There are Marines in the field training. There Marines in the desert fighting.

I will just shut the hell up about that topic just about now.

But on a better note, today marks my 18th year in the Corps. On this day in 1987, I encountered my first up close and personal experience with the Marine Corps as I entered the hallowed Receiving Barracks at Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego California.

Recruit Grose in 1987

18 years.

My God, can that be right?

I’m looking at my recruit picture. Yeah, that’s about right.

Today needs to be a good day. It’s better than that day and many, many, many more Marines are having much worse days than me today.

With all this in mind and seeing that the temperature dipped down to a frigid 87 degrees, I decided to run at lunch. Since the marathon, I have not done much and my new plan for the 50 mile race in November doesn’t officially begin until Monday. But I thought I’d get my ass in gear so that it’ll stop expanding!!!

Monday, I went to the gym, ran a mile, and just did a light work out.
Tuesday I upped it to 3 miles on the treadmill and I was soaking wet.
Yesterday, I was feeling sick and had lunch with my wife. Today, I was feeling better so I put on the running clothes and went out for a 4 mile run.

If you don’t know, let me let you in on a little something: you lose your level of fitness about 10000 times faster than you gain it. So after a few weeks, it became shockingly clear that I was starting pretty low on the scale. Oh, I completed the 4 miles but it was WAY too much effort for what it was.

I just have to tell myself to keep at it. It’ll get better. It’ll get better…..

Free Advice for Today: “Never give a friend’s or relative’s name or phone number to a telephone solicitor.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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Let’s Hope It’s Assexual

Tuesday, July 26th, 2005

Look, I’m not a great looking man. I don’t even consider myself particularly handsome. But compared to the train population, I’m prime rib, baby.

This is not a statement about myself, only about the people I see on the train so ding me for being shallow but I got pushed over the edge today.

I sat in my normal spot with the little table with the same hope that I could get through the two stops between mine and my destination without anyone wanting the other side. This rarely happens but I can hope, can’t I?

Today was no different except the example of human/gnome cross-pollination that slumped into the seat across from me. This may sound harsh and it is but I just couldn’t help at marvel at the startling ugliness of this woman.

If it was just her size, so be it. People are fat. Hell, I’m not svelte as I want to be by any stretch of the imagination so no big deal. But what caught my soon-to-be watering eye was when she placed her arms on the table.

They were hairier than Mel Gibson’s. Like Robin Williams-level; big course hairs against doughy white skin. I felt my stomach turn a little.

OK, OK, I hear what you are saying; people can’t help these things. I know, I know and maybe she is a working single mother or a cancer patient or something so I’m going to hell for being disgusted by her. But then, while I was trying to ward off this shallow judgment running through my head, she pulls out a BIG bag of McDonalds.

Steady, Jason.

Out came the hash browns. OK, no big deal. It’s a pseudo-breakfast item.

Then Sasquach downed it in like two bites.

Hmmm.

Then came out the Egg McMuffin, and into the cavern it went.

Breath, Bertha. For crissakes, say moo or something.

Dear, you DO know you weigh like 300 pounds, right? And you DO know you are downing Mickey D glutton-buttons like they’re Tic Tacs, right? You do realize that these things make you FAT. I mean, I’m over here trying not to judge, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt that you have some medical problem that prevents you from keeping the pounds off but then you turn into a deep-fried breaded Crisco-ball vacuum cleaner right here two feet in front of me.

Stop it, Jason, you have been known to devour more than a few Krispy Kremes at a sitting.

Yeah, but I don’t do it in public. I HIDE my shame. And I run a bazillian miles to pay my penance for such weakness. Something tells me Bessie here hasn’t seen the business end of even a trot since Ho-Hos went on sale down the street.

I get control of myself and try to ignore her. After all, it was just a hash brown and Egg McMuffin and despite her eating it like it was crack and that it was from the single most horrid fat-factory on the planet, it WAS a weak facsimile of a breakfast.

Just when I thought it was over, she pulls out to coup de gras.

A two-foot Slim Jim.

You have GOT to kidding me.

Tell me, tell me oh Faticus Maximus, that you are NOT tearin’ open a Slim Jim at 0800 in the morning. And not just the normal one, a big monster Costco-version that looked like the trunk of a small tree.

Oh, but she was. For all to see. Ignoring the fact she has beastly arms hairier than mine, ignoring that she’s busting springs out of scales, ignoring that she is uglier than the sediment at a sewage treatment plant…. You gotta help me, lady. You cannot continue to be utterly revolting in every aspect and expect me not to cringe in your presence.

Obviously she doesn’t care what other people think so I’m gonna comment. If she did, she wouldn’t share with the public her grazing habits.

“I don’t know why I can’t lose weight.”

Want a list?!

And for the love for all that is good in this world, wear long sleeves! You don’t see me wearing half shirts, do you?

I’m done.(drops mic)

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