The Hope-Free Super-Post

Time to get Obama off the front page. That guy's an asshole, right? I mean, hope? The only thing that gives America hope is an especially humiliating audition on American Idol.

Anyway, went to the Millrose Games at Madison Square Garden last night. It is an amazing event, especially when 10 dollar tickets and a severely suppressed sense of shame can get you down track-side, literally rubbing elbows with the stars. What did I do to get to the first row? Let's just say it's not pretty, and involves a coughing fit and a quick move past an usher to get to "my seat", where some magic elixir was lying in wait. I AM SUCH A REBEL!

You know it is going to be a good night when you get a bro-hug from Bershawn Jackson. After his race, he came into the stands (I later learned from a friend) to speak to a girl on the Columbia Track Team that he had asked out the week before. He is simply an outstanding guy, with a bright smile, and I will forever be a huge fan. Also, his nickname is Batman! That makes me one degree closer to Robin, which is every young boy's dream! Right?

The premiere race event of the night was the Wannamaker Mile, which Bernard Lagat won in dominating fashion. A handshake and a smile on the victory lap melted my heart. He is as amazing in person as he seems in interviews. Simply an incredibly nice, charismatic person, and I am lucky to have been that close to him. Will I be washing my hand? Yes. But only because I went to a fraternity party later in the night, and extreme scrubbing is necessary to wipe off the vomit. I didn't get vomited on, per se, but at one of those things I just assume the throw-up particles become saturated in the room. THEY'VE GONE AIRBORNE!

Training has been going amazingly. After yoga on Wednesday and a recovery day on Thursday (we will see why that was necessary in a minute), I was able to get in a 5x800m workout in the context of a 12 mile run (reps in 2:20). Today, I spent 2 hours in Poundtown. At this point, it is practically trainer kama sutra. Surprisingly, both leave the practitioner with a sense of spiritual fulfillment, and sores in very sensitive areas.*

*just kidding....I think that was necessary to clarify

Finally, the yoga. It is amazing; I love the juxtaposition of mental and physical balance. So I just started the class as a second-semester senior at college (after doing it on my own for a while). Needless to say, it's me and 21 nubile coeds doing the downward facing dog in front of huge mirrors on all four sides (it's in a dancing room). First day, I get in a solid workout the morning before class, then put on my V-neck and compression shorts to go full-yoga sexy.

With no time to eat, I get to class and start introducing myself to the ladies. A few of the track girls know me, and mention I'm an athlete. Some pretty young lass says she wants to learn more about running. AWESOME!

We assume poses, and it's going well. I am pretty flexible, and I can see in the mirrors that some of the rays of joy in the room are checking me out (being that I am the proverbial last man on Earth, there is not much choice). Sweet! My lithe body type is working in my favor, and I am full of hope....

Flash forward to 20 minutes later. I am starting to become famished and weak. "Just get through it," I think hungrily. Suddenly, I feel a knot in my hamstring. Then the other one. Before I can play it off, my legs go into full-blown seizure cramp mode. I am writhing on the floor looking like a particularly un-rhythmic break dancer. My yelps are so high-pitched that dogs from miles away jumped in front of cars.

When I come to, 105 women are looking at me in disgust. Never have surrounding mirrors been such a negative in a room of pretty girls. I am somewhat sure Bernard Lagat-levels of charisma could not overcome that start...

The One Post I Want You to Read

I just watched the State of the Union Address. I was crouching in front of a small television, with about 200 of the most intelligent students in the country doing the same. What I am left with is not a sense of partisan biases and overwhelming personal convictions, but a sense of ultimate faith in a man to do what is right in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Barack Obama is everything a President should be. Yes we can.

When I posted those last two sentences on Facebook, I immediately received a comment from a friend. This friend is currently working a vocation, he is high school educated, and I respect him deeply as a human being. He respects me as well. Bruce always says he wants to vote for me for President one day. All he said was, "David, David, David.......tisk, tisk, tisk." Now I am not a health care specialist. I am not a legal scholar. But I am an environmental scientist. And although I overload the blog with joking trivialities, I know my shit. I am fortunate to have been trained by world-renowned scientists, and I have been fortunate to receive academic accolades in my studies. This was my response to my friend Bruce:

"As much as I think that political discussion is one minor step above poop-flinging on the scale of primate communication, I must disagree heartily with whatever motivates that response. Forget your personal party affiliations for just a second, and think about climate change. One party, for whatever reason, has clearly aligned itself on the wrong side of history on the issue; on the wrong side of absolute scientific fact. Why is this? Is it blatant obstruction, or is it due to a belief system? Because it is NOT a policy position implemented with any cognizant perspective of reality. For a second, I won't give a shit about abortion, or gay rights, or health care. Even if those were irrelevant trivialities, the one issue of climate change (and the conservative suppression of scientific fact) is enough to subvert an entire party's political platform. Action must triumph over passivity in the face of daunting challenges. Barack Obama embodies this, and I can merely hope that political shit-tossing does not stand in the way of change."

Yes, the world is divided. Yes, partisan politics have turned every issue into a cavalcade of superfluous personal attacks. But no, scientific fact can not be disputed on political grounds. I am a Democrat for no other reason than the Earth's environment must be saved before it is too late. Very literally, the WORLD must be saved. Cascading feedback cycles cannot be allowed to turn the Earth into a planet that is spoken about with a wistful recollection of the past rather than a hopeful eye to the future. Long term, perhaps I (or someone that was in that room with me) will run for President. Not for power or fame, but because an uncorrupted politician has the capability to change the world. Barack Obama is laying the foundation for a future filled with hope. Mr. President--YES WE WILL.

Girl, This Post is for You

You know, I actually had an entire post written that described who I was, and why I wanted to go to law school to change the world/save the environment. For those of you that don't know me, I love people and will do absolutely everything in my power to make the world a better place. The blog is meant purely in jest, and is merely a byproduct of my main goal of making the world just a little bit better for everyone I am lucky enough to meet.

But screw that sentimental garbage (dismissive hand-wanking motion), it is time for some irreverent non-sequiters:

College Stereotypes!

1. Visiting professor:
Accent will be unintelligible. He/she may be the most amazing professor in the field, but may as well be speaking about the girth of field mice. Unless the class is actually about the reproductive organs of Microtus Rodentia, in which case he/she may as well be speaking about the many talents of Justin Timberlake.

2. Pre-Law Student:
After the mention of Mr. Timberlake, states that the case of Sonia Sotomayor vs. Heartstrings already established the precedent that sexy has been brought back. After noticing Lady Justice's nip slip, your honor should note that he/she will not be able to approach the bench due to extenuating circumstances under the lawyer's table.

3. Pre-Med Student:
If a senior, a ruthlessly competitive gunner whose favorite author is Adolf Oliver Nippils (MD), the esteemed scribe of Organic Chemistry Two: Electric Bugaloo. If the a freshman, a future political science major.

Athletic Word Association!:

Triathlete..............Shitty Swimmer
Duathlete...............Allergic to water
Swimmer.................Fat

Pick-Up Lines!
1. Girl, I want to eat raisins off your stomach. I mean, they would start out as grapes, but your hotness would dry them out.

2. Girl, I am very sorry to be the one that has to tell you this. It might be something you have to deal with for the rest of your life, however long that is. Okay, here it goes.....I am afraid that you have emphysema. There isn't much we can do, you brought this on yourself girl, because YOU. ARE. SMOKIN

(the smokin line hurt me more than it hurt you)

(p.s. Thanks for everything guys, and I hope everything is awesome in your lives!)

Training:
Sunday: 90 minute ride (with 30 minutes poundtown) with an 8 mile tempo run
Monday: 30 minutes easy trainer and yoga

Fortune Cookies and Yoga Poses

Went to a Chinese restaurant recently, and the fortune said "You will receive good news." Now, because all fortunes must have the addendum '...IN BED!', I figured this was a good (albeit unrealistic) prediction. But it is also the quiet before the storm in the law school application process, and that slip of paper gave me new-found hope. I am fortunate to have some amazing offers from very attractive suitors (sadly, not IN BED!), and should be hearing back from Columbia, Stanford, and Virginia very soon. But for now, we wait. And cherish the fact that, as a second-semester senior, I am expected to do almost nothing.

As evidence, here are my recent tasks in BULLET POINT ATTACK style:

1. Wine Tasting:
I AM SO CLASSY! Granted, I just received a text message from a friend that there was free booze/food. It was as if Scooby heard there was a Scooby Snack and bitches in heat buffet (as a side note, David Roche and the Bitches in Heat Buffet will be the name of my all-girls punk-rock cabaret....like the Pussycat Dolls but less trashy). So we sat through a very informative session on the merits of smelling and sipping (and sounding pretentious, apparently).

One of the sommeliers said, and I quote, "The aroma of this Merlot reminds me of my friend's musty basement on an Autumnal morning." Everyone proceeded to nod in agreement. I decided to test the tolerance during the food pairing portion of the class. "This Chianti would go best with a nice liver and some fava beans." Everyone proceeded to squint thoughtfully at my profundity. Perhaps I should have said HUMAN liver, in order to make the Silence of the Lambs reference more obvious. That being said, I probably could have stated that the Malbec would be best served in a carafe made of the skulls of disobedient servant children, and the crowd in attendance would have agreed vigorously. The skeletons of the help who failed to master the 'perfect pour' are in the cellar, right next to the Sauvignon Blanc!

2. Yoga Poses!
Tomorrow is the official start of Hatha Yoga, one of my classes this semester. In order to prepare, I've been practicing some of the positions. Sadly, because my mind seems to be controlled by a toddler who snorted a Pixie stick, and I just thought about the fortune cookie IN BED corollary, each pose becomes the name of a humorous sexual position:
-The Downward Facing Snog
-The Buns Salutation
-The Seated Wide Legged Straddle (okay, that last one is real. Though it is still illegal is 49 states........crazy shit goes down in Massachusetts. I blame Scott Brown)

3. Training:
Rode for 2 hours hard yesterday, with a transition 8 mile run with a friend after an hour hard ride the day before. Being forced to ride indoors (riding outside in NYC is similar to an especially violent game of Grand Theft Auto) is a blessing in disguise. I can control the resistance with no breaks in intensity, while watching television shows online, listening to music, studying, and cooking a souffle. CONSTANT STIMULATION! God forbid I was trapped with my thoughts, which are basically just visions of Pandas playing pick-up basketball interspersed during timeouts with Barack Obama presenting health care reform as interpretive dance.

Alright, the blog post is especially weird this morning. And for that I apologize. Tomorrow I will be more serious, focusing on your needs in an attempt to make you satisfied.*

*....IN BED???????!!!!111!**

**Sorry, that is not a threat. Please read again tomorrow.

The Final Countdown-Thursday 3k Race Report

Two words: tracks suck. After last night's race at the Armory Indoor Track in New York City, I have come to the conclusion that not only do running tracks suck, but by (word) association, dog tracks, Nordic Tracs, tractors, racks of lamb, and cats all suck. Good thing I stopped there, because it is only one step from cats to Demo-crats, which would have caused a soul-shaking identity crisis.

Summary: 9:18 for 3km

After an easy six miles yesterday morning, I ran the three miles up to the Armory to race a 3k on the world-famous oval. Little did I know, but the pain train was coming. This race report-ish post will document the stops the train made on the way to the end of the line.

Seedy Lane:
The first stop on the trip, Seedy Lane was where runners self-seeded based on expected time. I hopped in the second heat (of 10) after seeing runners in the first whose body-weight is best counted by mass spectrometer. (yes, I just dropped the atomic science bomb) Still, I was happy with my placement, and felt confident that I could run a smart race for the heat win.

Panic Way:
As the race approached, I recalled several things. One, I have not ever raced on a track. Two, I have not ever raced in a pack. Three, my first two problems force me to use the big-mack rhyming attack. But so be it. "The Final Countdown" came on over the loudspeakers as the gun sounded---sadly, the song title also applied to the time left for the continued existence of my self-esteem.

Hopeful Drive:
The first few laps (of 15) were like the Barack Obama presidential campaign. There was so much potential; there were unlimited possibilities. I felt good in about sixth position (of 16), going through the half in 2:25. Around the mile (4:52), things began to change. Just as BO promised change, and has been derailed by vicodin-addled talk show hosts in control of the opposition, my undoing came in the form of an old white guy who got in my way.

Sad Panda Avenue:
The pace at the front quickened, and the pack became strung out single file behind the leader. Unaccustomed to changes in pace, I found myself being passed on the outside during the far turn of the 200 meter track. Unwittingly, I accelerated, only to collide with the old guy cutting in to the inside lane. In the process, I was spiked and tripped. Now I realize this was my fault for slowing slightly in the first place. But seriously, what is the old dude doing? RESPECT BONE DREAMCRUSHER!

Infinite Sadness Path:
At this point, the pain train began to lose control. My throat became dry and my legs began to tremble after the recovery from the tripping incident. There were still 5 laps to go (1 km), and I was rapidly losing ground on the leaders. Each lap turned into a struggle to get to the next turn, refocusing on each straight-away in an attempt to disconnect from the lost race. The stroke-face was in full force, as my cheeks flared and eyelids pulsated from exertion. Thankfully, I didn't drop out and was able to get to the line. 9;18, while not a time to be proud of, is better than nothing.

What I learned:
1. I race for fun, and putting my body through events like this will not happen again. In longer races, the mind and the body can become one, allowing a certain zen-like meditative experience. My best performances are also the most effortless. By racing the 3k, I openly conceded contentedness for competitiveness.

2. Running is amazing. I love the the juxtaposition of an inward-focus with an outward-attentiveness. But as a competitor that wants to win the National Championship, a certain amount of self-realization is necessary. I will never run a 14:30 5k. In fact, my current 15:30 might be as good as it gets. In cycling though, the sky is the limit. I have set bike course records in many races, and while I have done the same with running, certain genetic limiters are only possible to overcome to a point. From now on, biking is the new running.

Bro-Namath Throws it Deep

Story time! I was hanging out at a bar on Sunday night with a friend to celebrate the return to NYC. Later in the night, he sees a girl (whom he thinks.....has a good personality). He approaches (with author's commentary):

1. "You are absolutely gorgeous," he says courageously.
Now, it must be noted that he is a good-looking dude, but only serial-killers use that line right off the bat. It gets worse:

2. "And I'll keep the charm up all night if YOU buy ME a drink."
What!?!? How can he have that much confidence? If that was me, I would currently be asking her major, and listening while she tells me about how "Fashion" is not about looking good, but about interpreting the frailty of the human condition through designer dresses. SO INTERESTING! YOU WATCH PROJECT RUNWAY TOO! OMG!!!!!11!

Just then, the hideously mean/hunchbacked best friend of the girl approaches. "That is not how it is done," shy says Scroogily. My friend rebounds like Wilt Chamberlain (not in the sense of basketball, but in the sense of the 20,000 women he reportedly bedded):

3. "I am just trying to empower [insert name of sorority girl here] and treat her like an independent woman."
He drops-back....throws the Hail-Mary....there is a receiver open down the field....TOUCHDOWN! Nice recovery, Bro-Namath.

At this point, my friend sees the light. Not figuratively, but literally. As in someone flips open a cell-phone, and he sees that in addition to being shallow and vain (I omitted details of her saying very rude things to strangers), the girl makes Rosie O'Donnell look like Hilary Clinton (Um.....I have a thing for pants-suits). So as she continues to be mean for no reason at all, he goes up to the bartender and gets a drink. She attacks the cup like a dehydrated Irishman:

"This is just water," she hisses.
"Yep," he says. And not to be rude (he really is a good guy), he continues, "If you keep talking to me, I'll buy you something stronger."

She leaves quicker than the RoadRunner, leaving a puff of mascara and blue-eyeshadow in her wake. Later in the night, he finds out that she has a boyfriend anyway, and she was leading him on to get a drink. My friend: hydrating drunk girls with boyfriends since 2010.

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Anyway, the first week in the city is always tough athletically. I love meeting new people and starting new classes. But in the past month at home, my most advanced social interaction was with cows (they don't tip themselves, you know). On top of that, just the act of walking everywhere leaves my legs slightly tired (IT IS SO HARD BEING ME!). So I have made a conscious effort to ease into training this week, with purely aerobic runs/bikes to keep from going insane. Tonight, there is a race at the Armory Indoor Track, and I think I will try to get a quick blow-out 3k to jump-start the semester of training.

Couple quick notes:
-Received a Cornell acceptance on Tuesday! Ithaca is Gorges, I hear.......adfdfadkjfafasdfhasldh (brain hemorrages from terrible pun)
-Last, happy birthday to my friend Tom! He reads the blog (along with my mom!) and is (surprisingly) an outstanding person.

Training:
Sunday: 8 miles easy
Monday: 90 minutes trainer with 6 miles easy
Tuesday: 6 miles easy
Wednesday: 9 miles easy

University BINGO!

It is the first day of classes, and know what that means....COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY BINGO! The rules are simple: you choose one high traffic location on campus, and fill out your card as you see each of the designated stereotypes.*

*If you are a black person, you can play, but University administrators will think you are from Harlem and seize your card after you have put time/effort into the game. Eminent domain has a very strong legal precedent of preventing black people from ever winning.

1. College Republican:
These exotic creatures often travel in packs. Their group sustains internal harmony by grooming each others sweater vests. Known to eat mayonnaise on white bread sandwiches. The thought of Sarah Palin adds an extra pleat to their pants.

2. Athlete:
Easily identifiable by the sweat pants on sweat shirt motif. Perpetually tired due to 6 AM wake-up calls. When not sleeping in class, the males have a top-secret competition to say the stupidest thing possible at the most inappropriate time. They are all political science majors.

3. Frat Boy:
A spin-off of the athlete, but without coordination or self-discipline. Pink polos are the norm, but only if they are made of silk by an Italian designer. Watch Jersey Shore un-ironically. Snooki is their dream girl.

4. Hipster:
Skinny jeans, flannel, and headphones. Used to like Vampire Weekend, but back before they sold out to the record company machine. Now it's all about Werewold Workweek, who you probably haven't heard of yet. 500 Days of Summer is their favorite movie. Wears a boy's small shirt with "Frankie Says Relax" on it. Secretly listening to Miley Cyrus.

5. Free Tibet Space:
Like Free Space in most Bingo games, but for extreme liberals who sustain themselves by championing the rights of the less fortunate. At least that's what they decided while they were in their junior year of the $30,000/year prep school. Are willing to hunger strike at the slightest provocation. After meeting the less fortunate in the Peace Corps or Teach for America, will go work for Goldman Sachs.

6. Theater Performer:
Refers to conversation as improv practice. If into comedy, thinks your sense of humor is juvenile. If into drama, currently writing a re-imagining of The Secret Garden with the influence of Eastern spirituality. Secretly wishes high school was more like Glee.


7. Musician:
Never without an acoustic guitar. Knows what the acronym DMB stands for. Cannot personally sing, but is the lead singer of a folk-jazz band. Only people left on MySpace who are not serial killers.

8. Dance Troupe:
Think the script to You Got Served is a holy text. Will pop and/or lock at the slightest provocation. Often white people with dreadlocks. Are still having a tough time with classes, because they miss Michael so much.

9. Blogging Athlete:
Not currently wearing pants. Is thinking of dropping a class because it falls during nap time. Wants to save the world, but only if the world is cool from 2:30-4 PM. His food pyramid has no dividing lines, and is composed of protein shakes. You need to go to Ruggles 423 to find him. Ladies....

The BDC is Back

Another post is imperative, because Bone Dreamcrusher came out today and wants none of the sentimental bullshit of the morning's post. A New Year? More like A New Queer. AMIRITE?!?! So he said I needed to sack up and write about something that won't actively cause my meager chest hair to fall out in disgrace.

For those of you new to the blog, Bone Dreamcrusher is the alter-ego that comes out whenever anything intense is going down, like a race, an important test, and especially funky bar mitsvahs. The BDC takes no prisoners, and thinks men that eat salads disgrace the patron saint of manhood---a centaur-like creature with Clint Eastwood on top and Lance Armstrong on the bottom. Mr. Dreamcrusher once used a Nutcracker so his lower half would be more like the deity. Realizing he used a tool that shared a name with a famous ballet, he extinguished a Cuban cigar on his own forehead as punishment.

Sorry about Bone. Sometimes he takes over, and it's tough to stop his comments. He is like the Hulk, except he refuses to be green because it makes him feel like a tree-hugger. We will constrain him to parentheses and italics from now on.

Anyway, had the key running workout of the week today, and it went great! After a 5 mile easy warm up, did by a 6 x 1km speed set (BDC: Kilometers are for fascists. Or worse, Canadians). Each rep felt so smooth, as if I can feel myself getting faster. There really is no particular training philosophy in play other than to run really fast until I can't run fast anymore (That is probably what women say when they look at your favorite movies on Facebook and see Little Miss Sunshine ). I think that over-analyzing each training parameter is a ticket to unhappiness. Numbers don't lie, so I almost never even wear a watch so I can enjoy each moment without worrying about every second.

A good example of the philosophy in action is the workout last Thursday. My legs were relatively tired, so I planned an easy 6 mile run. Because I had no pace/heart rate goals, I started very slowly (Like a West Virginian trying to stay in the Coloring Book lines). Probably started at 9 minute miles, which is pretty much walking pace. Gradually, things became better and at the end of the 15 mile run the miles were clicking off around 5:30. But then again, maybe they were 7's, or 4:30's (HAHAHAHA) for that matter. I wasn't wearing a watch, so there is no way of knowing.

(That was gay)

A New Year

In four months, college will be over.

As I don the baby-blue cap and gown, I will be reborn in some new place, with new challenges and new obstacles. The move will mark the end of familiarity, the death of friendly acquaintances who inevitably expire from the consciousness. Moments that seemed so sharply focused will become hazy reflections. Friends become phantoms; memories become mirages. Did they ever exist at all?

The winds of Spring will carry with them memories from four years in New York City. In my mind, college always had the presence of a lion, of four years that would be the king of your life. Soon, the four years will have ambled gently away----a lamb slowly wandering through an open fence. Did it mean anything at all?

Four years ago I was just a boy growing up on a farm, shielded through a calm adolescence like the ground on a cloudy day. My personality branched relatively lifelessly--simple niceness; simple intellect. Suddenly, wholly new aspects of individuality were illuminated by sunny epiphanies. Each first, each new experience, lit up bright red like an May heat wave. You know what? I am smart! I am talented! And it's okay to say that. It's okay to make subversive jokes. A good person can be reconciled with an interesting personality. Those bare branches became full of lively color. Winter blossomed into Spring.

Those first burning sights gradually became colder and duller. The greens and reds became yellows and browns. Every day is still beautiful, but in a more subdued way than before. Four months from now, these once incandescent moments will begin to fade permanently. There is a certain imperceptibility to the march of time. Firsts have slowly become lasts. Each leaf will gently fall. The auroral color will be replaced by lifeless branches once again. Autumn is coming.

What will come next? I always thought of New York as a city of firsts. They still feel so immediate--the first time I went to a Broadway Play; the first time I ran through Central Park. Now it is rapidly becoming a city of lasts. And that is not a sad thing. Regrets are felt only when each day isn't cherished in the moment. Just as a squirrel hoards chestnuts through the winter, we must guard our memories and friends.

I will cherish each passing day.

I will never forget what makes life so special.

In four months college will be over. The leaves of time will have come and gone. But Spring will be on it's way again. New roots will be planted on the soil of the past. It will be a slightly different season than before, a brighter season full of new life and an explosion of new colors. Everything to come will be growing on the base of the last four years. College will be over, but will never fully leave.

Stanky Leggin' The World

Today is a video special! Enjoy...

So I was thinking during the bike today about hydration. "I am awfully thirsty," I thought thirstilly, "But am sick of water." Well was I ever in luck! Canadian geese have been using my parents' home for target practice, so there is an abundance of water-rich bird feces. "But David!" you may say, "How can you use the water in the excrement while suppressing the gag reflex?":



I am glad you asked that, obedient blog reader. As Bear Grylls shows us, you give yourself an bird poop enema, of course. In my next race, the Camelback hose will be pointed away from my mouth.

Training:
AM-90 minutes trainer (2x20 hard) with 7 mile easy run
PM-5 mile easy run

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Ummmm, I don't know what to say after seeing the video below. I feel like I have seen the light. Whoever made this, he is pretty much a religious figure. The Stanky Leg is his gift unto us. It might not be eternal salvation, but I would still drink the shit out of his Kool-Aid.



Whatever my destiny may have been before today, my goals and aspirations have changed. The poor, the weak, and the huddled masses will need somebody else to protect their asses, because a crusade needs to be taken up in that man's honor.

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Received an email about this next video after the post went up, and it is worthy of a watch. If you haven't seen it, prepare to get emotional.

The Socratic Method, 2010 Style

Yesterday, I received my first bad news of the law school admissions cycle. An email from Berkeley said that I had "Passed initial review and will be reviewed by the faculty panel." Which is a nice way of saying that they deferred my ass and will give me a decision in February. Now this is more like it. Admissions is always compared to dating, and if there is anything I am used to it's a girl saying something like, "It's not you, it's me" or "We should see other people." Which I guess is better than, "You smell like Jeffrey Dahmer's refrigerator" or "On the cover of horror stories they use your picture. You are the Fabio of revolting literature." That would be an outright rejection, and I am lucky enough to not have received one of those yet (in admissions that is...in dating I am an awkward sommelier, with the wine cellar of my soul being filled with repressed memories of incredulously amused smiles)

Things are actually pretty freaking awesome. Law school admissions are incredibly competitive and I am extremely lucky to have the offers I do. It's like a race, in that sometimes you need to accept second place when you have done your best. However, unlike a race, I cannot get the information of my competitors to learn their secrets (I be on your website, reading your blog) and get to know them.*

*Namely, their knees. With a tire iron. Though that might not help with law school. Perhaps we can discuss the Socratic Method.**

**Of ass-kicking. Where I teach them about inquiry and debate.***

***Which are the names I gave to my fists.

Training:
Saturday: AM-11 miles total with 6x700m
PM-4 miles easy
Sunday: 9 miles easy
Monday: AM-2 hours trainer (90 minutes in 54x11 gear), 6 mile transition run
PM-4 miles easy
Tuesday: 11 miles easy

Training has been outstanding. Running-wise, I am focusing primarily on form, making sure I keep a high turnover and good foot-fall. On the bike I just focus on 3 key workouts a week. We'll see how the run-heavy approach works out. The goals for next year are to win Nationals, get some more sponsorships, and leave my parents' basement.

Hahaha, those are all unrealistic (except winning nationals...I AM COMING FOR YOU SPANDEX-PEOPLE). If I were the type of person that took myself seriously enough to catalog athletic goals, I would understand if you didn't read the blog. Also, being in your parents basement is a necessary condition for keeping a blog. You can't get blog-skillz like this without a fresh plate of Mom's pizza bagels.

2009 in Review

There was a 10 mile race this morning which was supposed to be my last heartless massacre of poor competitors during the 2009 season (or the first of the 2010 season for those that are 'calendar-huggers'). But I decided not to race. The wind chill is currently 3 deg Fahrenheit. To translate 3 degrees F for my Canadian friends, it is perfect polar bear hunting weather. Or polar bear seducing weather, if you are living in Saskatchewan. It is cold enough to refute my belief in global warming. In fact, I will take it one step further. Global warming is a hoax perpetrated by the liberal media, like equality, hope, and the female orgasm.


So my season is officially over. The next race isn't on the agenda until March, and training and nutrition is the main focus right now. You know what it's time for? And no, the answer is not blueberry pancake wrapped sausage. Because it is always time for blueberry pancake wrapped sausage, and the blog would get messy. It is SEASON IN REVIEW TIME! Nothing is more exciting than a narcissistic recap of life events. Other than perhaps those special nights when Ann Coulter is a guest on the "O'Reilly Factor". Will they or won't they? Cause if they do, it would be wise to check the demon spawn for the mark of the Beast.

In terms of racing, the first part of the season was dominated by sub-par performances. Notably, I was coming off the celiac diagnosis, and was slightly weak. Wet noodles thought my legs lacked power. After an epic failure at Nationals, I realized I had to become less nutritionally-obsessed, and more calorie-focused simply to maintain strength. After introducing increased protein in the form of supplemental whey (and egg), and adding calories with nuts, potato-chips, and other yummy food-stuffs (sadly, blueberry pancake wrapped sausage has gluten), my results saw a major turnaround.

Starting in May, I won 7 out of the last 8 duathlons, with an average victory margin of over 3 minutes. The only loss was at the World Championships, where I finished well with the flu. Simultaneously, a retooled training method focusing on running slowly brought about rapid changes that left me feeling stronger during races. Those wet noodles became slightly sturdier pipe cleaners, or possibly PVC pipe (the 5/8" variety).


Albert Einstein once said, and I quote, "I could really use some conditioner." He also said that insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. And that philosophy of change applies as much to life as it does science. For me, nutrition and training needed to be overhauled in order to continue to perform at a high level. However, the axiom works for social interactions, or academic performance as well. Too often, people get bogged down in a particular method, or particular philosophy of life, and become 'stuck' in their ways. I have 21 year-old friends who are working a job that they hate. Some are going on four years dating people they cannot stand. Others train constantly but never do well in races. Ten years from now, those friends will be hating the same job, will be unhappily married to the same girl, and will have never performed well in a race. My advice is to embrace intelligent change.

For athletes, increase protein and run more. For students, relax and engage the material intuitively instead of inundating yourselves with detail. And for the bad relationships, stick with it because once you have kids everything should change for the better. It is important to note that I don't know shit about relationships. You know...cooties and all.

Most of all, as my last post of the 2009 season, I want to thank you guys. I really appreciate the support, whether virtual or in other parts of life. Last year was so exciting, and with a law school decision, graduation, and continued athletic journeys on the horizon, next year promises change that would make Einstein proud. This sounds cheesy, but I love you guys for everything (especially putting up with my weak attempts at humor). Have an amazing 2010!

Stupidity

If you browse these here internets, you may be astounded by the stupidity and the anger in the virtual world. Or you may be astounded by the sight of shiny objects. That last one seems to put you in the majority.

Nearly every un-moderated forum turns into a cavalcade of racial epithets, hateful accusations, and misspellings. We can make an internet commenter "Mad" Libs. Literally "Mad", as in fucking incensed about some perceived injustice. Which is surprising, because I thought anger was a higher emotion that would be difficult to express through words if your typical meal consists of paste.

"This [person, idea, or religious holiday] is most certainly [retarded, black, or A GAY]. As such, I hope your [mother, pet, or all-knowing deity] pays for your indiscretions by [dying, being tortured before dying, having unwilling sex with a pineapple]."

This presents a moral and philosophical quandary. I am firmly convinced of the goodness of humanity. Yet the internet sample seems to indicate that the world is populated by pea-brained sycophants who most likely become sexually aroused by the cries of small animals. While looking over the shoulder of a friend this year, I came to a compromise. A great guy in real life, he wrote a suggestion to a stranger that said stranger touch himself intimately with a Brillo Pad. Thus, I think the internet is a place that is not indicative of actual personality, but an anonymous exorcism of personal demons.*

*This is not meant as an insult to demons, who are most likely delightful compared to the human embodiment of a yeast infection that is the average denizen of the internet

Long story short, Obama was not born in Kenya. Carbon dioxide is rising. And most importantly, AOLguy69's father most likely did not copulate with a horse in order to birth him (unless his last name is Moreau, in which case you should ask to attend his lovely island). Some forums buck the internet trend, like Deadspin (for sports news), Slowtwitch (for multisport), and BigCocksFans (.......for fans of South Carolina football). But each is merely an oasis in a desert of stupid. So I guess all we (those who prefer to read sentences without obscenities) can do is sit back, take the bad with the good, and pray to god that no one insults Twilight.

Training (10 mile race planned on Sunday):
Thursday: 10 miles with 3x200m
Friday: 8 miles easy

When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong

Last week, Gilbert Arenas and Javaris Crittendon of the Washington Wizards reportedly brought guns into the locker room over a $1,100 dispute. Before we go on, it should be pointed out that Gilbert seems like a delightful guy. He writes a witty blog (also works as a chick-magnet), does not take himself seriously, and shows up randomly at the doors of eight year-olds to play video games (and this was not the premise of a very special episode of Dateline NBC). Also, HE HAS A 110 MILLION DOLLAR CONTRACT! Yet, in the testosterone-addled world of all-male locker rooms, he felt it was necessary to show teammates his little friend over a minor gambling debt.



When I was deciding on colleges four years ago, my choice was primarily based on playing Division 1 sports. After becoming bored of baseball (my better sport), I decided to take the offer to play football at Columbia. I was a 190 pound sprinter at the time, and was still infatuated with the "big man on campus" persona of an athlete. Not long after my arrival, I realized that the BMOC is a non-existent fallacy at an ivy-league school (like good pop music, or a smart Republican), and quit team-sports forever. Stories like those with Gilbert Arenas are why I never regret it for a second.

Locker rooms and fox-holes have something in common. Both foster the development of deep friendships forged through struggle (although the degrees of struggle are obviously magnitudes greater in the foxhole). Both can also foster the development of a lowest-common denominator social hierarchy (exponentially worse if there is a Texan around). As such, anti-intellectual behavior, an emphasis on confrontation, and homophobia can become the social norm. Gilbert Arenas, one of my favorite athletes (and a smart guy), pulled a fucking gun because he wanted to "keep it real". Seven players in all of Major League Baseball have college degrees (seriously). And another news story of a potentially gay Atlanta Falcons player was responded to with quotes bordering on hateful bigotry.

Endurance sports are different. Performance is a personal challenge. Running and cycling are internal battles. Because they have an inward focus; because the sports give so much time to think; they foster self-realization, and profound thoughts. Meanwhile, the locker room will always stagnate to the lowest common denominator because the social hierarchy is based on a groupthink mentality. Running at 145 pounds has made me healthier physically than that 190 pound weightlifter. But most importantly, it has made me smarter.

Chappelle's Show
When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong - Brenda Johnson
www.comedycentral.com
Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs Black Comedy True Hollywood Story

Gilbert Arenas will go to jail for conforming to the locker-room mentality. And it is a shame, because he is a good human being. He is not a thug. While he is locked up in that new type of locker room, I just recommend that he go for a run.

Training:
AM-90 minutes bike (2x20 min hard) with 6 mile run
PM-4 mile run

Closing Time

This is a quick shot taken off the deck near my childhood home on the Chester River in Maryland. Thousands of geese were standing on the water, huddled around a small opening in the channel. It's that time of year, I guess. The days are short. The nights are cold. The pool is closing.

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Had a great 11 mile easy run today after 90 minutes on the trainer (one hour Poundtown) with an eight mile run yesterday. There isn't much else to do. Life during winter break is slow.

But, to me, daily miracles and incredible family make these some of the best parts of life. Each day during school can be inexorably rapid, with an exulting high replaced by a abyssal low. The scepter of responsibility is always looming. It is exhilarating. It can also be overwhelming.

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Tomorrow at home will be amazing.

I know what to expect tomorrow.

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Being able to constantly stop and do nothing, and be happy doing nothing, is a privilege that I will always cherish. Vacation is a mental state more than a physical state, and as much as I attempt to detach myself from all contagious stressors at Columbia, I am not immune to the unrelenting pathogen.

To put it another way, I love not having a care in the world. I love being a kid during summer vacation. And I guess it will be a luxury that is less common in real life a few years down the line. I aim to 'save the world', and that is not an idle endeavor. The days will be long. The nights will be short. The pool of youth will soon be closing.

But, to me, daily miracles and incredible people will make these some of the best parts of life.

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Tomorrow in the real world will be amazing.

I have no idea what to expect tomorrow.

JPEG Masterpiece Theatre

Yesterday was a slightly serious post. Thus, by blog-rules, today must be a completely unrelated non-sequituer designed with the sole purpose of making you laugh. I literally have no idea what the point of this post is. It's like a James Joyce novel, or the Republican party.

1. First, we have a piece combining my two favorite things, pandas and gratuitous violence. The World Wildlife Fund sued the World Wrestling Federation for the rights to the acronym WWF. Environmentalism FROM THE TOP ROPE!:


2. Oh, Louisiana. I am as permeable to your creole charms as your levees are to sea level rise from global warming. If 40 Year-Old Virgin was set in the Bayou:


3. Interesting fact: Darth Vader thinks the health care bill should cover telepathic choking. THAT COMMUNIST!:


That's what she said! AMIRITE? Wait, what's going on? PANDA LIGHT SABER DISTRACTION:



4. Evolution is clearly a myth. How do I know this? Monkeys throw their feces. I mean, what humans do that? Glenn Beck talking out of his ass doesn't count. Oh, he throws his feces, too? Well, I'm sure said poop does not stink because, like all Republicans, he sustains himself on the tears of the innocent. The tears have electrolytes! IT'S WHAT EGOMANIACAL DOUCHEBAGS CRAVE! (obscure movie reference)


5. Whenever I watch football games, I stare at the sidelines. The jiggling and gyrating is awe-inspiring. Sometimes, they will even do a sexy dance. No, I am not talking about the cheerleaders; I am talking about the lineman. Professional athletes with 35% bodyfat? Yes, please:


Surprisingly, unlike celestial bodies with that much mass, light can escape from his orbit. Sadly, babies cannot.

6. Last, and most certainly least, it is time for blasphemy. "Ray, if someone asks if you're a God......you say YES!":



Ayn Rand thinks that is harsh.

Training:
Sunday: AM-4 mile warm up, 6x800 hard, 3 mile cool down
PM-4 miles super easy
Monday: 11 miles easy

Running Foundation for Multi-sport Athletes

I used to be scared of running. As recently as July, every race carried with it the risk of running out of gas (tangentially related video below! "You can't get loose, without that juice"). A too fast first mile, or a heart rate spike could doom my race before it even started. At Nationals in April, a 10:08 first 2 miles put me in the red zone, and extreme stomach cramps induced a DNF shortly after. I always attributed failures like this to the gluten allergy, or pre-race failures in preparation. In reality, it was so much simpler than that. It merely took a debilitating injury to figure it out.


At the Scar Top Mountain 12k in Colorado on July 4th, I placed third behind 2 runners on the US Mountain Running Team. It was actually a quality race (the header picture above is from the finish), but afterward I could not walk. My low back was so painful that I could not put weight on my left leg. Watching fireworks is one of my favorite traditions. That night, I couldn't even get out of the car.

What I thought was a fractured sacrum turned out to be a simple imbalance in my right hip that caused over-rotation on my left side, inflaming the SI joint and pinching a nerve. An outstanding chiropractor in Boulder, Dr. Larry Frieder, put me back together. What he said though, changed everything. After looking at my race results and seeing the first place finishes, he commented that the particular SI injury is usually only seen in beginners. What was my weekly mileage?

Simply put, I had been outrunning my training, and this led to injury and some horrific races. MOST MULTI-SPORT ATHLETES HAVE THIS PROBLEM! Our cardiovascular systems are so strong, and our aerobic engines so powerful from the other disciplines, that our bodies are not prepared for the relative pounding of running. After that diagnosis in July, I made a conscious decision to change my training approach. I had built a house on a bad foundation, and was attempting to apply window dressing without addressing the real issue. 25 MILES A WEEK IS FAR TOO LITTLE FOR A COMPETITIVE ATHLETE!

The lesson for me, and of this post, is to increase mileage. This means slowing down in training and focusing on form. Do EASY two-a-days where 4 miles take 30 minutes (or 35, or 40). Running is starkly different than cycling---you cannot fake running. I increased from 25 to 50 to 70 miles per week running, eliminating all real speed work in the process. The house I built was torn down, because the foundation had to be reconstructed. Yesterday, I did my first real speed work since the injury--6x800m in a 2:10 average. But even without the advantage of faster runs, I set the course record by 1:20 on the first run at American Zofingen, and ran a 15:41 5k. For most multisport athletes (like me), faster running is nearly unnecessary. (said another way by Tower of Power: Funk the Dumb Stuff!)


So the lesson of this post is to slow down. Focus on form. And most importantly, increase mileage. Training is not supposed to be a race simulation; training should PREPARE you for racing better. Run by feel. Lose the Garmin. Run organically, increasing speed when you feel good, and slowing down on bad days. Because the main thing with running is time on your feet. No matter what, do not waste time/risk injury fixing the roof if the foundation is crumbling.