I Love College

Asher Roth - I Love College
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So Saturday was the ultimate college day. College has given me a bunch of friends with tons of different backgrounds, while simultaneously helping me find myself socially, athletically, and intellectually. Saturday had everything. Beginning with.....

12 PM : Wake up. After eleven hours of deep sleep, I roused from my bear-like slumber with a lack of urgency reserved for a day at the beach or Congressional health care reform. A laborious step to my desk to press 'on' at the computer/coffee maker (not the same machine, though that would save a lot of time and space) followed by a scorching hot shower began a day sure to be filled with studying, paper-writing, and responsibilities (or the exact opposite of that).

12:30 PM: Time for some complex culinary creations. PEANUT BUTTER PANDA PUFFS ACTIVATE! After eating an amount of gluten-free children's cereal that was probably used for authenticity on the set of Seven for the 'gluttony' character, it was time to get to work. And by 'get to work', I of course mean it was time to check my facebook. Witty status updates? Check. Stalking hot chicks beach albums? God no, you pervert. While reading the email, received a message from Mercury bikes for the Pro Sponsorship in 2010. AWESOME! But does it mean I have to put on pants? No? Even better.

1:30 PM: Energized by Mercury's email, I hopped on the trainer. I felt splendiferous so I just plopped it into a massive gear and went to work. The workout was almost transcendental, in that I just became lost in my own thoughts. So basically Republican jokes, or dick jokes. Though Dick jokes are pretty awesome, because they can be both (Dick Cheney's mom is so ugly, shooting her in the face would improve her complextion). To be serious, I put on some music and did a two-hour time trial at race type effort. I am sure this is a typical workout for some athletes, but I simply have never done anything like that before. A quick transition to a 5k in 17 minutes left me feeling both tired and energized...endorphins of an amazing workout are incredible.

4 PM: I get back to my suite, shower, and remember.....DODGEBALL! My BFF Krish (head of CAVA, top med school applicant) was having a Dodgeball event, and it promised to be epic. I texted another friend Brendan (great runner, incredibly intelligent) and we went to the gym, with only fun-sized snickers bars to fuel the carnage on the courts. There, we met George (Rhodes Scholar), Glen (financial analyst), and Tom (president of fraternity, ~3.9 GPA). Then we pounded the shit out of each other with balls for the next hour. I don't even care about the dirty-sounding nature of that last sentence, it was that intense. Seriously though, it was probably the smartest group of people ever gathered to play dodgeball unironically. Amazing time.

5:30 PM: Krish, Brendan, and I head back to the suite, have a few beers, and play mandolin. Later, Tom comes over for pizza and I eat a gigantic protein smoothie. All of this bro-time is just a prelude to the best part of the day. Because yes, girls have cooties, but you can protect yourself against that shit if you get a vaccine. It's like the flu, except girls only cause projectile vomiting when they speak. (just kidding, of course. it happens when they write too)

8 PM-?: Saturday was also the birthday party of my favorite person in the whole world. SHAENA! The rest of the night was a party with incredibly intelligent graduate students working at the American Museum of Natural History. A Night at the Museum would be a quiet night with these crazy people. Shae is so awesome, and gets another Happy Birthday blog shout-out. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAE!

?: Get back to my suite to sleep. Amazing workout, amazing party, and amazing friends--all in a day's work at college.

The Final Push (Plus More Great News!)

We will start with the awesome news.....Mercury Bike Company has offered a pro sponsorship for 2010! More to come later, but I was especially attracted to the Mercury Trident--a beautiful bike that dresses in red and goes fast. In that way, I guess it's like a very, very classy prostitute. Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman wishes she could be a Mercury Bike. I am so excited to work with Mercury to go fast, win races, and extend brand awareness on podiums across the country! Check out the website (http://www.mercurybikes.com/Default.asp?cat=1005) although be careful....your coworkers may think you are looking at pornography based on the sounds of pleasure coming from your cubicle.

So I have been super busy the last week, fighting to finish the semester (and my time at Columbia), on a good note. On Thursday, I had both my thesis proposal (25 pages) and thesis presentation, along with two problem sets and two midterms on Monday/Tuesday. It's fun to complain about work, I guess. The library at Columbia is practically a community center of shared suffering (Worst. Bingo Games. Ever). But what I can't help but think, even while running from one place to the next, is how much fucking fun this is.

If nothing else, when swamped with responsibilities, life is purpose-driven. As athletes, training has the same motivation. The feeling of movement, of avoiding stagnation, is life-affirming. So there is a big test tomorrow? So you have to give your boss a big presentation? Fuck yes. Bring it on. Our minds are more powerful then our legs will ever be, and it is fun as hell to push our intellect to the edge.

Law School News and Bacon-themed Dance Parties

1. Earlier today I received a call from the dean of UCLA Law. He had just opened my application and was kind enough to call back within the hour to offer a huge scholarship. As we conversed, I thought wistfully about how lucky I am in so many ways (which is better than my usual thoughts of bacon themed dance parties and pre-2000 Britney Spears). I have the most supportive parents in the world and the best friends. So thank you.

2. To readers that don't know me, I like to make jokes but deep-down, I actually have a tootsie-roll center.....ummm, no, that's not it. Deep-down, I really think that the only things that truly matter are the daily miracles and experiential epiphanies provided by the night sky, or an amazing friend, or a cathartic laugh. As a human being, all we can be sure of is our own outlook. I hope to demonstrate the virtues of a good person in order to make the lives of others, the future of the natural world, and the universe as a whole a little bit better.

3. The dean said my personal statement was the best he had ever read. I like to think it's because I just wrote about what makes life so amazing. In fact, the personal statement first appeared on the blog before I removed it a month ago. So don't laugh too hard, a dean of a top law school could be reading this :)

4. Great training day today! Big thesis proposal/presentation is due on Thursday, so I wanted to preempt workout guilt with a strong two-a-day. Started off with an AM 90 min bike with 2x20 min intense followed by a 5k. The PM workout was 6 miles easy with a friend. Luckily, it gets dark at 4PM so the fact that the friend was a pretty girl did not discourage me. I refuse to run with pretty girls because their beauty makes me look like a beast in comparison. STEP BACK, BITCH! YOUR RADIANCE IS MAKING ME LOOK BAD!

Erotic Reviews and Fat Labs

Recovery days always have the most interesting runs. During key workouts, the focus inhibits people-watching, and I'm [hopefully] going too fast for people to talk to me. On a day like today though, the stars align in such a way to provide 45 minutes of interesting experiences. Rated on a scale of disgust from horrifying to George W. Bush:

Very Sad: Seeing two extremely obese dogs (labs). They were "forced to buy two seats on an airplane" fat. They were so fat, I'm not sure if they were black labs or their mass created a gravitational singularity that didn't let their natural color escape. Okay, I'll stop. Seriously though, they looked like undersized pillowcases stuffed with multiple sleeping bags. It was sad, and I felt like yelling at the owner. HE IS THE GATEKEEPER! Raising a fat dog is almost as bad as raising a child Republican. Though it was nice to the dogs getting walked. It was like going to the pool in the morning and seeing a water aerobics class (swimmers know what I'm talking about).

Recoil in fear: At the end of my run when coming back to campus, I was stopped by a vaguely pedophile looking male who asked if I wanted to be a model in the Columbia Erotic Review, otherwise known as C-Spot. Okay, I want to start by saying I'm flattered, and would consider it if I didn't want to be forever known as "that guy" among my friends. But mainly I am left wondering what could possibly make a person ask that question. I have a distinct feeling that this is how porn careers start. "Babe, wanna do a classy photoshoot?" the pizza delivery guy says. Next, you're taking it in every available orifice.

Glenn Beck: I was asked by a friend whether I wanted to participate in a spirited game of Quidditch, of Harry Potter fame. Really. They do this. I kindly let my friend know that I am holding out the hope of one day kissing a girl, so between fantasy games and blogging, the cards are already stacked against me. Secretly however, I am thinking of showing up and taping the whole thing. I am pretty sure that the footage would be useful blackmail if any of these people choose to run for president. Yes, Barack Obama did cocaine while at Columbia, but at least he didn't play fucking Quidditch.

Sat: AM: 14 miles progression (7:30 down to 5:30)
PM: 5 miles moderate-hard
Sun: 30 min trainer w/transition 5 miles easy
Mon: 6 miles moderate

Poundtown II: The Reckoning

So I guess it's the offseason. Hence, getting somewhat inebriated on free alcohol last night does not directly impact some race this weekend (I promise that the bathroom tiles are a very comfortable place to sleep). Seriously though, there was an open bar with no real limits on consumption. And it only lasted from 11-12. IT WAS A RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK! I think the clock won because the third gin and tonic had me whispering sweet nothings to complete strangers whose adam's apples may or may not have been bigger than my penis. I really don't know....it was dark in there.

Possible employers, I think you should know that most of that preceding paragraph is extreme exaggeration. I mean, three gin and tonics??!?!?!!? I'm not Irish! Or Lindsay Lohan! Woke up this morning at 11:30, which kind of ruins the day in that my lunch mostly involves swallowing hard after a hearty burp. (I'm so sorry for the preceding thought) But the show must go on! Time to take a trip to Poundtown.

Poundtown is a muscular endurance bike workout where I work on very high resistances to build functional strength. Today included a 15 minute warmup, then 5x5min in the biggest gear ratio (54x11) at about 50 rpm. In between each set, I spend 3 minutes at 100 rpm in a small gear. The key is to keep the heart rate relatively low while focusing on the entire pedal stroke. Poundtown is the key to my bike strength, and I think every time-limited cyclist should spend a good bit of time in PT. Warning, the population will be 2: you, and extreme pain. The pay off is huge though. With the pain comes pleasure; I treat my bike workouts like David Carradine treated sex.

Finished off the workout with a comfortable transition 5k in 17 minutes. I think the run is a great way to work on staying relaxed and going fast. Some great minds of tri look down on brick workouts, but who are you going to listen to: coaches with exercise physiology degrees, or a college student that makes jokes about auto-erotic asphyxiation?

Training:
Sun: Race
Mon: 20 min trainer
Tues: AM-30 min trainer w/5 at LT with 6 mile run
PM-6 mile run
Wed: AM-5 mile run
PM-7 mile run
Thurs: 6 mile run
Fri: Poundtown with 5k

The Perfect Day to Run

It is November in New York City. The skies ominously extend their tendrils to the ground, leaving behind a glistening residue of cold rain on every surface. It is the beginning of winter. A short walk to class leaves uncovered hands numb and brittle. It is a perfect day to run.

I leave the door into a twilight that seems reminiscent of early morning, but it is actually 3 in the afternoon. Not much happens on days like today. Classes are sparsely attended; fruit stands are vacant except for a few pedestrians that wander by aimlessly. Four steps in, and the shirt flies off. I smile at a few friends and nod at a few strangers as I bound across Broadway to Riverside Park.

Riverside is a ghost town. The dog runs are empty, their usual inhabitants probably waiting expectantly at the door of an apartment for an owner who will not come. Not today. It is the perfect day for a run.

As I hit the central trail, I open up my stride through the soft muck. My gait is balanced perfectly between a powerful gallop and rapid turnover. This is the first week of the off-season, and I feel good. The next few months are my favorite time to train. There is no pressure; there are no deadlines. This is fun. It is the first day of winter.

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the zone. The miles tick away every 5:30 as if time was set by a perfect metronome. I run to the music of my footfalls in the empty park, lost in the repeating rhythm. Click, click, click---the music repeats---click, click, click.

Suddenly, the harmony is broken. A dog barks, its leash trailing behind. I stop, bewildered by the surprising dissonance. As my tunnel-vision slowly dissipates, another person creeps into view. A woman is sitting on the trail. She is dressed head to toe in a bright green sweatsuit, with a matching scarf and gloves. She looks cold; she looks sad. It is November in New York City.

I run to her side. She looks up at me with bright eyes in discordance with her sad appearance. I ask if she needs anything. My senses are so discombobulated that the sound of her southern accent takes me aback like the sight of an optical illusion. She is fine. But why is she sitting on the trail? Something happened to her ankle. I see the indented mud where her foot slipped, and I notice her boot sheltered from the rain under a holly.

Her name is Betty. Her husband is on the way. It will just be a few minutes. She is thankful I stopped. Betty glances ahead on the trail. The dog. It is still running. He doesn't look scared; he likes the weather. It is the perfect day to run.

Joey looks on warily. I am not a dog person; Joey seems to know. But he's tired. How long has Betty been sitting on the trail? A few bounding strides and I have the leash. Leading Joey back, he seems at ease---this is what he's used to.

Betty thanks me. She is older; she is black; she grew up in Alabama. Her and John marched with Martin Luther King. John is on the way to help, but traffic is moving slowly across town. The East Side is a long way to walk a dog. She says it's what she does on Thursdays, it makes her feel like a part of the city. Betty loves the city, but is always sad when the park is empty and the days get short. It is the beginning of winter.

Joey barks. A pair of joggers run by to our right. They see us sitting in the mud. Susan and Desmond want to help. We are now a group of four. Joey nuzzles my arm. We are actually a group of five.

I am getting cold. The family reunion of a southern belle from the East Side, two New Yorkers from midtown, and a student from Columbia is too much fun to leave. Betty insists. She says I am one of the sweetest people she has met. The pleasure is mine. She owes me nothing; she is incredible. So is Joey.

It's a few miles back to campus. As I bound away, it is now a group of four. Three wave with radiant smiles; one wags his tail in agreement. It is November in New York City. It is the beginning of winter. But everything seems like a bright summer day. People are amazing. Life is amazing.

It is the perfect day to run.

Prospect Park Fall Duathlon Race Report

Summary:
1st overall/215 entrants. This race was very important mentally because it was the final hurrah of a long season. The season's last race is the break-up sex of multisport. We've had good times, but we've grown apart. And I'd like you to remember me by this activity that involves profuse sweating, helmets, and suffering. Ummmmm...I'm talking about racing only, I promise. Anyway, I was thrilled to be so aggressive on the runs, and overcome a flat tire on the bike for a few minute win over pro triathlete Arland Macaseib (2-time Philipino National champ and outstanding guy).

Pre-Race:
Last week was a sweat-pants special. And by that I mean I felt sore, tired, and bloated; so during the small workouts I was able to complete I wore a sweatsuit in lieu of my typical short shorts/shirtless combo. My body rhythms seem to go through monthly cylces, and I'm sure that eating a pint of Cherry Garcia while watching Sex and the City reruns didn't help. By Saturday I started to feel better and greeted my parents that afternoon for a night of fun in the city! In the case of the Roches, a night of fun is an early dinner, watching How I Met Your Mother, and going to sleep at 8PM. CAUSE WE'RE YOUNG AND RECKLESS! Woke up early on Sunday for the trip down to Prospect Park. Picked up an awesome friend on the Columbia University Triathlon Team and got in a short 15 minute jog for warm-up. Also, there was only one bathroom! Which is fine, but multisport athletes are like cows at 7 in the morning. Meaning we poop constantly, and do not discriminate in favor of flushable toilets. Based on the squatting athletes I saw, the woods of Prospect Park are decorated with the remnants of carb-loading dinners. Fertilizer! Got to the line, sized up the competition (not to be confused with smelling up the competition, which due to the previous point was not a good idea), AND WE'RE OFF!

First Run:
The course started down a gradual incline before twisting and turning through the back trails of Prospect Park. Because of the downhill start, I decided to just release the brakes and go for it. By the first turn about a half-mile in, I had a 20 second advantage and saw no one was going to attack the 5k with me. Sometimes, I feel the emphasis on pacing sets limits that are false paradigms of actual capabilities, set as a buffer against fear of failure. Or at least that's what I tell myself when I hit the first mile well under 5 minutes. The one great thing about being so far up was that the dogs were all surprised by my arrival. So they'd look at me with typical canine confusion (or, to put it more succinctly, dogs are freaking stupid), then get super-aggressive with the second place runner. I am not above hiring rottweilers to side-track the competition. After at least 3 bite wounds in my favor, I hit the backside of the course, an undulating paved trail along the bike course. At this point, I decided to put the pedal to the metal and just go for broke. No one was in sight and it was a gorgeous day---it felt like a good day to unleash the pain-induced facial contortions early. I entered transition with said stroke-face on display and a good lead, but knew of the great athlete chasing. Let's hope there are dogs, or pedi-cabs, or metal spikes on the bike course to halt his advance.

Bike:
Hopped on my steed, a beautiful black stallion P2-SL, ready to take her to POUND TOWN. Uhhh....the beastiality undertones in that previous statement are purely unintentional (unless you read my website for equine erotica, in which case I'm glad to have you). The bike was 4 loops of a 3.6 mile course that is very familiar to any NYC area bike racers. One gradual climb is interspersed with flatness that puts an emphasis on power/aerodynamics over bike handling or savvy. My strategy was to never go under the 54-15 (big gear ratio), and use my 145 pound might to get a good split. The first lap was relatively uneventful, but then my lack of quality bike work came into sharp focus. On the hill I had to drop gears and get out of the saddle. I would not have been surprised if a roller-blader passed me, which is scary because everyone knows roller bladers are demons sent to popularize denim jean shorts (jorts are the devil's work). Fortunately, I was able to grab some water on the backside descent and was rejuvenated. I glanced down at my watch after lap 3 and saw I was laying down an awesome time (26-27 mph), which is strange because I felt terrible. I guess if you feel good, then you aren't doing it right. Hit the top of the climb about 2 miles away from T2 when.....POP!.....Oh, fuck. Blowout of the front tire. I started to pull over, dejected. I was so angry. Then, it dawned on me...maybe I can ride the rim into transition! This idea was akin to having a woman drive a car---things would go slow, and valuable possesions may be damaged (Hooray latent sexism!). But it worked, and after a few minutes of 15 mph pussy footing I rattled into T2 with glances from spectators that were a mix between watching the Hindenburg and Jesus.



Second Run:
I knew that barring an epic fail, the win was mine because second place did not catch with the flat. Granted, I am very familiar with epic fails from the dating world, so you can never write it off. Changed into my LunaRacers and started a loping pace that I use to eat up ground in the second run. The dogs were ready this time, but I think they were turned off by the full STROKE FACE. "Whatever that thing is," they thought doggedly, "it is clearly dead or rabid." As always, it is much easier to bargain with yourself then to go all out, and I probably left a few seconds on the table due to fear of pushing the limits. Came to the finish line and pantomimed the "Call me" gesture, just so all of the spectators would think I'm a douchebag, in addition to being ugly. Second place crossed about 3 minutes later with a handstand, which is fucking awesome. Overall, a time of 1:09:2x with a mid 15s 5k in a great end-of-season race.



I'd like to thank the CU tri team for all of the awesome support (especially Lexi and Matt), as well as my parents, and my utter disregard for the well-being of my front wheel. I couldn't have done it without any of you!

UPDATE-Prospect Park Duathlon

The race went amazingly this morning. First overall out of 250, with a 3 minute margin of victory over a triathlete with a pro card (he did a handstand across the finish line, which was awesome). On the last loop of the bike, I had a blow-out flat in my front tire, but rode it for 1.5 miles into transition. RIP front wheel...you will not be missed you under-inflated fucker.

We'll see about the times, but the first 5k was in the low 15s and I had a 2 minute margin into T1. On the bike, I passed people like the Health Care bill. In other words--very, very slowly. My strength needs some Arnold Swarzenegger work. On the run though, I was not a girlie man and opened up a little more time. GET TO DA CHOPPA!

Overall, amazing race and the epic race report will be posted tomorrow. Thanks to mom and dad (he did so well today!), as well as friends (especially number 1 human being Lexi for the on-course support). YOU. ARE. ALL. AWESOME!

Training and Eating the Days Before a Race

When I first started feeling the pre-race jitters, I would always search the topic of proper training and eating in the days leading up to a race. I was looking for some secret, a magic trick that would drop my mile time, improve my power, and prepare me for a breakthrough performance. And a quick google search returns hundreds of thousands of entries detailing the exact methodology necessary to outpace your usual Saturday hard training day. But a quick google search of 'lose 30 pounds' or 'gain 2 cup sizes naturally' returns the same cacophony of overhyped noise. Simply put, anything that attests to have some secret recipe for physical improvement is a scam that plays on our fears of failure. I tried every pre-race strategy: no coffee seven days before the race, carb loading, carb-depletion, and internet-forum training guides, among many others. As a result, I experienced GI problems, cramping, lethargy, and generally shitty performances. It wasn't until I accepted my limitations, and accepted the direct correlation of training/racing that I began to win bigger races and drop my times significantly.

Most of us are not professional racers. We know very little of the underlying physiological mechanisms dictating our pace, and even if we do we are so far from maximizing our capabilities that a 1% swing either way is not a huge detriment to our overall pacing. The key to race performance of most athletes is to avoid the 10% downward swing caused by a cramp, or nervousness-induced GI distress. In order to maximize both performance and happiness, most athletes need to learn to embrace race day as a hard training day with other people. A few general guidelines are still necessary to understand:

Training:
The most common mistakes leading up to race day are undertraining and overtraining. True, your lactate threshold or speed won't be significantly altered in the last 14 days before an event, but racing is as much a product of feel for most athletes as physiological limitations. Three guidelines:
1. Do NOT significantly alter training more than 5 days out from race day for a race under 2.5 hours. Extended tapers, if executed perfectly, may increase energy availability and efficiency, but could also leave you feeling flat and tired. Decrease the distance of the long run/ride the week before (maybe a 12 mile run cap and 60 mile bike cap); otherwise, train normally.
2. Five days out, listen to your body and avoid epic speed workouts or anything that may cause injury. Simultaneously, there is no reason to limit training for a paltry 30 minutes a day, or decrease milage by 60%. Most of us will never put the extreme nervous system stress on our bodies dictated by overtraining, and the biggest danger is getting so wound up mentally that the race becomes a worry rather than a joy.
3. Two days before the race eliminate anaerobic workouts completely, but still get enough training in to feel confident in normal eating/sleeping rhythms. A typical 2-day cycle for me is an easy 7 mile run, then an easy 4 mile run with strides the day before. Do what feels comfortable. However, I strongly recommend against doing nothing, especially if your body is not used to zero days. Keep the normal patterns, and don't put too much thought into every little muscle fiber in your body.

Eating:
Inadequate nutrition is the biggest fear for most endurance athletes. As a result, we see innumerable carb-loading strategies. This is poppycock (excuse my language). We are not professional Ironmen that need every single ounce of glycogen from our muscles---pretty much the only goal is avoiding bonking. Mainly, this means eating normally. Don't force down carbs, don't starve yourself to avoid gaining weight. In fact, DO NOT WEIGH YOURSELF IN THE THREE DAYS BEFORE A RACE. It doesn't fucking matter, I promise. Some guidelines:
1. Do not alter diet at all until 2 days before the race. You know how your body works, and 70% carbs with huge speghetti meals will only serve to fill up the portapotty, and possibly your race shorts.
2. Eat when hungry. Don't force feed yourself, or starve yourself. The hunger mechanism is very efficient, and ignoring it is an invitation to failure.
3. Drink coffee if you drink coffee, eat gels if you eat gels, eat fruit if you eat fruit. But don't deprive yourself of normal things, or load up on abnormal things, because you read about it in Runner's World.
4. Drink normally. Downing a liter of water the night before a 10k is at best going to have you peeing nonstop, and at worst be dangerous to your health. Water is not some secret potion for performance.
5. The day before, eat healthily and don't go to sleep hungry, but don't worry about the minutae. That piece of gum, or glass of wine will make no difference on your time. Maybe avoid a huge salad unless you are looking to smoke out your opponents with epic farts.

Basically, keep it simple and have fun. A race is not the arbitrator deciding your worth as an athlete. Things can go to shit; things will go to shit; but if you change your routine the probability of literal and figurative shit happening increases hugely. Racing is training, and training is racing. Treating them differently is an invitation to pressure, unhappiness, and mediocore performance.

P.S. Prospect Park Duathlon tomorrow, my last of the season! Hopefully I can go out on top. Now excuse me while I go have a gigantic speghetti dinner.... (kidding)

Prospect Park Duathlon Pre-Race and NEW READER CHALLENGE!

(read to the end for CHALLENGE!)
This Sunday is my final date with Destiny for the 2009 season. Unlike the other Destiny's in the world, this has nothing to do with greased poles or working her way through what is apparently a 15-year program at college. No, I am not talking about your sister (author's note: ZING!.....sorry); I am talking about the Prospect Park Duathlon. The race is a 5k run, 14 mile bike, and 5k run that promises beautiful trails, rolling roads, and being called a 'Fag!' by complete strangers (to be fair, we multisport athletes do accessorize more than the entire cast of Will and Grace). Seriously though, it is an outstanding race with over 300 athletes and great organization.

Because I have been feeling slightly run-down, the plan is to reduce running milage below 50 and get a few short rides in for the week. Sometimes, I feel the need to train through races in order to alleviate performance pressure, but at this point I am very confident in the work I have completed. Coming off the win at American Zofingen, I think I am ready to really attack the first run. Last May on the same course I ran a 16:01, so with the huge increases in milage a 15:45 should be possible. The cool thing about duathlons is that the first run is really the only variable you can control in terms of performance (other than dress code---ungodly amounts of spandex and compression socks take at least 4 minutes off your time). On the bike, the strategy is just to get low and pound (also the worst sex advice ever), and on the second run the goal is to end the sufferring as soon as possible (sex advice given by my girlfriend). Hopefully I can duplicate the 5-minute victory from May, and win all the girls in Brooklyn with my beaming finish-line smile (like cobra venom, the sight paralyzes them through sheer disgust).

And now, NEW READER CHALLENGE!
LetsRun.com (an incredible website) was gracious enough to link to my blog through a story on the NYC Marathon on Sunday. Their website is the best running-related resource on the internets (and their forum is the best resource for being called gay by homophobic 11 year-olds). So basically, as you have seen, we do not take ourselves particularly seriously at MyDuathlonBlog. Occasionally we write sentimental material, but then we get off our period and start being real men (HIGH FIVE!). Rules:

1. Take a movie title
2. Make a simple pun
3. ...
4. Profit

Follow my lead in the comments for hours of laughter (or possibly seconds of a small grin). Regular readers are welcome to join the fun (and I know most of you so I will personally slap your face if you don't):

1. JURASSIC SNARK.
About a witty and sarcastic T-Rex. It would probably go over your head.

2. 10 Things I Hate About Stew.
Thing number 1: Fork or spoon? Pick a side Stew, we're at war here.

3. Shindler's Fist.
A revenge tale.

Your turn!

Why so [not] Serious?

1. Sometimes I think it's a problem that I have trouble taking myself super-seriously. For example, I'm currently penning a thesis which will undoubtedly change the world's conception of global warming. Mainly because I'll just be blowing a lot of hot air out of my butt and printing off countless sheets of paper. Sorry trees, but your flesh was made for Times New Roman (just like the flesh of stray cats, but after skinning alley-dwellers it is hard to get the fur through the printer). Imagine my writing, then imagine my writing without jokes. Add some scientific jargon, citations, and pretension. Then cook it at 350 degrees in an oven of my ignorance. The final product will make the polar bears wish they could die.

2. It applies to other facets of life as well. Today, I'm playing Capture the Flag with friends, after which I will surely get hot chocolate. If there were a game of duck-duck-goose, SOME AQUATIC MIGRATORY BIRDS BE GOING DOWN! Basically, I guess I'm worried about getting older, but never actually getting more mature mentally. I never even entered the cool stage of hanging out at bars and picking up lonely chicks(Desperation is a powerful aphrodesiac whose signs include uncomfortable shoes, blue eyeshadow, and Long Island Ice-Tea). Between dodgeball, capture the flag, and slip-and-slide, I am apparently stuck at 3rd grade Field Day. That being said, I brought home a shit-ton of blue ribbons on Field Day. The third-grade ho's be wanting to play truth-or-dare, but I told the bitches to step back and take their cooties to the jungle jim. Cooties: The worst STD.

3. Training has been slacktastic. I'm feeling a little bit of the sniffles (thank god there are no throat-itchies), and with a race coming up next Sunday the motivation to crush it in training has been waning. Sunday was a rest day at the marathon, Monday was a 12 mile run, and today is some trainer work with a 5k (plus Capture the Flag!). Mainly, I'm looking to maintain over the next 5 days before the Gotham Cup Club Challenge (Prospect Park Duathlon). It's a 5k-14mi-5k format, with over 300 athletes and a beautiful course. I was lucky enough to win the race in May by nearly five minutes, so I'm looking to improve on my times (especially on the run). It is particularly exciting because a close friend is racing as well. And it's a pretty girl. As we all know, PRETTY GIRLS CANNOT RESIST WINNERS OF LOCAL DUATHLONS. The stroke face is irrisisitable. So basically the rest of the week is planned around some tune-up runs to prepare for (hopefully) a sub-16 first run 5k on Sunday (16:01 in May on the same course). Yes, that may not be the best strategy. But like I said above, my mind stagnated somewhere around 7-years old. I have difficulty seeing the consequences of my actions. Off to play with matches and touch stove-tops!

P.S. Thanks to everyone who has sent messages or emailed me about the blog. I really appreciate your support, and it is awesome to know my ramblings have an audience. That being said, you are a bunch of degenerates.

Bloody Nipples and Jello Shots

Halloween costumes that don't have 'slutty' as the relevant adjective are at best ill-conceived, and at worst un-patriotic. WHY DO YOU HATE AMERICA SCARY WITCH!?!?! Benjamin Franklin would have dressed up as a "founding father".....of a harem of slutty wenches that he was pimping. Last night I saw a slutty flamingo (so good!), a slutty Jesus (turning water into vodka?), and a slutty Tommy Lee (alright, that may just be redundant). I dressed as the Tour de Franzia, wearing a Franzia-themed box with a suggestive dispenser that said "Squeeze for Treat." Said dispenser was a vitamin bottle, so my girth was somewhat intimidating, and made me feel ashamed when walking past younger trick-or-treaters (though their parents laughed). The costume was topped off with helmet, bike shorts, and arm warmers. Because exposed elbows are just indecent.


Thanks so much to Shae for the amazing party, awesome friends, and a plethora of gluten-free cookies. Though the jello-shots may have forever ruined jello for me. It looks like it should be delicious, but it is still vodka. In other words, it has the after-taste of used radiator fluid.


This morning I went to support some friends at the NYC marathon (celebrating 40 years of bloody nipples in Manhattan!). We went to mile 23, hoping to see the decisive moves in the elite races. The professionals ran so smoothly--even at that stage it was like watching physical poetry, with every bodily movement in perfect synchronization (Rush Limbaugh shows the same perfection with achieving douchiness.



What will stick with me, though, is seeing James Kwambai (the third fastest marathoner of all-time) come to a stop. As one of the best athletes in the world, he had trained for months with this in mind, and to witness his dejection while walking slowly down Fifth Avenue was heart wrenching. I walked beside him and gave my water. He mumbled a thank you, and his complete mental capitulation nearly brought me to tears. I gave him a pat on the back and a kind word before leaving him to continue the lonely walk up the road. He looked as if he just wanted to hide, to escape whatever personal anguish or shame he was feeling.



I wish I could have hugged him; I wish I could have said everything will be alright. But I knew, on this day, that would be a lie. Ryan Hall's fight, or Meb's acceleration for the win will be the lasting image of the race. For me though, James Kwambai's struggles showed more about the human spirit. He layed himself on the line and failed. However, he will overcome, and when he wins his next race I will smile and know that everything actually was alright, even if it wasn't for a few hours on November 1st.

Fri: AM: 90 min trainer with 60 at threshold, transition 5k
PM: 7 miles (5 hard)
Sat: 10 miles easy-moderate
Sun: 2 miles easy

Training has been solid. I decided to attack Friday, and am incredibly satisfied with my performance. Whenever I ride the trainer, my computer provides entertainment (usually in the form of videos/blogs). On Friday though, I caught up on some political action (just like baseball action but with more physical activity). Wow, politics is a shit show (literally, monkeys are throwing feces on Capitol Hill). It seems doubtful that dishonorable people are elected to public office, but maybe that is the common denominator among some law-makers. I rode angrily in my 53x13 gear ratio (lower cadence), and decided during the 5k to change the world through policy at some point. I will get a law degree, and be the best human being I can; but then plan to run for office. An America founded on principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness cannot be segregated into rich/poor, or black/white denominations based purely on status of birth. Health care, at its core, is the confluence of economic disadvantages that are manifested most prominently across racial lines. I'm not saying obstructionist Republicans are racists, nor are Libertarian policies inherently wrong. However, a core segment of the party is aligned with interests that promote racial/economic division (divisions not based on merit). No, they are not racists. They are assholes.

Friendship, Brotherhood, and FIJI

Two days ago, returning from a few hours of classes, I sat down to check my email after a long day. Like always, there was an entire page of unread messages ranging from the important (PENIS ENHANCEMENT!) to the spam (Homework assignments). About halfway down, my eyes were immediately drawn to an email from Duke Law's Dean, Eric Hoye. "Welcome to Duke!" read the subject line, and a year's worth of latent fear transformed into a mountain of relief. I called my parents and posted the news on my facebook wall before going to a group of friends' suite to watch the World Series. My phone was out of charge so I sat down and enjoyed some baseball (just kidding, no one actually enjoys baseball) with guys from my fraternity (FIJI). Later that night, after charging my phone, it started ringing. I picked up and it was a FIJI graduate brother calling to offer congrats. Upon hanging up, I opened up my messages folder. I had 27 messages, most from guys in the fraternity (past and present). On my facebook, friends from far and wide had posted kindly words (I originally wrote 'kindly' as 'kinky', which would have meant I have much better more dedicated friends). This post isn't about Duke, but about how lucky I am to know an amazing group of people that care about me, and how happy I am to be a FIJI brother.

When I came to Columbia, I was overwhelmed by the impersonality of New York City, and quickly found myself feeling lonely. That first year made me strong; that first year made me more of an individual than ever before; however, college seemed like it was going to be an emotionless transaction where each of my small-town smiles were greeted by big-city averted gazes. While riding in Central Park that spring, I met Tony Hall, an amazing human being who became a close friend. He invited me to live in his suite the next year, and I accepted. That suite happened to be filled with FIJI brothers. Of those suite mates, I count some of my best friends in the world. I did not feel as if I was joining a 'Frat'; I felt I was hanging out with a group of outstanding people who wanted nothing but the best for me. My big brother in FIJI, Tom Meister, said to me on my pledging night, "Dave, you're making a great decision."

We had our pledging ceremony last night for a group of guys that all meet the standards of morality and kindness that I have come to expect from brothers in our fraternity. To each of the guys that took the oath I wanted to say how amazing of a decision they were making. After a night of celebration with the pledges, I woke up this morning to another email. This email wasn't a "congrats Dave!", or some other kind sentence of encouragement. The email was from my big brother in FIJI, Tom Meister, currently a 1L at Berkely Law. He had spent his Friday night composing an eloquent email that intertwined my interests with my accomplishments, trying to lend a hand any way he could. Those pages represented an emotional wholeness that stood in direct contradiction to the impersonality I expected in New York City. Tom is a great guy, but more than that he represents the brotherhood of FIJI--the most significant thing (academically or socially) I will take away from my time at Columbia. Tom wants the best for me. We all want the best for each other. And perhaps most importantly, his email stated in no uncertain terms that he wants me to go to the law school where someone will guide me as a mentor, friend, and brother---Berkely.

I graduate in six months, and in doing so relinquish my postition as an active brother in the Omega Chapter of Phi Gamma Delta. Tom graduated six months ago from the same chapter. But none of that matters, because the bonds of FIJI brotherhood, and the friendships made in Phi Gamma Delta, last for life.

Public Nudity

While running today, an old lady who looked as if she enjoys knitting scarves for her 25 cats said to me, "Aren't you cold?" I stopped and had a little conversation because I love talking to people, and said, "No, I'm hot from running." (Note: please don't read hot as aroused, me and running are purely platonic) Before I had a chance to compliment her bleached blond afro and many stylish plastic bags (fashion accessories?) she responded, "Well you look great [author's interjection: SCORE!]. But I'm worried you'll catch the flu."

I talked to her a minute longer about her day, trying to make her smile and laugh before I ran off to spread my pastiness to the masses. To start, she showed how awesome people can be when you treat strangers like friends. But the truth is I was a little cold at the start of my morning jaunt (also my disclaimer for the ladies). That being said, one of the cool things about being an athlete is gaining a keen awareness and acceptance of your body. Food is fuel; body composition is a means to better performance rather than a tool for attracting the most vulnerable friend in a group of girls at the beach (like a lion stalking a wildebeast you look for the one with a limp and bad vision). This perspective breeds self-confidence because your body is not something you can ignore; it is with you every second of every day. Thus, confidence in functionality results in confidence in other life situations, whether it be a work presentation, social interaction, or a date where you accidentally mention that you blog (because only losers do that). I LOVE PUBLIC NUDITY!

Admittedly, my biceps don't bulge like a baby ostrich pecking through its egg, but to me that isn't a basis for insecurity. Because my body does its job in races. Growing up I had the same self-concious insecurities as all teenagers ("Will Becky-Sue like my leather belt/hair gel combo, Members-Only jacket, and Abercrombie Shirt?".......apparently I was simultaneously a greaser, 80's kid, and douchebag). Now, though, I really don't give a fuck about those types of things. It is liberating, both figuratively (confidence) and literally (pants are oppressive). So the next time you see me running down Broadway, or biking up a Colorado mountain, or sitting in my room nudifying the common space, know that I am not showing off my body, but my self-acceptance. And also my voluminous chest hair. I go through truckloads of conditioner for my sternum mane, but I think the French braids are a classy touch.

Training:
AM: 30 min trainer with 5 mile run
PM: 4 miles easy

Training Update

Oh, hi there! Long time, no see. You look great! Gained a little weight maybe, but that's understandable. After all, your species is getting ready for hibernation. ZING! Just kidding, you look amazing. At least it appears that way through the binoculars. Okay, I'll stop.

Seriously though, how are you? The last few days have had some things come up, with midterms and personal stuff that needed urgent attention. And by personal stuff I mean something worse than my usual excuse of getting distracted by shiny things and people throwing balls. Yes, I have basically the same mental outlook as a laborador retriever. But this puppy has had some big dog stuff to take care of, and training has taken a backseat until today.

Mon: 20 min trainer
Tues: 90 min trainer (5x4min biggest gear with 10x30/30s) plus transition 5k
Wed: AM: 6 miles
PM: 8 miles moderate-hard

I have always found that when mental stresses increase, and happiness undulates based on temporal events, that injuries are more likely to occur. Sleep is more fitful, and even 9 hours feels like less than enough. I woke up on Monday morning with severe knee and plantar pain, both in the right leg. Time has taught me never to look too far into injuries, but combined with the outside issues Monday was a tough day. Went out for a run in the afternoon and turned around about 100 yards in, not because of pain so much as lack of motivation. On Tuesday, I came back much better, and today was great. I think this shows that mental activity, in and of itself, is not detrimental to performance. However, when that mental activity is allowed to negatively affect attitude, problems arise. Yesterday turned things around; one friend in particular reminded me how lucky I am, and how amazing life is. I've constantly preached that WE are responsible for our outlook. Sometimes though, a friend can change everything.

Bullet Point Attack

This weekend has no over-arching narrative. The white stallion of my blogging will be unleashed from the horse stall of traditional literary structure using the majestic escape of bullet points. I AM SO GOOD AT METAPHORS!

1. So maybe I'm training too hard. Maybe the pain in my legs has distorted my perception. Or maybe I'm just getting old and boring. But I went to two a capella concerts this weekend (awesome job Morgan and Dennis!), and only once did it make me desire an alternative activity, like getting castrated with a plastic spork. And that moment occurred when a group from Harvard was singing. If there's anything Good Will Hunting taught me, it's that math gets all the chicks. And also that Harvard women can be very annoying when allowed to speak (or sing) for extended periods of time.

2. Quick television show idea: Goodwill Hunting. I'm unsure of the plot right now; it will either be a reality show about savvy shoppers finding deals at Goodwill, or a Lifetime Original movie about a serial killer that repressed his hatred of stained couches a little too long.

3. Yesterday night I went to a comedy show with my friend Chlish Khannarello (AKA Chloe and Krish) and it was raining torrentially afterwards. Immediately upon getting outside, I was soaked. Luckily, I'm a little bit of a pimp and did what pimps do best: THE BOOTY CALL. It was a slip and slide booty call, but still it is fun to imagine a David that could pull a booty call off without monetary incentive for the other party. Anyway, I won't say where we slipped and slid, but needless to say it was on campus and it was incredible. I sometimes worry that I still enjoy every activity my mom set up for my fifth birthday.

4. Training has been incredible. 21 miles total on Friday (a 6 mile run tagged on at night), 2 hour poundtown on the trainer with a 5k on Saturday, and 8 miles (1.67 at 5:10 pace) in the AM and 4 miles easy in the PM on Sunday. Both the Friday evening run and Sunday morning runs were with a really strong athlete who happens to be a great guy, and I think my conditioning is really benefiting from the outward focus. Training can be a very selfish activity, confining oneself within mental thoughts and physical sensations that are inwardly oriented, thus having a social outlet makes it so much better. Not to mention he is my second running buddy with a sweet beard. Hi God, it's me David. WHY CAN I NOT PULL OFF FACIAL HAIR!!!!!!!

Central Park Hobo-Zombie Escape Race Report

Ok, so there's no such race as the Hobo-Zombie Escape, but because I have about a month off between races, it was about time to get down and do some dirty work. Racing is just physical stimulation with others present for motivation, so if a race is a Bacchanalian orgy, than a long race simulation is akin to tantric masturbation. IT PREPARES YOU FOR THE REAL THING!

Summary:
1st overall. Yeah, I was also last, but MY GLASS IF HALF FULL. Seriously though, incredible workout. Started with a 2 mile warm up then one aerobic threshold lap of Central Park (6.03 miles) in 35:12 to build residual fatigue followed by a 5.2 mile loop at LT in 27:48. Decided not to kick at the end so I can do another workout later. Also, I was not caught by the deranged hobo-zombies that I was sure were chasing me. Yes, there hasn't been a hobo-murder in the park in years, but you can never be too safe. If I was doing the workout in Canada I would have convinced myself a polar bear was chasing, and if I was in South Carolina I would have convinced myself a dead Confederate soldier was in pursuit. Oh dead Confederate soldier, everyone knows you can't wear grey after Labor Day!

First Loop:
Eased through the 2 mile warm up in 16 minutes, then got a nice tailwind around the Guggenheim so I decided to open it up a little. Started ticking off miles at about 5:45, feeling very comfortable the entire time. Like always, I would push the downs and chop easily on the ups. I always run counter-clockwise (against the park rules) because I am a rebel. And unlike the clueless fashion sense of the dead rebels above, I was wearing a smart outfit perfect for any season. Who wears short shorts? I do! Anyway, the foliage in Central Park was beautiful and I saw some of my running buddies going the opposite direction. It is always nice to get a cheer from a stranger. Though I feel guilty for not telling them about the hobo-zombies chasing me. God bless their souls.

LT Loop:
Got over Harlem Hill (the biggest hill in the park) feeling hot and lathered from the first-lap foreplay. It was now time for the real thing. And like carnal relations, the GOAL IS TO FINISH AS FAST AS POSSIBLE. At least that's what I tell myself. Anyway, started to pick up the pace to sub-5:30s on the long straight before the Boathouse. The hills of Central Park are definitely conducive to good solo workouts because the change of pace/stride-dynamics keeps things interesting. No role-play necessary! Conditions were impeccable for fast running, about 52 degrees and cloudy, so hydration and overheating were not really problems. Good thing, because hobo-zombies NEVER STOP. Hit the 3 mile point in 16:22, trying to focus on keeping my upper-body relaxed and stride-rate around 90. At this point I knew there were about 2 miles to go, so I unleashed BABY STROKE FACE. It's just like normal STROKE FACE, except with much less wear and tear so it's still kind of cute. Decided not to kick to save myself for an afternoon workout, but was able to cross the 5.2 point in under 28 on a tough course.

I'm thrilled with my conditioning right now. Milage with decreased intensity seems to be the key to getting faster for me, and I'm seeing huge leaps and bounds from Du Worlds (where I had the flu) to American Zofingen to today. Notably, the ivy league university life (translation: normal school with more kids who listen to Mozart willingly) has been hectic recently. It's interesting that I have absolutely killed my midterms. They have been made into baby kittens in my own personal crush film (please, don't google that unless you want to go to Hell. And be massively aroused). The integration of human capabilities (intellectual and physical) is fascinating. It really is amazing to be alive.

The Lonely Island Paradigm

Until today, I subscribed to the Field of Dreams Corallary. Roughly stated, the FODC states that if a girl does not love Field of Dreams, a serious relationship is impossible. Ask any guy, and he will get wistful when talking about the game of catch in the movie. I once watched it with a girl who looked at me like a weirdo when I choked up at the end. Look honey, I thought, if you don't enjoy that, then we are so different on such a basic level that it would be like dating a female alpaca. And although alpacas are soft and cuddly for a night of fun, any sustained alpaca-human relationship is destined to end with crying and hoof-induced head trauma (or, in extreme cases, alpaca burgers).



Today, I changed my mind. A woman might not be able to understand the father-son-baseball relationship, and that is okay. But the one place we cannot be polar opposites is sense of humor. With that, I introduce the Lonely Island Paradigm. LIP roughly means that if she does not like the obscure SNL Digital Shorts, then we cannot be together. A girl that cannot laugh at stupid humor is further from me than an female alpaca. More like a male alpaca. Like a Republican, I think strange sexual fetishes such as beastiality can be condoned as long as they do not involve THE GAY.



Obviously, sense of humor is only one component of a relationship. Others include intelligence (I don't like girls that are the intellectual embodiment of blinking hotel vacancy signs), looks (beggars-me, cannot be choosers on this one), and political affiliation (Libertarians give the best blow jobs). For me at least, laughing and being happy is such a huge part of enjoying life that if you're not around the same levels of taste (and by that I mean a degenerate), then we have a fundamental character difference that is not amenable by any amount of physical attraction (I will take my shaved legs elsewhere). Hence, the Lonely Island Paradigm. It's less about sense of humor than it is outlook on life.

Mental Toughness

Starting with an abstract philosophical question is never the best plan. Unless your audience is high on shrooms, in which case it is a foolproof plan. Also, WATCH OUT THE PIGEONS ARE OUTSIDE YOUR ROOM WITH CHAINSAWS!....Okay, now that the junkies are sufficiently freaked out, a question: How much of life is experienced through the mind? The rabbit hole goes pretty deep when discussing reality vs. perception, but for athletic performance it is as important a topic as your max heart rate. Are our limits preordained by genetic parameters, or do we control our athletic destiny?

Yesterday I had the typical afternoon feeling. No, sadly there weren't any skyrockets in flight, nor were there afternoon delights. I was tired. I was sore. My mojo was not at its usual emphatic pulse of enthusiasm. But I got out the door. That, to me, is mental toughness. Not putting off pain in the last mile of a race, but handling your shit, day in and day out. The first three miles of the run were painful, the fourth was a little better, and on the fifth I saw a quality runner with a Columbia XC shirt come off a trail and start to run beside me. Fuck this, I thought. My caveman brain clicked on, and instead of dragging an incapacitated Central Park sun-bather back to my dorm for child-bearing duties (what cavemen usually do aside from being unfrozen lawyers and feeding their saber-toothed tiger pets), I went. And did not stop for 7 miles (at about 5:30 pace). If it weren't for mental toughness, I would have had a snack and napped rather than running. Race times are made by daily training, GPA is made my daily attendance, and a good human being is made with a constant smile.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again---Life is Amazing. But only if you perceive it that way. Some people choose to make unhappiness their own personal reality, just as others choose laziness or dickishness. Simply put, our perception is not based on our experiences but CREATES our experiences. Mental toughness is an act of habit whereby you learn to enjoy the basic PROCESS of life. Life is not a means to an end. People that treat training like that end up hating each step; people that treat school like that are constantly stressed; people that treat human interactions like that are assholes.

All of this brings me back to the original topic. Genetics matter in athletic performance, just as they do in dating performance (I keep statistics!). But most never even get close to any preordained limits because they do not have the mental toughness to train when they don't want to, or smile when it doesn't seem to be the easiest facial expression (it burns calories!). And the important thing to remember is that MENTAL TOUGHNESS IS A CHOICE. There is no reality outside of the one you wish to perceive. So be happy. Be the best athlete you can. Get good grades. Just don't fucking make excuses based on abstract limits that everyone deals with.

Mon: 12 miles (7 tempo)
Tues: AM-90 min trainer (30 min TT with 10x10sec sprints)
PM-5 miles easy

Homecoming and LateNight

Saturday was Homecoming! It's exactly like Christmas in that it only comes once a year, you get to see long-lost friends, and it involves copious amounts of alcohol to make you forget about the terrible loss. Though in this case, it's Columbia football getting their annual smackdown instead of drowning the sorrows of personal loss. You see, I was once left home alone on Christmas when my family flew out of town. Lovable robbers and wacky hijinks ensued, but the scars never really healed.

Went up to the field at 12:30 with two of the best human beings in the world, my suitemate Krish and soulmate Tony (graduated last year). The ride on the 1 train was romantic. And somewhat erotic. Then again, if a trip on a crowded 1 train is not at least slightly erotic, you are not standing next to the right creepy, groping vagrant. The same logic applies to buses and grocery stores in NYC. I consider getting groped by strangers validation for doing abdominal workouts. Although the trenchcoat-clad gentlemen think it's strange when I give them a questionnaire to rate the quality of their groping experience.

After the game, came back to campus and passed out with a 2 hour nap. I don't know about everyone else, but I sometimes have incredibly strange dreams when I take a midday slumber. Yesterday, I dreamt that a state official in Louisiana refused to recognize an interracial marriage and said, "It's hard to apologize when you haven't done wrong." I mean, that's insane right? Wait.....that actually happened? The stupidity of people can be absolutely astounding. That man is proof against Social Darwinism because he reached a position of power when his ancestors could not possibly have been intelligent enough to procreate ("You mean, you put the WHAT in the WHERE?!")

Later that night, went to a campus production called "LateNight" with a good friend. The show consisted of 5 sketches, all of which were interesting, and only one of which made me want to use the program on myself to inflict death by papercut. The first play was amazing in that it had ninjas. It is a fact of life that ninjas make everything better. The next play involved tap-dancing, in a story of acceptance of differences. I kind of knew the actor that stole the show, and it was amazing to see him in action. As I was telling my friend I went with, he was just SO entertaining. There was no dialogue, but I felt he spoke with his posture, expressions, and movements in the way of a born performer. The pleasant intoxication of the first two sketches wore off quickly as the audience was brought back to a sober reality by the third. And not 2009 reality, I'm talking about Terminator reality where machines attempt to murder you for feeling emotions. In fact, I would not be surprised if the writer was sent from the future to personally thwart all happiness and entertainment with overwrought pretension. Kind of like Rush Limbaugh. I won't even describe it, other than to say that I hope the world is that writer's oyster....(fingers crossed that he is allergic to shellfish).

Saturday: 4 miles easy
Sunday: AM-2 hr trainer (5x5 min with 4x4 min 20/10s), transition into 5k
PM-5 miles easy

Great training all around. Law school apps are in, midterms are almost done, and life is pretty incredible. A more thorough training write-up will come soon, but needless to say I'm very happy and very lucky. Though most of that happiness comes from tap-dancing ninjas, and most of that luck comes from not having to sit through that one dream-crushing play ever again.