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.

Facial Hair and the Inner Child

So I have not posted in THREE days, my longest hiatus from the blog since its inauguration. Notably, William Henry Harrison died from the flu, which he contracted at inauguration, about 3 months after he took office. I consider my absence a tribute----not to WHH, who was a noted slavery enthusiast, but to muttonchops. Muttonchops are dead, LONG LIVE MUTTONCHOPS!

Actually, I've just been busy with school and training. Every time I've sat down to write, something has come up or nothing has come out. I'm like Jack Kerouac writing "On the Road" (who was so anxious to overcome writer's block that he wrote the entire book on one incredibly long sheet of paper in under 2 weeks because changing the sheet was distracting), except without the Beat, repressed homosexuality, and copious amounts of grade-A hallucinogens. I like my hallucinogens as I like my ground beef: grade-C and cheap with no less than 30% rat poop by weight.

Had a significant mid-term in Geochemistry on Thursday. RIP the "curve." It deserved to be treated with more respect. As an aside, you may be wondering why the hell anyone would take Geochemistry. Well, that's a terrific question and I'm glad you asked! Basically, the class had a cool name--Design and Maintenence of a Habitable Planet. My inner child was excited because it sounds like we were going to be using legos or lincoln logs. However, my inner child was never allowed to ride in that balloon of awesomeness and the class is actually academic stuff. I now have 6-year-old me tucked safely away in the box of my subconcious in the attic of my psyche to help me choose classes in the future; along with cereals (Peanut Butter Panda Puffs), wardrobe (shoes with velcro), and women (JUST SAY NO because they have cooties---the most virulent STD). Cooties is like AIDS, except you don't get it from carnal relations with African monkeys. Hence, the amount of time I spend at the product testing lab on Friday nights. I assure you, BoBo gave her consent. (Sorry)

Wed: AM-5 miles moderate
PM-7 miles hard
Thurs: AM-90 min trainer with 10x 30/30s, transition into 5k
Fri: AM-17 miles progression (start at 7, work down to 5:30)

Training has been outstanding. American Zofingen on Sunday brought the pain train, but I am the Little Engine That Could. Wait.....I don't like the way that sounds. I am the MASSIVE MANLY LOCOMOTIVE THAT WILL! That's better. Had a lot of intensity in the last 3-day training block, and am thrilled with performance/recovery. The long run yesterday was an especially important workout to hit, and I felt strong throughout. Life really is incredible, and it's so important at times like these to remember that.

My Sweet Suite

Now that AZ is over, I can move on to less masochistic endeavors like swallowing flaming swords and watching Fox News. Training-wise, that translates to a little base work and lots of eating. School-wise, that means focusing on class catch-up and other responsibilities. Luckily my college situation is just about perfect, with a relatively large single, 3 awesome suite-mates, only 14 credits, and a campus environment where I would be considered conservative (seriously, people at Columbia are either hippies or commies. Granted, I don't consider Republicans to be actual people).

First, the room. It is purely utilitarian, with probably 10,000 grams of protein powder and at least 14 boxes of cereal. I basically live in the food aisle at a Wal-Mart SuperCenter. On the walls are some cosmic posters that are super cool, and were also free. Cool was not a prerequisite, as I would probably hang up one of those doctor's diagrams of knee ligaments if it was free. My suite has one bathroom, whose cleanliness is akin to the sewer pipe Andy crawls to freedom in during Shawshank Redemption. That is mostly my doing. I consider it a tribute to a great movie. Lastly, the kitchen. It has a blender for delicious smoothies, a sautee pan for scrumptious stir-fry, a trash can where we test how much you can stuff the bag down before no more ketchup packets can squeeze in, and a refrigerator for what I presume are science experiments attempting to spontaneously create life out of slime molds. It is not unhealthy if it is in the name of science!

My suite mates are all great guys. The first is one of my favorite people in the world, Krish Khanna. He is the director of CAVA (Columbia University EMS), has an insane Med School resume (GPA, etc...), did big things with Engineers without Borders, and is the proud owner of rugged Indian handsomeness that can only be quantified by counting the number of fainting co-eds in his wake. As the director of University medical services, he also has to revive said co-eds. It's a blessing and a curse. I hear his 5 o'clock shadow is a Bollywood star. The next is Eric Hirani, an entrepreneur who started his own company this summer. He is a student council rep (or something like that. Really, who gives a shit about student government?) who leads the suite, and campus, in smiles. It is important to note that he will wipe the smirk off your face if you bring it up. Your face will hurt, but you'll be turned on like a blast furnace. Last is Dan Gentile, a Columbia squash superstar who is a member/instructor for the Columbia Bartending Agency. He's an intellectual Classical Studies major who party's like Bacchus and has the physique of Hercules. Dan is an international man of mystery who may or may not have recently spent a night in jail. He broke out when it became evident that the sheer number of women who would sign up for conjugal visits would overload the national justice system.

On top of all that, I met an awesome girl on my floor who lives with other awesome people. However, I have a confession. We only have one bathroom, so when someone is taking a shower, or brushing their teeth, or I'm feeling adventurous, the 4th floor hallway doubles as the outside bathroom. This only seems to be a problem when I eat asparagus.

I'll get into classes soon. Needless to say, I learn science-y things about the environment. One day I hope to study the green and purple thing at the back of the refrigerator, and possibly befriend it as a family pet.

Traning:
Monday----NONE
Tuesday---AM: 75 min trainer with 4 mile transition run
PM: 5 miles super easy with awesome friend

American Zofingen SC Race Report

I first want to say that this is the best race in the country, by far. Other than maybe the Swedes. That race has hot blonds, and as much as I like the RD John McGovern, he is only a hot brunette. BLEACH THAT SHIT JOHN!

Summary (1st overall):
I am definitely happy to get a win on this notoriously difficult course. My time was solid, I won the all-time race to T1 (what really counts in a Duathlon), and proudly asked the race chiropractor for a happy ending. I do not consider myself fully adjusted and relaxed until some of the pressure is relieved from my groin region. Because my BALLS ARE HUGE*! To be serious, I had a terrible bout of the flu at Worlds, and as much as I tried to fool myself, could not operate near 100%. At AZ, I was relaxed and able to enjoy the experience without undue pressure (except in my shorts*). Thanks to the amazing people that put this race on and make it so great beforehand, my family, my best friend Britt, and whatever God (Vishnu, probably) that allowed us to sample his nectar in the form of Keegan's Alehouse beers post-race.
*Metaphorically

Pre-Race:
My BFF Brittany was up in New York for the weekend, and it was amazing to spend some time with her. We went out with a friend on Thursday and saw some comedy at the Upright Citizens Brigade theater on Friday. Red wine is good for you, right? What about long island ice tea? Heroin? Ummmmm....perhaps I've said too much. Anyway, felt TERRIBLE on Saturday, and bored Brittany out of her mind with a trip up to the race site and not much else. Though we did get yelled at by waiters and pedestrians, so at least I gave her part of the New York experience (if we had gotten felt up on the Subway by a person that looked like Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade, it would have been complete). The foliage in New Paltz was absolutely fabulous, and that is coming from a guy that only questions his sexuality when discussing Barack Obama (I'm like Nobel in that I would totally give him a piece of my prize). On the way to Mohonk on race morning, I reminisced about last year's Long Course, and threw up from the memory of its epicness. And I don't get queasy asking a chriopractor with a Long Island accent for some loving or calling RD John Mcgovern hot. AND WE'RE OFF!

First Run:
AZ has an incredibly designed trail run course. The uphills are all on trails, with the requisite steepness, rocks, and roots (the trail looks like Two-Face's bad side). Meanwhile, the downs are perfectly graded on carriage trails, and made for fast runners. As the race began through a meadow, one runner from Army stayed with me as I pushed the pace. The plan going in was to shoot for last year's course record (by this year's 2nd in the World Justin Harris), and to do that I'd need a fast run split. After the first hill, I was ready to open things up and started kicking. By the next climb he was out of sight. He gave up quicker than anyone in an Army that wasn't French (jk, he's a great guy and I love the troops). My biggest advice for trails like these is to chop without tension on the ups, and open up the stide so it feels like you're Mario going from cloud to cloud on the downs. It went great, a time of 31 minutes (over a minute faster than Harris' course record last year). However, like the eye of a hurricane or the minute before the O'Reilly Factor, I knew that the real pain was about to start.

Bike:
You know how I know you're gay? You strain physically with a small seat on your butt and like it. That's what I feel like people think in NYC when I'm riding, but at AZ I fit right in with the crowd (the vibrating attachment I strapped-on to the seat doesn't help in Manhattan). After exiting the park, we immediately went up a steep climb. I passed a couple long coursers, and felt like I was watching Pickett's Charge or the stand of the 300 at Thermopolae. Today, they would DINE ON GEL PACKETS IN HELL! Felt good on the climb and descent, and started grinding the flats until the next, longest climb of the race. Tried a high cadence, but felt some residual fatigue and went back to my pounding that is slower and more ill-advised than a science class at Bob Jones University (the dinosaur bones were planted there to TEST OUR FAITH!). Hit the climb with a few words of encouragement from riders in the other race. It was morbidly fascinating watching their struggle, similar to witnessing a pack of lemmings running off a cliff. Hit a good tempo on the climb and reached the halfway point of the bike feeling fresh. My 145 pounds don't descend particularly well though, and I felt sluggish over the next few miles. As JUICY as my rear-end may be, I still need a few trips to Wendy's to get the appropriate junk in da trunk for going down. Unfortunately, I forgot to eat on the bike and begin to feel the dreaded bonk (glycogen-depletion) coming on. The soup and cookies at transition dragged me up the final wall, but not before I was passed by a German in my race. He rode like a tank to my all-horse Polish calvalry. So it goes, the second run is the time for the money shot. But not the porn money shot---that would be a good analogy if I got near the finish line, then dropped out of the race to humiliate all of the other finishers. NOT IN THE FACE!

Second Run:
After the bike, I was still on pace for the record if I could match Justin's second run. This guy must be a cyborg from the past sent to crush my dreams though, because his second run completely terminated any hope of a record. Caught up to the big German on the first climb. Just as I was passing, he fell down. Did I stop? NO. Racing David is a complete asshole, and for that I apologize ("This water isn't Evian?! Dasani is PEASANT WATER!"). No more fooling around. No more foreplay. STROKE FACE ACTIVATE! Went into my own little world of running as fast as I possibly could. For the children along the course who saw my contorted face, at least you can rest assured that the boogie man is not under your bed during the day. Opened up an okay gap on 2nd, but all I could think about is the massive cramping that seemed ready to hit at any point. Because the only thing that could lose the race at this point was an incredibly stupid decision, akin to nominating John Kerry, I eased up slightly and enjoyed the ride. As I approached the finish and saw 2:38:xx on the clock, I was thrilled to have a big win on a tough course. And at the finish, they were probably thrilled I was wearing sunglasses. My eyes were dead enough to scare puppies, make beer go flat, and hurt anyone who accidently falls under their gaze. At the end of a race this hard, my eyes are like Cyclops in X-men with ugliness replacing laser beams.

I'd like to thank Brittany, my amazing family (Slowtwitch that is), my awesome mom and dad, my legs for being so strong, and the Academy. I'd also like the thank the vengeful Old Testament God that must have been responsible for designing the Long Course AZ so others could suffer for whatever terrible sins they committed (male Leg-Shaving must offend Him).

Confronting your Fears-American Zofingen Pre-Race

Tomorrow I return to the sight of the most painful experience of my life. It would be like Howard Dean returning to the rally where he said Yeeeeeahhhhhh, or Rush Limbaugh returning to the dream where black people could drink at the same water fountain as him. Last year, I raced the long course at American Zofingen, a 5 mile trail run, 85 mile hilly ride, followed by a 15 mile trail run. It was so painful. Endurance is my weak point, and I remember actually creating switchbacks on the last bike climb. As in swerving side to side to make the gradient more manageable. My course looked like it was Saturday night and Lindsay Lohan was steering. Then, just before transition to the 15 mile run, a wall of a hill awaited (at least in my head at the time). "Oh. My. God." I thought as I approached. "What have I gotten myself into?" It was similar to the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. If I stand perfectly still, perhaps the hill won't know I'm here. With that coursing through my mind, I actually dismounted and walked up the climb. I went through places of mental darkness in that race that would make Nietzsche find god.

Anyway, tomorrow is race day. However, I am doing the short course race, a 5/29/5 format that is much suited to my strengths and lack of an active death wish. The long course race I did last year is like a sado-masochist convention of deviants who seek pain. Unfortunately, there is no safe word at American Zofingen. Rather than the whips, chains, and gags of the long course, I am opting for the adventurous, but safe short course--which is more akin to a playful slap or dirty talk. Last year's experience will always make me have intimacy issues with long races (although I finished 7th in a stacked field, all I remember now is trying to hit every rock I could on the bike in order to have a flat tire that would give me an excuse to stop).

So the short course should be perfectly suited to my style. Trail running, hilly biking, a 9:30 start-----hopefully a few minute margin of victory is on the horizon. Another cool thing about AmZof is the people that race/put on the race. There is beer flowing in the pavilion all day, and fall foliage of upstate NY abounds. The guys are awesome, with great senses of humor, and are the best athletes in the country. There is a hot tub for relaxation. If it weren't for the badass women that show up, I would say American Zofingen is merely an excuse for spandex-clad men to lose their inhibitions and experiment with their feelings. It's a good thing the women come though, because I bet those guys (namely Slowtwitch bretheren Tetsuoni and Murphy's Law) have diseases of the groin that make African monkeys run for the hills.

Gluten-Free Southwestern Salmon Stir-Fry (Gluten-Free Dinner for Athletes)

This will be the first in what could be a series of posts over the coming months of awesome gluten-free recipes that can be adapted for any occasion. Especially hot dates (my imaginary girlfriends are foodies). All are healthy, high protein, and delicious. Yeah, I said delicious. MY PALATE IS SO SATIATED RIGHT NOW!

Seriously though, as an athlete (especially a gluten-free athlete), we are in desperate search of nutritious meals that will optimize performance goals and recovery. There is increasing evidence that omega-3 fats combined with diets rich in protein and low in carbs prevent a host of inflammation responses within the body. Healthy choices are often manifested on the cellular level. With that in mind:

Southwestern Salmon Stir-Fry: (usually made with Sweet Potato Surprise Fries, but we'll save that for later)

Ingredients: (serves 4---scale down for one)
Two 6 ounce pieces of wild Salmon (I use...gasp...frozen, and it tastes great!)
Mixed Frozen Vegetables
3 Tbsp Hummus
1 red onion
2 Tbsp Black bean salsa
2 large eggs (preferably omega-3 eggs)
10 oz. liquid egg whites
handful raisins and walnuts
Honey-mustard dressing (preferably yogurt-based)
EV Olive Oil
Old Bay seasoning and spices

Instructions:
Bring a frying pan (preferably a Wok) to high heat coated with olive oil (make sure it's extra virgin because we want none of the promiscuous cooking oil...peanut, I'm looking at you). Season with garlic, salt, and pepper. Brown onions for a few minutes, stirring occasionally. Shred salmon and add to pot, seasoning with old bay (in addition to crabcakes and football, fish seasoning is what Maryland does!) giving ample cooking time to the fish.

After browning, add 2 eggs and 10 oz egg whites. The pan will be hot, so stir frequently. After microwaving and draing the frozen veggies (fresh works too, but I'm lazy and in college), add to pot. Add some italian seasoning with 2 Tbsp Honey-mustard, hummus, salsa, raisins, and walnuts. Give the flavors a minute to introduce themselves, and turn off the heat when they being to make sweet, sweet love with your olfactory glands (that doesn't sound nearly as appetizing as it is). Serves four close friends, two sumo-wrestlers, or one crime-fighting dog (I cook for Scooby!).

Southwestern Salmon Stir-Fry takes only 20 minutes to cook and is absolutely delightful. I live with two vegetarians, and I often make them a dish adapted with tofu as a replacement for salmon. Both dishes are simultaneously sweet and savory, with a satisfying bite from the seasoned salmon, creamy texture from the honey mustard and hummus, with just enough sweetness and crunch from the raisins and walnuts to keep your taste buds guessing.

NURITION: In my scaled down one person dish (I have friends, I promise!), there is:
Protein: 40g
Fat: 20g (with lots of Omega-3)

On top of that, the only carbs come from raisins, so if they are omitted it is a suitable Paleo/Primal/Atkins dish. Eating as a gluten-free athlete (or as any athlete with high metabolic demands) can be exceedingly difficult, and finding an easy recipe that is anti-inflammatory can be even harder. My biggest advice is to experiment with foods you like. Generally, for those without the palates of a food critic, any combination of tastes you enjoy will work, and you could create something wholly unique. Be adventurous! There is no need to conform to the "starch" requirement of most meals; in fact, removing excess carbohydrates in the form of pasta or rice (which largely do not add flavor anyway) is a healthy change for athletes and non-athletes alike.

Classy Astronomy

As I was wandering around campus, hopelessly mired in the struggles of a conflicted psyche, I came upon an oasis in the abysmal desert of my intellectual odyssey. An art exhibit, not depicting Van Gogh or some other purveyor of abstract canvas conceptualization, but displaying the natural wonder of the night sky. Looking up into the great unknown with the telescope, itself a juxtapostion of Hubble's intellect and Galileo's rebellion, we are blessed with the realization of the infinite improbability of our existence. Vomiting this gift is a pictoral metaphor for human frailty, and the beauty inherent in an uncertain future..........haha. Just kidding.........LET'S PRETEND LIKE WE'RE VOMITING AN ART EXHIBIT!

This vomit started it's life as a lowly caterpillar, and came violently back up as a beautiful butterfly.


My throwing-up effort is appropriately called Andromeda Straining.


Extra-Terrestrial Barfing.


Vomiting Pure Fire. Must have had too much hot sauce.

Ice Cream Dreams

AM: POUNDTOWN-1:45 trainer (5x5min intense with 10x30/30) transition into 5k
PM: 5 miles easy

I really needed to buckle down and get in a good day of training after having a scatter-shot week after Worlds. Refocusing and rejuvenating is as much a mental process as it is phyiscal, and lack of sleep (or at least the hibernating-bear quantities I'm used to) coupled with responsibility (you mean I have to do LAUNDRY!) made the 10 day period somewhat stressful. And by stressful I mean I had to think about more than the usual topics (which include zombie attack plans and clever puns). So last night, I set aside some me time. Twelve hours of it actually, and slept straight through. You know that sensation of hearing an ice cream truck around the corner? Everything feels like that on 12 hours of sleep.

For readers of the blog, they will know what Poundtown means--PAIN. Not for me, for the bike. Within the trainer work, I added 10 reps of 30 seconds on, 30 seconds off at anaerobic threshold (or a little above). As an aside, while I'm riding the trainer, I also browse the internet, or write on facebook (or blog). So I'm simultaneously super motivated and super lazy. I AM A MAN OF CONTRADICTIONS! Had a great transition run, and a great afternoon run with a good friend. She is one of those people that just has such a positive outlook on life, and it's really contagious. Sadly, she's pretty, which makes me look worse in relation. We cannot have that. Step back bitch! Get ugly or somebody is GOING TO FIX YO FACE FOR YOU!

Lastly, a note on fueling. Ice cream is like alcohol. You know you have an issue when you eat it alone, or in the morning. Hello, my name is David Roche, and I have a problem...(scurries off into alley to score a pint)

Snot Rockets in Flight

This morning I decided to do a 5k in Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx on a whim. Or maybe I should say on a slight hangover. I went with a close friend to a wine and cheese party last night (WINGMAN!), which mostly consisted of Sangria (grape juice plus alcohol), philosophical conversations that all ended up back at discussing human sexuality ('IT'S SO FLUID' apparently--I just think all girls are into kissing other girls), and cheese. And cheese pretty much entails all of the party-goers trying to discreetly move to the corner to let out a big dairy-fart. It's a sophisticated performance art, perfected over many years of experimentation (the failed experiments are referred to as Shart incidents).

Anyway, it was actually a great time, and gave me an excuse for less-than-stellar performace today. I was planning a tempo run, the race was free for CU students, and there was free food at the finish. I probably would go to a meeting for testicular strangulation enthusiasts (TSE's) if they offered delicious, pilferable apples at the end. (As an aside, for free food I once went to an Urban Art Exhibit that exclusively used tampons----attending that is like metaphorical testicular strangulation) So arrived at the race with a week's of hard training in my legs, some alcohol in my liver, and my balls in a vice after the TSE meeting.........perhaps I have said too much. AND THEY'RE OFF!

About 1,000 runners toed the line in Van Cortlandt, a notoriously hilly cross-country/trail race hybrid. The first mile was flat, and we went out at a comfortable pace across the gravel path. About a mile in, I took a pretty substantial lead and thought I was home free. Then the hills hit. They were very short and steep, and not particularly conducive to attaining a rhythm. Still, I thought I had the race in the bag as I approached a fork in the trail. I gestured to the volunteer as if to say, "Which way?" and he responded, "Your choice." Now I am nervous. As I get closer, I see one way is flat and wide, and the other is steep, gravelly, and weakly defined. This required philosophical contemplation. To take the road less traveled, or not, that was the question. Robert Frost would be disappointed, because I took the road more travelled. In my experience, the road less travelled usually ends up with a family of inbred mutants killing you for the choice (Texas Chainsaw Massacre is about the limit of my philosophical range).

Anyway, hit mile 2 well in front. At this point, I'm smiling. Tried to get ready for the finish line glory shot so I blew a snot rocket and got ready to smile. Unfortunately, eventual first place was in the process of passing me. So the winner's finish line picture was mucus-themed. Second place, however, had crystal clear sinuses and was absolutely radiant. Snot rockets like that should be monitored by the UN. He looked like a contestant on Nickelodeon that just got slimed.

I Look Ridiculous (-LY AWESOME!)

So went out for an easy run today after going 12 miles with reps yesterday, and heard "Hey David!" At this point, I'm excited. Ecstatic even. SOMEONE KNOWS ME! And it's a girl! I turn, and see a good friend on the soccer team. Now most socially adjusted individuals, or psycopaths, or even people raised by monkeys would know the correct response in this occasion is "Hi (insert name here)!" followed by a smile of recognition. But no! That is not how it is done in David-land (a land filled with awkward unicorns). After a second-long pause, I respond. "Hey grraa!" Followed by me running off. Just so you know, her name is not grraa, but Kelly. I don't know what happened. I choked under pressure perhaps? It sounded like either the distress signals of a dying whale or the mating calls of a rabid mongoose. Hopefully she likes exotic animals!

All of this had me thinking, not only was my verbal diahrrea awkward, but my appearance was even worse. Let's start from the top:

1. Shirtless. Perhaps the only thing going for me at this point. My tan sucks, but luckily it was cloudy so she was shielded from the glare. IT BURNS!

2. Trimmed Chest Hair. Yes, it's trimmed. In no way am I unable to grow manly thickets of untamed wilderness on my chest. I must shave every hour, on the hour. My testosterone levels are so high that female dogs think it is mating season when I walk into the kennel. Bitches Go Into Heat! (also the name of my debut gangsta rap single) Why am I in kennels? JUST TO PROVE HOW AMAZING MY BUSHY CHEST HAIR IS!

3. Sunglasses. Important note: there is no chance it becomes sunny today. I should warn women that guys who wearing sunglasses in inappropriate situations are incredibly sketchy. Because they are certainly staring at your boobs. But for me, it is to cover up my eyes when I exercise. From race photos, I have learned that they are so sunken in and red that I appear to be undead.

So, the evidence points to a very pale person with undead eyes who causes dogs to go crazy. RUN KELLY! THE ZOMBIE WANTS TO EAT YOUR BRAINS!

Dick Joke Redemption

My post yesterday was serious, and for that I am deeply sorry. I feel a post without infantile (or at the pinnacle of my abilities-juvenile) humor is a betrayal of my audience. Four emails from yesterday said the post was either awesome/sad/happy/boring. You want dick jokes (or their equivalent), and I WILL DELIVER!

1. The problem with male anatomy is that is doesn't fit aesthetically with the rest of the human body. You know there is no such thing as Intelligent Design because God is into Feng Shui and is not that bad of an exterior designer (it totally messes with my Tao!). As I learned in spandex this weekend, where does it go? IT IS AN IMPORTANT QUESTION! And like Einstein in the patent office, I had an epiphany. Penis packaging. It'll be like a kangaroo pouch on the inside of your pants. Your junk, once an extremity of inconvenience that brought indecision (right side, or left side?), will now be more secure than a baby marsupial. Call the ShamWow guy, because I'm about to be a millionaire.

2. While running today (Workout: 5x5min intense during 1hr30min trainer, followed by transition into 16:21 5k--feel amazing), a mom pushing her child in a stroller in Riverside Park said, "You have a great body." That is the second day in a row that my spare frame has moved a woman to exclamation. I don't know what to think. Maybe my life is like the Truman Show, and they are just plants to make my runs more interesting. If that's true, I apologize to the terrible things I did to that stuffed animal when I was 11. I was going through puberty, and the teddy bear deserved to be treated better. Sorry Ms. Bear, no amount of counseling can make that right. (Just kidding, obviously. She came on to me with that coy smile, and it was totally consensual :)

3. Feeling invested enough in a situation to be hurt is actually very refreshing. While venting to a really close friend last night, I realized I am pretty much a Vulcan that doesn't feel any emotions; but instead of my baseline being governed by logic, the default setting is happiness. Sometimes it is cool to embrace sadness, or anger, just to feel the gamut of emotions inherent in being alive. Instead of "Live long and prosper," I am usually set on, "This is totally awesome!" So getting the chance to vent is catharctic. In that vein, here is some quick spiritual cleansing, "What the fuck!? I understand having fun, and enjoying life. But why blatantly lie, or at least purposely mislead, for no real fucking reason. Why is it necessary to seek out conflict, or human drama? It is the emotional equivalent of cutting yourself, not because you enjoy pain, but because you think that blood is a pretty color." Ahhhhhh, that was nice. For me, it was like yoga. I don't feel that way at all, but it is fun to act like I feel negative emotions.

On a more important note, ladies...the Dreamcrusher is free and on the prowl. Middle-aged women seem to think I'm hot (at least while running)! My blond, flowing hair will lightly caress your neck as we embrace! My pecs glisten with the dew of the new morning, and my thighs cause quiverings within the coldest, most neglected hearts! Oh wait.....I'm thinking of Fabio. Ummmmmmm, I invented penis packaging! My stuffed animal said I'm a gentle and caring lover! Call me.

Yes, fatties too. I'm desperate.