Blame Canada

So I received an email 2 days ago from a reader in Canada, who basically guaranteed I would get some type of injury by the end of the week. As with anything said by a person from USA's largest national park, there are only 3 potential responses*:

1. Stop doing those things to that poor, defenseless polar bear.......I apologize, I was just informed that she is your wife.

2. Molson Light probably does not make the best infant formula. I recommend regular Molson lager, unless you want little Gretzky to grow up and become a curler.

3. You're probably right, but I want to use this last week in Colorado to test my limits and explore. Thanks so much for the email. You're smart for a syrup-sucker.**

To a masochist.

*Responses 1 and 2 may be exaggerations of the truth.
**Last sentence is implied in all conversations with literate Canadians.

Anyway, the reader (who is awesome for emailing, I really appreciate it) was correct, and the left knee was very painful yesterday. I was able to jog 4 miles before going to Red Rocks to see a Taj Mahal/Lyle Lovett concert. Unfortunately, it rained. Fortunately, I became nearly hypothermic by the final song, which is like icing the knee FROM THE INSIDE.

This is the face Jack probably made when he contemplated letting go of the floating door.

So I felt pretty good today, and experimented with a bunch of different loops around Nederland. TECHNOLOGY COMING AT YOU:

Ummm....I can't think of anything remotely suggestive that this looks like. Maybe a stapler if you squint hard enough. Which I guess isn't suggestive, unless you're a very, very enthusiastic employee of Staples.

For the week, the 16.36 plus the 4 yesterday put the total at 81. With 2 days remaining and a bit of a bum knee*, 120 is probably out of reach.

*GET A JOB KNEE!

That being said, it's been a really fun experiment. I love running, and I've always wondered what it'd be like to run without worrying too much about the bike. This week has given me the answer to that question: an awesome, exhilarating experience until someone gets hurt. But not before that someone gets outsmarted by a Canadian.

Sadly, I'm leaving CO for Duke on Monday. I will miss the people and places of Colorado, but it is so exciting to be moving on to a new experience; especially one that will hopefully allow me to make a positive difference in the future of the world. Well, most of the world. In the future, after sufficient amounts of global warming, Canadians will no longer exist because the melting of their hockey rinks will take away the only reason they had to not be Americans.

P.S. I love you Canada. Sorry about the jokes--the knee currently does not bend and I needed to take it out on someone.

The Third Day

I wasn't too sure what to expect today. Will my legs be able to respond after 45 miles in two days? Could I do 120 miles over the course of a week? They say no shirt, no shoes, no service.....will my pantslessness be tolerated?

The answers to all those questions proved to be yes. The run was amazing, and while I haven't yet attempted to check out the book, I assume that the librarians in the People's Republic of Boulder will understand that the only way to read The Audacity of Hope is 100% commando. Anyway, today's run traveled up to the Continental Divide, providing an exquisite glimpse into the beauty of Colorado, and also the great gifts of nature. I want to use this blog post to take you on a journey up the trail, with nothing but curiosity and a camera.

The ran began at Hessie Trailhead outside of Nederland (20 miles from Boulder) with a slowly ascending trail alternating between meadow and forest.

We're here, we're taking pictures of flowers, get used to it.

After 4 miles, the trail began to approach the Continental Divide, with a quick detour to King Lake.

Quick break to do some open-water practice.

Now it was time to go up in earnest. This is also what Earnest overheard just before his colonoscopy.

The sound you just heard was the simultaneous dry heaving of every female blog-reader.

About 7 miles in, a beautiful, rolling trail traversed the Continental Divide around 12,000 feet. It was called Lonesome Trail. There is a picture of the trail sign pointing at me, but shit got too real to post that.

That is my dad. He is a monster. At least that's what small children say.

Next was a trip off the Divide on Devil's Thumb Trail. I didn't know Rush Limbaugh had extremities in such high places.

THOSE FLOWERS ARE FREAKING HUGE!

About 10 miles in, a very still pond sat beside the trail. Now, this was one of the cooler things I have seen, so I wanted to share an altered photo with you. The reflections of trees on the opposite bank were so clear that flipping the camera resulted in an eerie, ghost-like scene.

I think I read about this shit in Goosebumps.

After 12 miles, we left the exposed valley. But how do I know which way the trail is???????

No shit.

Finally, a few miles from the trailhead, the trail meandered through meadows and trees before skirting Boulder Creek. Off the trail 200 feet was a waterfall, and because I am so freaking masculine, I climbed into a cave in its underbelly. Luckily there were no flowers in the cave, or that previous sentence would be immediately refuted.

It's water. It's falling. SHINY OBJECT.

Arriving back at the car with the post-run euphoria, I paused. We sometimes complicate athletics; shit, we sometimes complicate life. But, taking just a moment to pause and look a little bit closer, one thing is simple and clear:

Life is amazing.

3 day total:
60.6 miles (51% of weekly goal)

Hmmm....it is either an old lady, a beautiful young woman, or a nipple.

Did you make it this far??? Well, you are officially a winner. PENIS FLOWER PRIZE TIME:

Suggested Comment: This is what happens to Dave when he sees flowers.

The 120 Mile Week Experiment

I recently discovered a new source of comical whimsy---the Stats page provided by blogger. First, a surprisingly robust number of people stumbled upon this website in the past month. Granted, the 10th highest referrer over that 30 day period is a Google search for "Masculine Athletes". Apparently I was the 6th result on that search for a period of time in early July, sandwiched by GayJockCentral and GaySexBot. While notably describing the websites most frequented by the offices of Republican Senators opposed to gay marriage, that sandwich also usually costs a few thousand dollars.*

*Not that I would know.

A couple more notes:
1. Putting GAYJOCKCENTRAL and GAYSEXBOT in the body of this post probably means 100 extra hits. This gets me internet points that can be cashed in for a Hello Kitty stuffed animal.
2. MEGAN FOX IS TOTALLY NAKED AND HERE IS A PICTURE XXX
3. Beauty And Change is relatively huge in New Zealand. I can only assume this is due to a shared love of the fourth most popular guitar-based digi-bongo acapella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo. Also, we both drink and make love to alpacas to deal with crippling loneliness.


Moving on, yesterday was the beginning of an athletic experiment to run 120 miles in a week. It all began with a morning 16 miles with just under 3000 feet of elevation gain.

THE BLOG IS GOING HIGH TECHNOLOGY! LIKE AOL! OR PONG!

That felt really good, so a 7 mile evening run was added (with about 1,000 feet of change). Then today happened and quickly taught me a lesson. Having read the blog of famous ultra-runner Tony Krupika, and being friends with Lucho (a world-class triathlete transitioning to trail running), it is easy to forget just how remarkable they are. I mention that because, on today's run, I got lost. Luckily, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is one of my favorite books, so I took the advice on the cover:

But boy did I run for a long time (my longest ever by distance/time). I realize now where I made the wrong turn--it was stupid, and this is the profile that results from stupidity:

My legs....they are no more

A couple interesting things stand out: 1) that straight up section 6 miles in---an early wrong turn that would foreshadow.......2) 10 miles in was where the loop trail connected. I went left instead of right. This is the first time I have disagreed with being left on any issue. Finally, and perhaps most glaring, is that the run finished at a lower elevation than it started. Why? Because I hitchhiked up the last 1/2 mile hill to the cabin.


Moral of the story: guys like Tim and Anton are freaking incredible. I can run fast (sometimes), but they combine that with a power of will and physical endurance that is truly admirable. They truly are MASCULINE ATHLETES. WITH GLISTENING PECTORAL MUSCLES. LOCKER ROOM SHOWER SCENE.


2-day running total:
44.8 miles (37% of the way to 120)

Paging Dr. Canklestein

Man, can't believe I forgot to post the ankle pics yesterday. I mean, I assume my following includes at least a dozen people that are into 500 pound women with vericose veins. Unless I'm the only one. PERHAPS THIS IS WHAT MY MOM MEANT WHEN SHE SAID I WAS SPECIAL. This must be what Neo felt like in the Matrix. But instead of stopping bullets, I go to water aerobics classes to pick up women.

Without further ado:

Girl, you like feet?

It's a black/blue colorblind test! I AM SO PUBLIC SERVICE ORIENTED. In all seriousness, it looks WAY worse than it feels. Was able to climb 12 miles round trip to James Peak the day after, and do my first real CO long run today. How long? 3 hours. HEAL THYSELF:

The chick with the shaved legs thinks you have a nice smile.

In a really cool development, nearly all of the swelling left during the long run. I ran up past Caribou Pass, where a natural spring allowed me to fill my bottle a few times. It was one of those transcendent experiences where the distinction between mind, body, and surroundings became so blurred that each passing step manifests itself as in a natural flow, rather than exertion. I'm not 100% positive on the evolutionary development of running, or the health benefits. But on a day like today, one thing is very clear:

If this isn't perfect, I don't know what is.

Crap, ventured into the realm of sentimentality yet again. You know what this needs? A FUCKING FLOWER PICTURE:

The mountain kinda looks like a nipple.

Thinking about the last few posts, people that only know me through the blog probably think very bad things about me as a human being. We cannot have that. TIME FOR SOME REAL DOUCHEBAGS:

Natural selection is officially disproven.

Just kidding of course, this looks like tons of fun. Granted, the odds that these people will one day vote for Sarah Palin are disturbingly high. Rednecks--Voting Republican since 1964.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and hope everything is really great. If anyone is in Durham from mid-August on (or Boulder for the next week!), shoot me an email anytime. Especially if your cankles can cause a full eclipse.

A F***ing Blog Post

Due to some extenuating circumstances (FUN PICS LATER IN THE POST), 5 calendar days have passed without a post. Was I at the beach? FUCK NO I WASN'T. The beach is my Water-loo. And by that I mean I vacate my bowels in the ocean. Usually when standing next to the prettiest girl around. Phermones and all that jazz.

As repayment, I will tell you about my favorite game to take any normal, boring sentence with an excess curse word, and turn it into a source of fun for the whole family. These are the only rules:

1. Take the word fucking, and change it from an adjective to a verb.
2. ........
3. PROFIT!!!

As an example, here is a mundane piece of information about baseball:
-This really young guy had a lot of potential, but the fucking Padres abused him.

Now, turn the excess curse word into a verb:
-This really young guy had a lot of potential, but the fucking Padres abused him.

CALL THE AUTHORITES! But not the fucking authorities, because they are busy right now.

Anyway, a great friend visited from New York this weekend, and it was perfect timing because I needed some time off from intense training. Of course, because we are so intensely masculine, we visited Lake Isabel for a trail run on Saturday.

Jumping off of rocks into an 11,000 foot lake---NOT RECOMMENDED

Oh, the good old-fashioned innocence of youth. This was before I spontaneously developed what appears to be a blue ostrich egg where my ankle used to be. FLEX FOR THE CAMERA DAVE:

Gratutious male nudity is a theme of any good weekend, right?

Later that day, we tubed in Boulder Creek and went to bars in town. Line of the night: (said by very charismatic friend to hostess at BJ's) "We are either here to go to the bar, or hit on you--whichever you would like." She proceeded to swoon. Clearly my friend is much better looking than I am.

SUNSET ATTACK:

Sky, you're doing this color thing wrong.

On Sunday, I woke up to a very special surprise. Apparently, I was an expecting mother. And, on an even cooler note, my uterus is located in my ankle. BUT THE SHOW MUST GO ON. So we went to James Peak (13,300 feet):

Local high point on the Continental Divide.

Dad came along for the ride, and was in the mood to crush some dreams up the trail:

The snowbank looks like a penis. I AM SO ARTISTIC.

From the top, there was a trail of flowers along the Continental Divide:

The snow banks trace a line along the Divide. We can only assume each and every one of them is obscenely phallic.

This is just the beginning of story time from this weekend! But we'll get into those in future days. For now, we end with some whimsy from the Rollinsville thrift shop:

Less Bites More Kisses??? DOES THIS WORK FOR FIRST DATES??

This series of magazines will be on my coffee table at Duke. It is completely dedicated to ferrets. But not fucking ferrets. That is reserved for the very special swimsuit issue.

Bone Dreamcrusher Goes INTO THE WILD

Bros, things are getting a little weird around here. First, Dave does shittily in a race when he decides that yours truly, BONE DREAMCRUSHER, ain't good enough. Then, he starts taking pictures of flowers. I can only assume each and every one is a pansy. So basically he is doing self-portraits.

Anyway, I just picked up his camera to look at the pictures he took today. Unsurprisingly, his camera is purple. And after seeing more nature shots, I would be shocked if it didn't also have a vibrating attachment. Apparently he went to Coal Creek Canyon and did an hour of off-trail journeying. Time to make fun of him and his stupid pictures:

What is that, a flower?? Too bad it's too fragile for long-distance travel, or your sisterhood would probably send those instead of pants.

Ooohhh, it looks like he got down on his knees for this one. That's probably a position he's familiar with.

It appears to be a white flower against a black, charred tree--all in black and white. Hey Picasso, you are as subtle as an anal fissure.

That looks like James Peak, framed in a fire-gouged canyon. And is that the film grain effect?? It looks like some asshole forgot to wipe dirt off the lens.

I guaran-freaking-tee that he likes the band Coldplay.

Another one of those things? In this light, it looks like a dandelion had sex with a glow stick.

Haha, this wasn't Dave. But after looking at that album, where is the alpaca when you really need him?

P.S. More serious captions in the album on my facebook page--I'd love you to friend me if you are a reader. Hope things are great!

The Little Things

I have begun carrying a camera whenever I can. The inspiration to look at the world a bit more closely mainly comes from two blogger friends. Tim (as most of my readers would know) is an awesome athlete who often takes a handheld on his long runs, and shows us the diverse beauty within reach when a run is focused on the journey rather than the destination. Brian is another great runner/triathlete who has an amazing talent for photography.

Symmetry in red:

I love nature---I studied environmental science in college, and am attending law school to hopefully make a positive difference in the future of the natural world. But sometimes I focus too much on the big picture. Mountain vistas and stunning sunsets are beautiful; however, the true beauty of nature is in the delicate intricacies that create the wide-angle jigsaw of a landscape.

Framed by pine:

So yesterday I took the little camera over the trail where I usually do my easy 5 mile evening runs. This is not some foreign, exotic place---this is a course I've ran a hundred times. But I have never stopped to admire the beauty in the little things. Sometimes you need to wander off the trail to see what you are missing.

Running through the aspens:


A forest in purple and blue:


Egg yolk center:


Into the sunset:


And just so you don't think I didn't go soft, a mountain that looks like a face:

It's a chick who is turned on by my sensitivity, I'm sure of it.

Finally, with Jessica Alba eyes:

I'm pretty sure she's out of my league.

West Side Duathlon Race Report (the Failblog)

Overall:
Usually I only write reports for good races. But that is somewhat misleading. I mean, if we didn't write about annoyingly shitty things, we'd be left without any reporting on the Tea Party, along with the spontaneous disappearance of every novel ever written by Ernest Hemingway.*

*On second thought, this may be a good thing.

Anyway, was 12th overall and the 4th overall non-pro. To summarize just how bad things went, I was beaten by someone in the next wave (2 minutes back). Who was 45. For his sake, I hope dream-crushing is tax-deductible and supported by AARP.

Pre-Race:
The last few weeks have been a really solid block of training at altitude. Though perhaps I should stop taking my camera on runs, because I stop whenever picture opportunities arise:


This clear evidence of an estrogen flash-flood through my veins might, in retrospect, be an explanation for the poor race performance. With that in mind, woke up at 3:30 AM to put on my sports-bra and apply some mascara before heading to the race site. Approaching the registration tent, a really cool thing happened. Matt (a great guy) said, "You're Dave Roche, right? I read your blog!" While I was very flattered, I slowly backed away from the blog-reader. Dude, it's similar to supporting something you really shouldn't as a man, such as the music of Taylor Swift, or women's suffrage (WOMEN SHOULDN'T SUFFER!). Don't admit it in public, people will think less of you.

Set-up transition, warmed-up, and smiled for the paparazzi. Or perhaps they were race photographers. After Matt's comment, I'm guessing they were just looking for a chance to shoot my tri-jersey side-boob. THOSE VULTURES!

First Run:
Looking back, I lost this race before it even began. I had decided to go out super easy on the first run, in order to save energy. But this conservative strategy was a cop-out; in retrospect, it was cowardly. As a result of the lackadaisical approach, the leader gained over 1 minute in the first 5.5 km run. Yes, I was still totally fresh, but this is a race! I probably left about 2:30 on the course in that first leg. This is about the amount of time it takes Mel Gibson to recommend sexual relations with a jacuzzi, along with what exactly he will do.......after you blow him, of course.


Bike:
Came into transition third in the age-group race (1st in 20-24), and was ready to fly on the bike. But before I could fly, I was stung by a bee. And after I saw how this would bee, I let out a LO-CUS(t). OTHER INSECT PUNS!*

*Ladies, if that turned you on as much as it must have, I will give you a call.**

**But blow me first.

Anyway, I was generally happy with the bike. I caught the leader on the first of two laps, and felt like I was putting in a quality time (didn't have aero wheels in CO). Then, coming into transition, I made a wrong turn. I have seen enough horror movies to know that, once I realized I made a wrong turn, I could do a 180 and accept the time loss, or be used as chainsaw-accuracy practice by a family of inbred mutants (this mainly applies to races in Texas). The lost time was totally my fault, and was the ultimate piece of in-race stupidity. Well, at least I remembered to drink water on the bike.....


Second Run:
NOT!!!! Yes, my bottle popped out (also my fault) and I forgot to drink. While being something Lindsay Lohan would never say, the previous sentence also [partially] explains the weak second run. I don't remember much of it, other than running through a lawn sprinkler about 1.5 miles in. Finishing the jog doing my own interpretation of a wet t-shirt contest (in this contest, everyone is a loser), I was passed by the previous leader, along with the 45 year-old stud.

So the time wasn't great, the performance was rather weak, but I am left with a valuable learning experience. 1) Don't lose focus 2) Never sell yourself short 3) Respect your competitors*

*Especially if they blow you first

A Welcome Visitor

So there is a huge race this weekend! The West Side Duathlon attracts some top pro athletes with a few thousand dollar prize purse, and I really think I'm ready to compete for the podium in the elite race. But to fully recover and perform to the best of my abilities, I need to carb-load, to eat enough to be satisfied...

(pantry cabinet opens)

(candles spontaneously light while Barry White plays in the background)



Salsabol: Did someone say they need........to be satisfied?

Dave: Ummm, what the fuck is going on?

Salsabol: Oh, did you forget about the shipment you received for free from Salsabol, I was recommended by your friend Brendan, who I have known............intimately.

Dave: You look like a ceramic bowl shaped by Captain Hook, if he had debilitating Parkinson's.

Salsabol: Oh Dave, your naive comments are understandable from a hungry child. But me, a jar of salsa, and a bag of chips will show you what it means to be......a satisfied man.

Dave: Are you trying to seduce me, Salsabol? I wouldn't even know how to use you!

Salsabol: Relax with this glass of Courvoisier while I show you...

(Salsabol appears on a white stallion)

Look at your bowl, now back to me, now look at your bowl, now back at me. Sadly, your bowl isn't me, but if he had my ergonomically designed curves and scientifically-proven shape, he could be as perfect for salsa-dipping as me. Look down, back up, where are you? You're at a party, where everyone is spilling their salsa with the bowl your bowl could be like.


Look again, I'm filled with salsa. You are eating the salsa, now with a beautiful woman. You have never been so satisfied.

Dave: Those must not have been regular mushrooms at lunch.

Salsabol: You're right, those were hardcore hallucinogenics. But they have opened your mind, and your heart, to the next frontier of chip-dipping.

Dave: Oh my god, you're right. This is amazing. I don't know how I lived without the Salsabol. Thanks so much, you really are a friend.

Salsabol: Yes, I will be there for you. Now, after all I've done for you, it's time for.......reciprocation.

Dave: Of course Salsabol, I'll tell all my readers to buy you for $12.97 at this website.

Salsabol: Actually, I had something else in mind. NOW DROP YOUR PANTS.

Lost and Found

It began at a landmark---a place the boy could come back to. Then it went up. At each junction in the trail, he took the rockier, less-traveled path. Having no idea where he was, or where he was going, the boy found himself scaling a craggy cliff. It was not easy; it certainly wasn't what he expected at the beginning of the afternoon jog. But after a bit of getting lost, he ended up exactly where he should have been. Looking back a hundred yards from Royal Arch, completely alone gazing down over the abyss, I realized it took getting lost to find where I wanted to go.

He began at a landmark---a place he vowed never to return to. Up to this point, his entire life had been an uphill battle. As a 25 year-old gangbanger in Newark, New Jersey, every decision he made was expected. An impartial outsider could know exactly where he was going---from drug deals and drive-by's down a well-marked trail to an early grave. It was easy; it was expected of a poor black man from the inner city. But then he decided to take control of his own destiny---he got lost. Has anyone been on this path before? He had no idea where he was going. But in getting lost, he found himself in Boulder, Colorado.

18 years later, the lost boy from Newark is now a man. You would be amazed to see him walk down the street! Parents introduce their kids to Marvin--Son, this is the best person I know. But on this day, he isn't walking down the street. He is staring down on the city, out over the abyss. From below, the faint echo of scattering rocks grabs his attention. Suddenly, a shirtless kid appears on the rock face. As the boy makes the final step, he sees the man. Where am I? The man doesn't say anything at first---the two silhouettes stand side-by-side in silence, looking out over the majestic landscape they have conquered. They both got lost, 18 years apart, and ended up in the same place. The man finally responds......You are where you're supposed to be.

And he smiles.