Requiem of a Dreamcrusher-Duathlon Worlds Race Report

The freaking world championships! I’m kind of a big deal. Not actually, but I want to emphasize that as much as I can before I go back to real life in NYC (which mostly entails being humbled by doors that are slightly heavier than anticipated). Overall, I’m pretty happy. Fiftieth (IN THE WORLD!) and seventh under 25. In addition, I confronted my fears of Canadians. The northern contingent was probably confused when I held up a bible and attempted to exorcise their Canuck demons out with fluent Latin.

Pre-Race:
Left school on Thursday morning, sick as a dog, but anxious to get to scenic Lowe’s Motor Speedway (because I don’t see enough asphalt in NYC). Couldn’t get any exercise in due to the feeling that a family of ambitious beavers was building a dam in my throat (as an aside, “The Ambitious Beavers” would be the name of my all-female venture capital firm). Friday dawned after dreams influenced by the sweet siren song of Nyquil. My immune system had delivered a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus of herniated sinus, or whatever was causing me to tell everyone I loved them on Thursday. Friday has been detailed in these here parts, but a quick summary would revolve around meeting sweet people, taking sweet pictures, and anticipating sweet victory (it tastes like Skittles!). Slept until 10AM on Saturday, and ate my Wheaties. That is a metaphor, I actually ate Peanut Butter Panda Puffs, a children’s cereal that is most likely laced with crack or horse steroids. Or both. A quick jog around noon-thirty followed by a shower and some food had me ready to put on my uniform. Robot David activate! I figured, what the heck, the jersey could use one last stretch. So I put my foot in the butt and pulled….RIPPPP! Poop, I exclaimed. The ROCHE on the derier had ripped in what would be considered a very inopportune place outside of discreet rooms at New Jersey Turnpike rest stops. Oh well, the show must go on. And like Janet Jackson, my wardrobe malfunction most likely horrified innocent children and caused the downfall of broadcast television. Race site, bike check, schmooze with nothing to lose, and WE’RE OFF!

First Run:
The weather was poopy (poop seems like a theme today), which is awesome. Got to the start line, and the requisite profound silence gripped the field. WE ARE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW! So I said, “Does anyone mind if I let out a massive fart?” Fart must in the universal dictionary because the Japanese guy beside me let out a belly laugh. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again---I AM CLASSY (And GASSY)! The gun sounds and a field of skinny men in tight clothes ran away from me. Was there pizza at the finish line or something? Count me in! Started slowly (about 5:30 pace) and accelerated through the field of a few hundred elite athletes over the first 10km. Some hills, some awesome names on butts. NICE, ROCKETT, and BOOMERKILL were butt-to-butt-to-butt. My childlike sense of humor told me it was going to be a good day. Worked my way through the field, going through the 5k in mid-16s, and arrived at the big hill on the course. Running with a New Zealander, I thought of Flight of the Conchords (NZs third most popular folk-hiphop duo!), and was happy. Then, a guy draped in their flag started screams, “KIWI’s DON’T QUIT! DON’T LET THE AMERICAN TAKE YOU.” Scary. I always assumed they were soft and cuddly like koalas or Nicole Kidman. Australia and New Zealand are the same place, you see. Came into transition sub-34, a strong 10km and in front of all but the skinniest and most compression-socks clad of the bunch.

Bike:
In transition I thought of building an ark rather than grabbing the bike, but thought it might result in a penalty. Hopped on my aerodynamic instrument of pain infliction to ride two loops of the turny course. It felt like the person designing it had an epileptic seizure while drawing the map. Mostly wanted to stay upright, and was probably far too conservative with pacing/drafting in the first 5 miles, letting a few under-25s get away from me. The course had a few sharp turns, and since I was running carbon brake pads in the rain, I would grip the brakes like one of those arcade grip-strength games and pray to God I stopped. In the arcade game, I must have been registering ‘Wet Noodle’ or something because it got hairy and scary. Passed a bunch of people that yelled to me, which was either encouragement from the blog or mirth at my exposed bum. Finished with a sub-hour bike split on the “40k” course. If that was 40k, then my dad’s nosehairs are at least a mile long. Transitioned into the LunaRacers after a lap of the Speedway, and prepared to unleash………

Second Run:
THE STROKE FACE! Named such due to the extreme pain-induced facial contortions on the final run leg of a multisport race. Felt okay at the beginning, but at the first hill began to feel Parkinson’s of the quads, the trembling of legs on the verge of terrible cramping. So I ran the uphills like the modern republican party fights for civil rights. AKA very slowly with seemingly little intent to move forward. Bombed the downhills though, and saw many people I know on the course. As I passed one racer (Matson-outstanding dude), he yelled “Crush my dreams Dave Roche.” That made me smile. Then again, it was a stroke-face smile so it most likely would have caused King Polydectes to turn to stone (Ivy league education has given me the ability to make bad jokes about antiquity!). Came into the finishing chute with a sprint after a painful low 18s 5k, happy to be done crushing dreams for the day. Hour fifty-two overall, a few minutes left on the course, some sore legs afterwards, and a noticeably shrunken groin bulge from the cold rain.

A toast to everybody out there! Slowtwitch (especially my Canadian crush Cassie), family, friends, weird homeless people, Abraham Lincoln....wait, what am I talking about again? Seriously, thanks for everything!

Duathlon World Championship Update

Race report tomorrow, and have to go to the Team USA banquet in a minute. The race was something on a map aka a key.......wait for it.....wait for it....a product made from milk (legend-dairy, Neil Patrick Harris in How I Met Your Mother is my life-sustaining force for dreamcrushing).

Quick Summary: 50th overall (IN THE WORLD), 7th in Under-25 elites, 1st in amazing friends, and hopefully in the front of the pack in crotch bulges. (Cool Canadians-call me and I'll show you what it's all abooooot. Eh? Just kidding, we all know Canadians don't have souls)

Awesome time, so many people knew of me, which is crazy cool, and solid performance with sickness. Pics tomorrow, shit-tons of wine tonight, and impromptu dance battles in the lobby in a minute. Yes, in addition to being an athlete/gentleman, I break dance against international teams from distant lands. I WILL NOT BE BEATEN!

Gotta go! Love you guys (even those of you I don't know)!

The Day BEFORE Tomorrow

What an amazing day! It started last night with a double shot of Nyquil, and really began 13 (!) hours later waking up like usual (imagine a perpetually happy cartoon bunny getting out of bed). That'll teach a cold from messing with me! Step back, yo---and watch yo PATHOGENS!

Huge breakfast followed by some homework (How can I write bad jokes in Spanish when I don't know how to conjugate verbs?!). Then, went on a jog to race site. BEHOLD THE POWER OF LOWE'S MOTOR SPEEDWAY (race staging area)! This place is like a mighty cathedral to rednecks and fuel consumption. Pray to Dale Earnhardt! Met some awesome Brazilians who were in a perpetual party, and hung out with them on the infield a little. The whole scene was somewhat overwhelming but abundantly cool in just about every way. Did I mention how tight my jersey is? I feel like the censors should blur out the groin to avoid fines for public indecency. (More like public DECENCY, AMIRITE?!?!?!?!)

Talked to some sweet dudes and chicks, then jogged back to sign in and look for gifts for a friend. People were straight staring me down. Hopefully it's because I look badass and not because my manhood looked like it was pointing in their direction. On the way back, saw a American flag/Confederate Flag combo. American flag? Awesome. Confederate flag? Fucking stupid. Combining the two? Awesomely fucking stupid. EPIC Patriotism FAIL. I don't think the bottom flag means what they think it means.

Picked up my packet, and saw I'm bib number 411. The same number as INFORMATION. The only INFO I give to other athletes is a profound awareness of their inadequacy :) Ate another big meal, took a nap, and went back to race site to check in the bike. Met some people that knew of me, and they are from California, Texas, Maine, and Florida! I wish that was for the blog, but it's probably for my pioneering work in the field of awkward situations. News of the DREAMCRUSHER has spread far and wide.

Put the bikes on the rack and marveled at the equipment, elite athletes (and old people like my dad!), and flags of nations. But France? Really? Good thing the race wasn't in their country because as soon as we invaded the race hotels they would quit. Took the Team USA picture, and had my time on the podium. Hopefully that repeats tomorrow!

Last, I'd like to thank all the friends that called or texted today. Love, in its essence, is not reserved for sexual relationships, but is manifested in any interaction whose spirit lies in pure joy. It is not a contract with bargains made for company, it is the manifestation of the affection that comes from people that help you get through this thing called life, whatever it is.

Does saying that about love make me gay?


Looking at those two pictures, probably.

Down with the Sickness

As the heavy-metal band of scholar-gentlemen Disturbed said, I'm officially 'Down with the sickness.' Woke up on Wednesday night with a sore throat, and it has become progressively worse until tonight. I would not be suprised if I started hemorraghing blood and limbs started falling off at this point. Leprosy ain't got shit on the common cold when you haven't been sick in years.

So the big race is on Saturday. Is feeling under the weather a valid excuse for under-performance? Hell no. Other competitors had to work 50 hour weeks, or deal with constant shrill noisemakers also known as children. My life revolves around eating a lot, sleeping more, and occasionally solving crimes with my equally food-fond dog. Yes, I am actually Shaggy from Scooby-Doo (with less overt marijuana references).

Now it is time to rest up and take some shots. Not drug shots, but actual shot-glasses full of Nyquil. I'm actually writing this under the influence. Therefore, anything I say cannot be attributed to me under sane mind in a court of law. So...Slumdog Millionaire was a terrible movie, not all soldiers are heroes, and flying on a plane scares me. I actually bargained with the plane-gods that if I didn't move during takeoff, nothing bad would happen. I peed my pants a little as the wheels lifted. I'm committed.

Wed: 8 miles
Thurs: 10 min super easy

Ugh. Terrible and terrible. I think I have the Plague, the Pox, or possibly Angina. I don't know what any of those entail, but they all sound pretty badass. "The Plague, the Pox, and Angina" will be the name of my all-star death metal band. Much cooler than Disturbed.

Duathlon Worlds Alter Ego

It's official: Bone Dreamcrusher is going to take a one race break for the Duathlon World Championships on Saturday. He'll be back, so no need to fret, but this is not his fight. If thousands of women across the country are impregnated at this time next week, we'll know the DREAMCRUSHER was using his frequent flyer miles. As "It's a Wonderful Life" taught us, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. What they didn't say is that the BONE then rips the wings off and uses them to fly to the angel's home and satisfy the angel's significant other.

Anyway, the alter ego will be........the HipHOPopotaums. If you are not a Flight of the Conchords fan, all you need to know is that his lyrics are bottomless. Watch the video:

That is not a complete non-sequitor, the HipHOPopotamus actually does reflect the mindset with which I need to race. The biggest danger I face is going into Worlds too seriously. To me, that video is great because FOTC seems to be so intense, but they are just having a good time. That's exactly how I want to approach Saturday, taking the moment seriously (at least on the outside) while being totally chill. And I plan on making "all the lovely ladies in the area code pregnant," so the HipHOPopotamus and the DREAMCRUSER do have something in common.

Sun: 1:15 trainer w/40 min poundtown, transition into 4 miles w/12 min easy tempo Mon: 4 miles easy
Tues: AM: 1 hr trainer w/2x12 min hard, transition into 5 easy miles
PM: 6 miles easy
Training has been totally awesome! I guess this is my version of a light taper, just easing off the gas pedal to be completely ready to go in 4 (!) days. I feel like the bike course is good for me, as a smaller cyclist the constant turning is less of a detriment. To be honest, the course looks like the person designing it had a seizure while drawing the map. Things are falling into place......or to put it another way (as I did earlier today when trash-talking online):

"Your legs are not good enough. I combine boyish charm with legs forged by Vulcan with steel from Hades. My run is like Zeus' lignting bolt, sent down from on high to strike down any mere mortals who dare challenge me. You are the Trojans to my Greeks; you may put up a fight but in the end the city known as your soul will be ransacked without mercy."
That was probably the DREAMCRUSER coming through. I had no idea he was into classical history!

The Beauty, The Beast, and Lederhosen Terror

Thank you sir, may I have another (bullet point post!):
1. Training update:
Friday AM: 5k w/10 miles total
PM: 5 miles w/4x600
Saturday: 8 miles easy
Training has been great! Went out with the Triathlon team again yesterday for the PM workout and met some really awesome people. Because of that, I was super sore today and decided to go for a jaunt in the Park. I'm in my own little world, when all of a sudden I come upon a huge group near the boathouse. Then I hear music...it sounds like German polka. Sausages, bread, and beer are everywhere. I had just seen Inglorious Basterds and am gluten-free so all I could think of is extracting horrific revenge for making foods I can't eat so incredibly delicious. My murderous rage was supressed however when I turned a corner, and BAM! Entire parade of people in lederhosen with beer overflowing. They began to overtake me. I was like Neo in the Matrix, and these agents were not wearing suits but funny pants and suspenders. There was nowhere to go; no one to turn to for help. I considered giving up, and getting trampled by the mob of Oktoberfest revelers. But I overcame! I found a gap and sprinted backwards, warning the unfortunate joggers I met along the way. Some did not listen to my stories of horror. "Godspeed," I thought. But I knew that it was hopeless. They will be missed.

2. "Beauty and the Beast is such a heartwarming story!" she said. It is one of my friend's favorite movies, and she is a pretty girl (Does that make this story sound made up?), so of course I talked about how much I loved it too (she is pretty...I would agree if she revealed her love for male castration). She mentioned the gift of a library being heartwarming to her younger self, and the experience of the story came out through a radiant smile. I must have totally missed the point of that the tale. All I could think about during Beauty and the Beast is that talking kitchen appliances are badass (my blender would be straight gangsta) and that it gives hope to ugly guys everywhere (it keeps me going!).

3. Ate at a French-African fusion restaraunt, and it made me wonder why the term "fusion" is not used in the rest of our lives. Philosophy majors could be said to be majoring in "Education-bullshit fusion." Feminists are merely practicing "Strong woman-bad cook fusion." And Glenn Beck's intelligence is just "toddler-doorknob fusion."

4. Duathlon Worlds in under a week! I am writing this with alcohol influenced fingers, so I think I'm going in with the right attitude. Big events have loomed ominously for me in the past, and become less fun because of that. This will be fun, I'll enjoy the ride, and revel in whipping the ass of all of the spandex-clad athletes that show up. Just kidding, because it WILL NOT BE FUN! Bone Dreamcrusher lives to fight another day. LONG LIVE THE BONE!

PrezBo 5k Race Report

Like a crappy movie, we will try something different with this race report. It will be modeled on Memento, a movie that was told backwards with snapshots that ultimately just confirmed for me that Steve Buscemi is a terrifying gnome who I would not trust around children.

1. So this girl I'm friends with comes up to me well after the race once I've been chilling on the lawn for awhile. She has this big, happy smile on her face, and I'm thinking "Yeah...it's hug time. Playa fo life!" And she goes for the high five just as I'm leaning in. So at this point I'm committed. What should I do? Fall down maybe? Run out of embarrasment? No, I decide to hit my head on her hand. Watch out, the forehead-five is going to TAKE OVER!

2. A few minutes post dreamcrushing, President Bollinger comes over to shake my hand. This, in and of itself, is an honor at Columbia. He has argued cases in front of the Supreme Court; he is on the Trustees of the Federal Reserve. I'm sad to say that I could not hold back the groupie in my soul that has a man-crush on the silver-haired bureaucrat. I exclaimed, "We hug!" And proceeded to embrace him in sweaty-bear style. Possibly I held on too long and gripped too tight. But either way, I got part of the way to first base with Almighty PrezBo.

3. My time was 14:59 for the 2.98 mile course, which I'm happy with. Usually I use races as tempo efforts at the end of a workout, but today I felt comfortable enough to open up the legs a little at 5 minute pace. The cross country coach, Willy Wood, talked to me after the race (outstanding guy-all aspiring distance runners should definitely come to Columbia!) and seemed to think it was a pretty good time for a member of the unwashed non-NCAA athletes such as myself.

4. In the first mile of the race, I had already opened up a pretty sizable gap, and was running by members of the track team who were marshalling the race. I see with my race-goggles (like beer-goggles but with less searing regret afterwards) a pretty girl. So I pantomime the call-me gesture, and say "Give me your name after the turnaround." She laughed. On the way back, up by a ton at this point, I make some other joke comment. She laughs again. Good laughs or bad laughs, that is the question. After the race, I cool down with a friend and we pass her. This time, I ask a group "which beautiful lady is the girl I asked to call me?" An assistant coach points at a girl and says "she's a freshman." The ensuing sprint away from the scene made it my fastest cool-down ever.

5. Woke up well, felt great before/during the race, and it was an all-around fun experience. A "fun run" you might even say. But then I would call you retarded because only LOSERS call it that. It's a race, dammit, and BONE DREAMCRUSHER wants none of your euphemisms!

Homecoming Shirt Idea

The other day, me and my friend Tom were sitting around the suite when he got an idea. "Let's go to the Homecoming planning meeting," he exclaimed. "That sounds super gay," I thought, but went out of support for my friend. (Note: may not be the exact sequence of events). Anyway, there was a fruit basket at the meeting, which made it worthwhile because now there is a fruit basket in our suite. So it's shirt idea time, and motivated by my love of SNL celebrity jeopordy, this is my submission:

And it sets up the day's pick-up/getting slapped line..."Prove me wrong ladies"

It's a Wonderful Life

Elevators are awesome. First, there's the music. You put some Kenny G on blast and the panties be flying off. Second, there's the constant chance of falling to a terrible death. It is scary like a free rollercoaster, which is why occasionally when the elevator starts going down I throw my arms in the air and squeal. For some reason, whenever I take a picture at the end of the elevator ride like they do at amusement parks, the other person looks more scared than I am! Last, and most awesome of all, is the extreme awkwardness. I think it is a natural law that people will find the most distant place of the elevator to stand and have something extremely important to look at on the floor/wall. In my crusade against elevator awkwardness, I now stand super close and compliment them. "You smell delicious..." It's a great ice breaker, and by that I mean I get maced a lot (she was just playing hard to get, I'm sure of it).

(Warning: somewhat serious paragraph ensues)
Living in New York City, people often ignore one another. It is a fact of life. IPOD on, zone out, get from one responsibility to the next, interact only with people you know. In a lot of ways, it is like constant elevator transit through life. This sounds cheesy, but I HATE this impersonal quarantine. I LOVE people. And by sectoring off our lives to predetermined groups, I think we are shortchanging ourselves and others. A smile, a nod, a quick conversation; all add a human experience that make life a little bit better. Vonnegut (my favorite author) said, "We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is," and that sums up my philosophy on life. I had a semi-epiphany last year that I was not living by own standards. Whether it was a personal flaw, or a cultural one, I went through life isolated in my own little elevator where most human interaction was temporal and simply not worth the effort. With that in mind, I changed. Running in Central Park, my smiles and waves were first met with suspicion. But one of the coolest things I have ever experienced was when dezinens of Manhattan started to recognize me and return the favor. That is Vonnegut's quote in a nutshell. Try it! Next time you're in an elevator, strike up a conversation. And when you're getting off, say "Have a great day!" You'll be amazed at how much of a difference it can make.

Quick side note, I have met more amazing people in the last few weeks than I ever have before. And I think what that shows is that most people are pretty freaking amazing! You just need to get to know them. An example---I met this girl who is an incredible human being, that LIVED ON MY FLOOR, and I previously had no idea she existed. It wouldn't have happened without an elevator smile (the bad joke helped too!). People like that are everywhere I guess, and that is so, so cool!

Training: 6 miles super easy

Enter the Dreamcrusher

Enter the Sandman is a song by Metallica, which at one point in time was a musical group that did not consist of brittle geriatrics squealing about song piracy. The video above was once on MTV, which at one time was a television station that broadcasted music rather than "True Life: I Am Addicted to Beastiality and Necrophilia" (an affliction otherwise known as beating off a dead horse). So when the video came out, it added to the freaking disturbing song to give children nightmares. Or to put it another way, it crushed their dreams.

On Friday, at the University 5k fun run, I will do the same. With this in mind, I registered as Bone Dreamcrusher. Packet pick-up today was a joyous occasion. "Last name?" the pretty girl asked. "Dreamcrusher," I responded, "Bone Dreamcrusher." After being spontaneously aroused by the exchange, I am suprised she could read the names on the race numbers. At the fun run, no one will have this thing called fun. Their hopes and dreams will be crushed more emphatically than the bed by the tractor trailer (at the 4:30 mark of the video). Enter the Dreamcrusher.

Mon: 6 miles super easy
Tues: AM: 1 hr Poundtown (2x20 min ~FTP) with 4 mile transition tempo
PM: 7 miles easy
Wed: 8 miles moderate

Training has been awesome! My legs recovered well from the 45 miles in 3 days over the weekend and I've gotten in the last key quality workouts before the Duathlon World Championships. Life really is perfect in every way right now, and it is important at times like these to reflect on how great it is to be alive. One of the best things about blogging, besides jokes about masturbating dead horses, is it requires a slightly narcissistic 15 minutes of reflection. Thanks to everybody that makes living so much fun. (seriously though, watch the video...fucking amazing)

My Whoring Debut--Crunchy Maple Sunrise (New GF cereal)

Ahhh, the joys of whoring. It is such a versatile, ancient practice that I'm suprised I have yet to enjoy the fruits it has to offer. You can do it for money (clear heels and polyester miniskirts are expensive!), for that promotion (Assistant Deputy Undersecretary is a prestigious position!), or if you lose all of your earnings at roulette (if you are Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal). For me, personally, I would whore myself for one thing only---Nature's Path Crunchy Maple Sunrise. I would do unspeakable things to strangers for this new cereal (that should be their motto). The stuff is more addictive than crack, much better for you, gluten-free, fkdfjaslfjdfsa. (sorry I think I just passed on the keyboard out from euphoria) I'm thinking about starting a gang that distributes the new cereal to be ahead of the curve (my Columbia Degree will be put to use!).

As you all know, I rely on cereal every morning for pre-race/training food, and have been feeling swell about Mesa Sunrise and Peanut Butter Panda Puffs since my celiac diagnosis 8 months ago. Nature's Path helped me get through a really rough time where I was confused about maintaining elite performance with extreme dietary restrictions. I was lucky enough to be sent their new gluten-free options before they appeared on store walls. Yep, I'm a celebrity now. Anyway, among the products were Crunchy Maple Sunrise and Crunchy Vanilla Sunrise. I was like a kid on Christmas morning as I opened the packaging, as I am somewhat enfatuated with Nature's Path (camping outside company headquarters isn't strange, right?). It was immediately apparent that these cereals were different than any other GF options on the market right now.

The texture is a mix between Mesa Sunrise and Panda Puffs, with cruncy flakes and puffs. Like a wine conneuseuir I began by swirling it around in my mouth, but like a drunk at a wine tasting, my restraint did not last very long. They taste lightly of maple syrup with substance from corn, rice, and pomegranate. Make no mistake, this cereal is not candy, but sweet and understated. Comparing Kashi Go-Lean Crunch from my previous life to Crunchy Maple Sunrise is like comparing boxed wine to nectar of the Gods. This is the cereal Zeus would eat before he smites the Trojans! Simply put, they are freaking amazing! My first day eating them for breakfast, I won the Wilmington 5k, so we know they are great for my stomach. Also, they are a natural aphrodesiac. It is like those Axe commercials when girls smell the maple on my body. At least one of those testimonials is true.

The other products, including Crunchy Vanilla Sunrise, are tasty and gluten-free; however, Crunchy Maple Sunrise is really one of a kind. When other companies have sent me products in the past, I have not posted like this. That's because I really want you guys to try them! Amazing taste, amazing nutrition, they cure erectile dysfunction*, and create world peace.
*statements not evaluated by the FDA

Tequila, Pandas, and Misogony

So nothing too interesting on the training front today; therefore, we will resort to bullet points, the blog crutch for writers that cannot develop a coherent paragraph. Granted, most of my writing is an assortment of seemingly random sentences, so maybe we will see this more often.

1. Best quote ever: "Women should always dress in white like any good kitchen appliance." Said about Danica Patrick by the head of IRL a few years ago, and the light of my life ever since. At one point I promise this will become my facebook status. It will be a social experiment about how much people understand my sense of humor. If an angry mob with pitchforks does not arrive at my door, I will be extemely disappointed.

2. Why is it that whenever tequila is mentioned in conversation, it is always followed by someone talking about a horrifying experience? Like "So I drunk a shit ton of tequila, yada, yada, yada, I thought hookers could fly." Or "The margarita tasted pretty good, yada, yada, yada, I voted for George W. Bush."

3. I eat a cereal called Peanut Butter Panda Puffs every morning, and on the package is a picture of a cute panda with bamboo. We are supposed to be motivated to save the pandas before it is too late. But all I can think of is that pandas look absolutely delicious.

4. If you ask a girl for coffee, and she refuses to let you pay, she is absolutely disgusted by the thought of seeing you naked. And no, I'm not bitter. (storms off sobbing quietly)

Wildebeast Dreaming (With Completely Unrelated Video!)

This morning, as I am in bed dreaming peacefully of wildebeasts and angels (Tenacious D ref), a loud piercing sound enters my subconcious. Oh no! It's the lion warning siren, I think, the wildebeast is in trouble! At 7AM, this rationalization can go on for up to 5 minutes as the shriek slowly irks me to full attention. Eventually, I realize that the poor wildebeast is vanquished from my mind, by the most terrible lion of all---the Sunday morning fire alarm. The 7AM fire alarm is the king of the FUCK MY LIFE jungle (named after the most frequently heard expletive afterwards) along with Prince 'I accidentally hit reply all' and Queen 'That wasn't lemonade.' It's now 7:30, after having my balls sufficiently frozen by the morning chill, and I am up. What to do? I could go on a murderous rampage designed to punish all of those who have ever pulled fire alarms. But this Boondock Saints approach could only lead to messy cleanup. Instead, I turned to my spandex for comfort (figuratively and literally) and went on a 'Super Sunday' Brick workout with the Columbia University Tri Team.

I have never trained with them before, believe it or not. And unlike those featured on Ripley's Believe it or Not, they were not snake-persons or disgustingly flexible Russian midgets, but great people with a coach named Darian. The president Matt Moline (a really nice guy) greeted me. When I told him I did the Du, he asked, "Are you the national champion here?" This made me all warm and fuzzy inside. "He likes me!" I thought. "He really like me!" I added a second later (I'm on five hours sleep, the thoughts take time). We rolled out on an introductory type ride and I got a few trips to Poundtown in while Coach Darian taught drills. Amazingly, Matt watched the bikes for us so I was able to transition to the Lunas and get some good running in. The goal was to keep the heart rate relatively low today at somewhat fast paces. It was a great day!

Hopefully, the Tri team will be a training resource here in NYC. Perhaps the fire alarm was an act of destiny...You know what? I forgive whoever set it off. Just come to my dorm room and we can hug it out. Hahahahahah, that's not true. I would beat him like I was the Eskimo and he was the baby seal.

A Moment of Seriousness

I am not a New Yorker. New Yorkers have their own mix of attitude and style that unite a city of disparate individuals into a community. This melting pot has a few byproducts; among them the stereotypical arrogance and reliance on oneself that are ingrained as defense mechanisms against the loneliness inherent in such a system. But still, all of these peoples are New Yorkers, and while they may interact through a honking horn or averted gaze in the sea of humanity, they share a common basis of community identity.

When I arrived at Columbia, I often felt absolutely alone in the sea of humanity. I was an outsider; in many ways I still am an outsider. I was never so alone. But the loneliness changed me in a way that will forever leave its indentation on my character. I am tougher now; I am more of a real individual now than ever before. New York made me develop a sense of self and I have never been so alive as I was that first year in the city.

Today is September 11th. This day eight years ago brought the city to its knees, but it survived and in doing so showed American resilience in the most American of communities. Today I ran to Ground Zero. It was pouring rain. Yet every face passed me with a wave, or at the very least a smile. With every passing step, the community spirit became more evident. I am not a New Yorker, but today, none of that mattered. Today made me realize that just beneath the surface of this city is an unmatched compassion. They may be different, but they are New Yorkers goddammit and they will get through this together. That's what those smiles were--recognizing me, however different I may be, as a member of their community. While running in the pouring rain, mourners smiled through their personal pain to help a stranger.

Today is September 11th. Today I am a New Yorker.

"YOU LIE!" The Game

Are you looking for some family fun? Then I have just the game for you! It's called "YOU LIE" The Game, based on the famous health care outburst by Rep. (really? his constituency must be poop-throwers...oh, South Carolina...so yeah, I'm just suprised they count votes that are just smeared feces) Joe Wilson in response to illegal immigrant health care (quoted, "deyyy tookkk urrr jobbbbsss"). In his memory (which causes migranes, by the way), our game involves other three letter words said at other opportune moments to provide a quick summary for a given situation. Everyone will love this game! Especially if you have a family of batshit-crazy mouthbreathers (or as I like to call them, the modern Republican Party).

Let's Play:
1. First Date



YOU SHY!!!!!



2. Death Sentence



YOU FRY!!!!!



3. Psychologist's Office



YOU CRY!!!!



4. Funeral



YOU DIE!!!!!!!!

First Week Training Blues

Tuesday: 10 miles easy
Wednesday: 7 miles easy

The minor stresses of starting a new college year (Did you say I have to wake up at 10 on Tuesdays!?!?!) mounted up and I felt craptastic on Tuesday. Felt my heartbeat in my head trying to sleep last night, and the Telltale heart is a sure sign of fatigue for some reason. That's what Van Gogh had in mind, I'm sure. As an aside, the best pick up line for a English/poetry major---"I'd cut off more than my ear for you, babe." Works every time. And by works I mean I get slapped a lot (hey bros, she TOUCHED me!!!).

Anyway, did a lap running around Central Park today and got in a low speed collision with a pedestrian. A few days ago all I needed to worry about was deer! That being said, I think the oblivious guy with 80s style headphones (who ran in front of me without warning) would look much better stuffed and mounted on my wall. Don't worry tree huggers, I promise to use the whole carcass (his liver will taste delicious with some fava beans and a nice chianti!). You can tell I'm in New York when a post turns to murder and cannibalism (and taxidermy for that matter).

My classes are terrific! It's a really good mix of challenge and fun...then there's Spanish. I have no idea how a country with an idea as good as siestas (NAPTIME!) can devise such a stupid language. Seriously though, it is exhilirating to be taught by such intelligent professors about such topical subjects as climate change and energy use. I'll post more on classes soon (and on gluten-free eating in the city!). Needless to say, my senior year will be an unforgettable learning experience. (Has my mom stopped reading? She has! Ok...by unforgettable I mean it is hard to forget just how big a beer bong can be!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOO).

Pound Town-The Most Important Time-Stressed Time Trialing Workout

1h45min trainer (15 warm-up followed by 1:30 in 54-11)
Transition into 3 miles at 5:50 pace (5 total)


One problem with riding in NYC is that good, uninterrupted TTing is at least a half hour away over the George Washington Bridge, and even then you face the Cycling Grim Reaper. The looming scythe of doom in this case is multiple flats (even one is a pain in the ass), getting lost, or (god-forbid) a crash. I really would not know what to do in any of these scenarios. After a mechanical disables my bike or something, I imagine I would first hide the bike and get a run workout in (it's called PRIORITIES people), followed by a little crying (also PRIORITIES), an attempt to ask for help (followed by getting yelled at in a Jersey accent), and so on. The "so on" in this case is the inevitable--prosituting yourself for a quick fix. Oh, actually that's the "so on" for trying crack. But I'd totally go that route if they agreed to fix the bike.

To avoid the hassle, I set the Cervelo P2SL on the trainer, plopped the computer beside me with sites of interest already loaded, and went to Pound Town. After 15 minutes of warming up, I put the bike in the biggest gear and just told myself to turn it over for as long as I could stand. 80 RPMs near the end of the time felt really hard, and I used the fatigue to simulate the second run heavy leggedness. The philosphy behind this workout is getting acquainted with the specific stress of massive gears (which I like to race in) and constant muscular tension that is difficult to simulate in a real-world setting. Then, with the transition run a focus on high turnover sets the legs back to a feeling of equilibrium. Serioulsy, it felt like I was jacked on some horse steroids during the trainer workout. It's strange because I have limited my bike work a ton in the past month; maybe the time was necessary to refocus and rejuvenate. Or maybe it is the regimen of horse steroids I grind up and put in my cereal. We may never know.

I would highly recommend this type of big gear trainer pounding to any cyclist without a very developed cycling ability. Cycling performance is obviously limited by endurance, but I think it is easier to frame cycling-specific endurance in the framework of power and strength. This type of work feels like weight lifting and I believe the same power gains can be made from it. Also, you get to watch sweet videos if your computer is set up well while you do it. Today I watched Dexter, a Showtime original about a serial killer (it is so much fun; I recommend it highly). By the end of the two hours, I was starting to think murder was okay. Perfect for children of all ages!

Let's Get This Fun Over With

Sun: 10 miles w/4 easy tempo

I am moved in to Columbia for my senior year! My room is a hamster cage, my bike trainer is a hamster wheel, and I set up a big baby bottle filled with water to suckle from when I'm thirsty to complete the metaphor (I'm committed!). I'm like Andy in Shawshank without the digging ability. Although if Morgan Freeman narrated my life, things would certainly be a lot better.

So while running in Central Park on Sunday, I was passed on the southern tip near Columbus Circle by a strong runner (first time I have been passed in the park). I caught up and creeped beside him for a while before I got the courage to start talking to him (after being on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, any social interaction outside of being called "gay" by a passing car is new). Turns out his name is Pete Quinzio, a strong runner and great guy who graduated from Princeton (did CC and track) a few years back. Hopefully I will have some company for those long runs in the city!

Speaking of creeping, New York City means bars galore! And you know what bars mean, the delightful stench of urine mixed with desperation. At 1AM in NYC, popped collars and the high heels/miniskirt combo are not worn ironically. There are plaid shorts (the horror!), five dollar drinks, and pounds of makeup. The city never sleeps (at least for women) because the carefree application of gallon barrels of eyeshadow and mascara make it impossible to close your eyes.

That was an awful large amount of bitching. Sorry. I am actually thrilled to see my friends and start the long haul through the school year. New classes/academic challenges are very similar to a hard speed workout on the bike--it's a lot of fun after, but while you're doing the work it can be painful as hell. My dad used to have a training buddy who, before training rides at 28mph pace, always had a saying that echoes my senior year sentiment. "Let's get this fun over with."

Knights of Columbus 10k Race Report

9th overall/252 finishers

Simply put, this race was hard. 500 dollars for first attracts some amazing runners, and it was fun to just dawdle along at a strong tempo pace and watch them at the turnarounds. I had a feeling similar to a morbid curiosity to see how these athletes work; kind of like a kid that dissects small animals but without all of the future serial killing.

Pre-Race:
Woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed after spending Friday packing my belongings for the trip up to New York after the race. It was a lot of packing because you always have to be prepared for the inevitable zombie attack (Plan: 1. fill back pack with food and sharp objects, 2. bike over GW bridge into NJ, 3. Realize how much NJ sucks and bike back into New York to face the zombies--they are better than Jerseyites). Anyway, travelled to the race site after a big bowl of Peanut Butter Panda Puffs and immediately saw Jeff Gaudette (pro runner) and a group of Africans. Now, I don't want to reinforce ethnic stereotypes, but these guys looked FAST. I guess it's a good ethnic stereotype though, similar to Asians being good at math or Ukranians knowing how to treat a lady (Why, I am of Ukranian heritage, thanks for asking!). I thought about signing up under my pseudonym (Bone Dreamcrusher) in order to avoid contamination of my results page, but I decided to sign up under the boring David Roche. Quick 15 min jog, 2 strides, and THEY'RE OFF!

Race:
The Knights of Columbus 10k is notoriously climby like a trail race on perfect roads. The lead group vanished rather quickly (see kids, stereotypes are ALWAYS right!) with a sub-4:40 first mile with slight elevation loss. I started easy in the second group and no watch...so thankfully no way to measure time gaps at the turnarounds. Hit the steep, long hills in the middle miles. Like usual, I passed runners on the downs and held on the ups as much as possible while keeping my heart rate low. At this point, I was holding about 11th place. Two one's are better than one, right? Oh, it's not. Time to move forward. Kicked at mile 4 and ticked off a 5:09 mile to take ninth for good. Finished comfortably in no man's land between the first tier and the second tier of runners. Racing No Man's Land is named after WWI no man's land--finishing hurts the legs like barbed wire on an assault (comparing athletics to war is always an awesome idea!). 34 high duathlon sim (the course depressed times by about a minute or more from PRs across the top end) is great prep for Du Worlds in under 3 weeks. Also a good, comfortable pace for escaping the undead in the coming zombie wars.

The Breakfast of Champions

Tues: 2 hr endurance ride with transition 4 miles
Wed: AM-10 miles easy
PM-2 miles easy

Nothing interesting to report on the training front, have felt like crap for a couple days now. That is awesome, I guess, because it means the training load was sufficiently hard. On Tuesday I was able to ride with the dad again, for the last time before I go back to Columbia on Saturday. He did great, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, as I was riding behind the wild fro'd old guy I thought of a story that must be told to understand him.

My dad is a man who likes his coffee...not black like a real tough guy but sweet and creamy. It's kind of like going up to a bar wearing a holster and cowboy boots only to order a Sex on the Beach or Appletini (it's delicious, I know). So he often comes downstairs in a sleepy comatose state and pours some black gold, only to smother it in taste accessories. Usually he picks up the coffee to smother it in Splenda and soy creamer until it tastes like a hot Slurpee. One morning a few years ago,though, he gets downstairs and there is NO SUGAR! OH NOES! Luckily, a bag reveals itself and he goes through the routine until it's where he likes it, nukes it in the microwave, and takes a sip. "Daggumit!" he thinks, "Forgot to put that there Splendar in." So he scoops out some more (the baking type that looks like a pile of sugar). Another microwave so the coffee is appropriately radioactive, and he tries again. "Gosh golly gee," he says with disgust, "that coffee isn't the bees knees like usual." (he went from southern hick to 50s kid in a sentence...who knows why). You would think something would click at this point, but nope, he goes through the process one last time. "Sheeeit," he curses, "homie just gon' drank now." (he's a rapper all of a sudden) The cup is downed, followed by another, and possibly another. At this point, the great scholars in history would be perplexed as to why he continued to pour cups of something that was not sweet at all--did he think his taste buds were off? Then, it begins. I hear a rumbling off in the distance. Is it thunder? Oh, it's clear outside. Ummm, is it a bomb test? Oh, we don't live on Bikini Atoll. I scamper into the kitchen to investigate, and he is on the toilet with ungodly sounds emanating from his porcelain lair. This goes on for the rest of the morning, into the afternoon. He still has not put two and two together; in fact, he sips more coffee to settle his stomach.

Later in the day I go to have some tea. My dad sounds like he is doing power cleans somewhere in the bathroom area. I feel sorry for him; the stomach flu sucks and it may even be necessary to go to the hospital to get an IV. Doctor House would be powerless with my dad's terrible sickness. Oh well, always time for tea before I take him to the hospital. After a three minute steep, I go to put in a teaspoon of sugar..."Hey dad, WHY IS THERE EPSOM SALT WHERE THE SUGAR SHOULD BE?"

Epsom salt, the most powerful and quick-acting natural laxative, was his sugar that day. When each cup was not sweet enough, HE PUT MORE SALT IN, in quantities large enough to loosen the stool of a constipated T-Rex. Worst of all, it said EPSOM SALT on the package. So that's my dad. I'm consistently suprised he doesn't eat cat food mixed with mayo thinking its tuna. But that's another story...