Beauty and Change

Uwharrie Mountain Run 20-Mile Race Report

2012-02-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

Long story short:
If I were a salmon, I would probably spawn in a latrine. An outdoor latrine without plumbing. I am creative with directional ineptitude.

Warning: I probably taste like asparagus pee smells.

Short Story Longer:
Basically, took the Uwharrie 20-Miler (1st race in 2012 La Sportiva Mountain Cup) out pretty quickly, deciding to let the cards fall where they may. The card house quickly crumbled as I made a minor off-course detour in the first mile. But just as this city was built on rock and roll (Ed. clarification: roooooOOOOOLLLL), my Uwharrie card house was built on rocks and rolls, so I got back on track, bounded over some boulders, and fell a few times on my way to a 5ish minute lead, ahead of Ryan Woods and Patrick Reaves.

The 8-mile finish line passed in 53:48 (would have been a course record in that race, in the same way that I would be really sick right now if the post-race hot chocolate was actually runny poop). I really felt great going hard on the super technical trails--I feel as if a lot of things came together in those first 13 miles. Joy and suffering. Peanut butter and jelly. Ebony and Ivory. Etcetera and stop this rhetorical gimmick before I punch you in the freaking face.

This was especially frustrating because it fell on the same week when those "Free Boob Inspector" beach shirts gained, then lost, political relevance.

Medium story Mediumest:
So I'm running along, with a nice lead built up, when I suddenly wind up on a fire road. Then start seeing hunting signs. Then keep running, because my mom never denied having an extremely unreliable baby-grip. By the time I turned around and retraced my steps, somewhere between 4 minutes and an eternity had passed. Fortunately, the amazing runner Ryan Woods and the awesome^(handsome x athletic) Patrick Reaves came up on me just as I found the trail.

After, Ryan said he got varying time splits from 4:30 to 8 min, though the upper end of that spectrum is probably by spectators who are blog readers and are looking out for their homeboy. I tried to hang, but I was a pansy, and backed off after attempting one hard surge off the front. I proceeded to jalk/wog in to the finish, trying to save my legs for another day. Of course, my legs invested heavily in Freddie Mac in those first 13, so those savings currently look like a hot chocolate cup filled with poo.

Anyway, Ryan won and Patrick was second, both having awesome races. In fact, even with that lead, I am almost positive Ryan would have crushed my dreams on the final long climb. He looked great, and I could feel the fatigue creeping into my loins. Which, Fatigue, is a greatly appreciated place to creep. Just be more gentle next time.

First Google Image result for "loins". Probably for the best.

All in all, a super fun race put on by super fun/great people with a super fun amount of post-race lukewarm chocolate. Next up, training for an attempt (I should probably add emphasis to that word) at a 4-min mile (or whatever the Communists say the 1500 equivalent is). You make a right turn on the second and fourth laps, right?

P.S. You guys are awesome. Shannon and Karen made my freaking life out there on the course, with the absolute best cheers I have ever heard. Guys, if your 40-mile times were equivalent to your amazingness, you would run negative one gagillion minutes.

P.P.S. I don't mean that you are really bad, negative people, just that negative one gagillion is an amazing time.

P.P.P.S. Getting off-trail was totally my fault, and the race directors did an incredible job putting on such an epic event.

Little River Trail 10-Miler Race Report

2012-01-16T07:15:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:00:57 (7:34 margin on 15:30 5k'er Mitch McLeod). The course wound around so tightly that the race map looked like a constricted small intestine. Fortunately, I was the quickest undigested corn kernel on the day, finishing a couple minutes up on my intestinal course record from last year. Unfortunately, the all-time digestive tract record is still held by The Magic Schoolbus.

Magic Schoolbus unions are ruining this country.

Pre-Race:
Things have been great since my last blog post about a month-and-a-half ago. Law school winter break came and went, I got in a bunch of training/adventures with a perfect girl over the holidays, and was endlessly entertained by the possibility of President Gingrich. Alas, law school is back in session, the holidays are over, and a resurrection of Newt's candidacy would require a phoenix-like rise from the ashes of his anti-charisma. Unfortunately for the Speaker, upon rising from the ashes, he would be charred to a golden brown. When Newt sees his new color, he will either eat himself with gravy, or write himself off as a lazy welfare recipient.

Another candidate is in a similar situation, but no one wants to deal with golden brown Santorum.

Anyway, training has really taken off over the last month. January marked 15 months since I stopped biking seriously, and I feel like the running base is really taking hold. The hope is to run close to a 4-minute mile this spring, so the goal has been to taste pennies twice a week. This usually requires a super hard workout, though watching a Republican debate or Tebow's throwing motion also works.

Unrelated, but always relevant.

After a few hill workouts to get ready for the trails, I traveled to Little River for the biggest trail race in the region. Megan was on the trails early to get in a workout, and I am very happy she wasn't racing, because it would be embarrassing to get trounced by someone who wears size 6 shoes. Seriously, she is the best athlete I have ever seen (better right now than I will ever be), and it was so motivating to know I would be following over her footsteps. Her extremely small footsteps. Walking a mile in her shoes would be a difficult task for a Barbie.

At 9 AM, the 500 10-milers toed the line (a group that included the awesome Scott, Alicia, Shannon, and Anthony). AND THEY'RE OFF!

Trail shoes are essential.

Race:
One of the most important parts of any race is having a good, motivational song stuck in your head. Because that song will repeat. And repeat. And peat-re. And rat pee. Until you go crazy and purposely run into a sharp object. Sadly for myself and for sharp objects' peace of mind, my brain usually makes a beeline straight towards Miley Cyrus, or a particularly catchy jingle used by a local car dealer. At Little River, without ample warning or good reason, it was the following:

You can tell that law school has started because I just whipped out a colon. However/Whereas/Therewith/May it please Honorable Judge Judy, I hadn't heard Weird Al's White and Nerdy for a few years, but my brain still saw fit to completely eliminate any chance I had of taking myself seriously. That slim chance was further microfied by a big, fancy-pants law school event earlier in the week, where a friend saw that I had tucked my dress shirt into my boxers. As any friend would, he reminded me of my wardrobe malfunction by giving me an atomic wedgie. So perhaps my subconscious was giving me a signal with the song choice. If only Weird Al had made "Pooping in the USA", things would have been perfect.

The fact that this guy is on the receiving end of a wedgie makes more sense now, doesn't it?

The first mile was all downhill on roads and bridle trails, and I hit the split in just under 4:30. The plan was to go hard until the super technical stuff began, so I focused on pumping my arms and pushing to the edge for the first 4 miles. As the trail began to get ridiculous, thoughts of speed were replaced with thoughts of urgency. I attempted to sprint out of every 180 degree turn, while resisting the urge to do sweet ollies off of the mountain bike jumps.

To be honest, most of the race is a blur. The sun was shining beautifully through the bare trees, the forest was still and placid, and the thoughts were White and Nerdy. What I do remember, though, is seeing footprints in the few muddy sections, and seeing pine needles scattered softly up the trail. Knowing that there was only one other runner up ahead made each of those sights so inspiring. It gave everything perspective.

Sometimes, whether sitting at a desk, or doing another mile on the treadmill, or eating the same boring breakfast, it can be easy to feel trapped, or lost. Life can be constricting, the world can feel small, and deep thoughts can become choking curses. The flip side to introspection can be asphyxiation, the answer to Why can be tears. I never really talked about it, but at times, I felt that way in New York City. My perspective was through a soot-stained tailpipe. My response to why was to cry--inside tears, the manly way, but the feeling was just as real. Crossing the finish line at Little River, I felt lost, but a different type of lost, and just for a moment. My eyes darted side-to-side, suddenly finding a beautiful smile a couple feet away. Ducking under the caution tape to hug that other runner who had blazed the trail before me...well, that put everything in perspective.

Perspective is powerful. Hugging that other runner, anything is possible. Why? Why not.

And we run off into the sunset at 4 minute pace.

Run at the Rock 14 Mile Race Report

2011-12-03T10:57:00.001-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:20:13. Around the 10-mile mark, the trail was winding over rocks and roots and streams, back in the middle-of-nowhere in the forest. It was peaceful...serene even. Just as I began to lose focus, I turn a sharp corner, and the trail straightens out for 50 yards. At the end of the corridor was a man, in a baseball catcher's crouch, waiting for me as if I was a screwball. He is stoically silent, until I get within a few feet, when suddenly he yells, "GOOOOOOOO GET EM, CAT DAAAADDDAY!"

So I went, attempting to go get someone. Because one thing I know is that when someone asks if you are a God, you say yes. A new corollary to that is when someone calls you Cat Daddy and conveys his guttural urges very loudly, you attempt to heed his wishes.

Duck Daddy.

Pre-Race:
Law school finals studying is a great taper. I curl up with a nice book on environmental regulations, and before I know it, my legs feel alive. Primarily because, after reading environmental regulations, it is impossible not to repeatedly stab your legs with a ballpoint pen. The gushing blood makes me feel like a kid again!

Environmental Law makes exactly this much sense.

After a perfect Thanksgiving with Megan, I came back to campus refreshed. A few hard workouts, an easy day, a bunch of stab wounds, and it was suddenly race day! Run at the Rock was the last race on the NC Half-Marathon Series, which I somehow was in position to win. With the pride, the glory, and the groupies, comes 300 bucks for the winner. I told them that I thought that was a lot of deer for one person, but they insisted. (grrrooooan)

Jogged around, said hi to some awesome people at the race (WoooHOOO Karen!), and toed the line. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I left my shirt on. For the first time in as long as I can remember, spectators did not puke in my general direction. Haha, spectators, joke is on you. I had lots of fiber for dinner, and wiping with leaves after a forest pit-stop just acts to spread the fecal matter.

For those playing blog bingo at home, you can check off the box for "Poo Joke." I actually think that is Free Space.

AND THEY'RE OFF!

POOOOOOdle.

Race:
Based on my dancing, extremely Caucasian.

Anyway, great, handsome (single? with a spare lock of hair?) guy Ben Godfrey took off in well under 5-minute pace. Why so fast? I asked as I came up to him, breathing heavily. Why not? he replied easily. EXISTENTIAL DREAM CRUSHING.

After he took a two-step wrong turn, I slipped by and began to push a bit on the single track. A mile in, his breathing vanished, most likely as he vigorously earmarked Kierkegaard. In the interest of full disclosure, I looked up Existentialism to make that reference. Though I did wear a Columbia beanie to the start line, so the misplaced intellectual pretentiousness was still dripping from my forehead.

I give a fuck about an Oxford comma.

Or that may have been fecal matter! Leaves are very inefficient. Aside from being rough on sensitive areas, leaves covered up obstacles on the trail. I use a controlled falling descending style, which was like playing ankle Russian Roulette on the rocky sections. I got lucky repetitively, especially on the creek crossings. Early on, I still felt spry and sprightly, avoiding sprains while spraying spralliteration. Crap, think I messed that up. Sprorry!

The course was really up and down, with lots of mud and rocks. At first, I tried to delicately prance over the trail, until, on one creek crossing, I delicately pranced right into some quickmud. When the mud eventually released the shoe, the laces were undone. My foot and ankle pores, however, were totally exfoliated. After that, each creek crossing resulted in one of those Rex Ryan mud baths. It was super fun to splash through the woods on a beautiful day, and I came through the 7 mile halfway point in 38:58.

My condolences to awesome photographer/person Shannon. This angle probably left her permanently scarred.

The only problem with the race was that their choice of start line music left "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO stuck in my head. By lap 2, the chorus had continually looped in my cerebellum about 6,000 times, and I would have become a puppy serial killer to make it stop. New rule: the song played right before the start cannot be anything that would best be introduced by Ryan Seacrest.

Anyway, felt really good on the second loop, with Cat Daddy Man spurring a new urgency around mile 10. The technical sections became a good bit slower, so I attempted to drop the pace to 4:40 or so on the flats. Although the pace on the second 7 miles seemed glacial at times, the time was a few minute course record over a former US Trail Marathon champ. And I popped a little blood vessel in my eye! That could be from exertion. Or it could be from Party Rock Anthem.

Thanks so much, for everything. It was so amazing to spend time at the race with Karen, Ronnie, Kim, and Shannon. They are awesome, and the type of people I strive to be. That last sentence, and most of this post, was non-sensically awkward, and I apologize if reading it caused you to pop a blood vessel in your eye :) Hope things are absolutely perfect, you guys rock!

Fairmount Park 5 Mile Race Report

2011-11-20T13:54:00.001-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 24:25. They told me it was a course record, though I have been eating lots of Luna Bars and applying lots of Secret, so perhaps I should have asked whether they thought I sat down to pee. (Answer: Yes, because urinal cakes leave my backside feeling fresh). It is such an honor to have that distinction at a pretty well-known Philadelphia race! After getting the winner's turkey, I took a nibble of my Luna Bar and lactated in the air in celebration.

Women's nutrition bars turn my nipples into AK-47s.

Pre-Race:
I am going for two degrees in grad school (Environmental Science and Law), because that puts me 1/49th of the way to my favorite 90s band. A side effect of the Nick Lachey poster hanging above my bed is that I take a bunch of credits compared to some other people. Other people include Rick Perry and Snooki, along with many grad students. Those credits entail a good number of assignments. Like 8. I think 8 is a really good number. So my writing time is usually spent analyzing case law, or, like, thinking about the environment, man.

In conclusion:

90s pop music + Snooki + Rick Perry + Numbers and stuff = Less blog writing. Also, that is the first time Snooki and Rick Perry have been that close to a math problem. BURN! Like Snooki's skin and Rick Perry's state!

/bludgeons self with keyboard

Scientific Fact: Galileo discovered that Rick Perry's smile causes global warming.

Anyway, things have been awesome, and the few responsibilities of student life are a blast. Well, except for basic hygiene. I am a soap minimalist, like the cavemen. Speaking of rapidly spreading virulent bacteria, I passed the time driving home for Thanksgiving listening to Rush Limbaugh. Just so you know, global warming is a hoax, green energy is for pansies, and Herman Cain is one of the good ones.

One of the bad ones. You're in America, pizza man, and we will call you Daddy John.

Seeing my amazing family is always so great. After a Scrabble game where my number of points only exceeded my number of brain cells, Dad and I went to sleep in the same bed for the first time since I was a little kid. It was awesome, except for the fact that, with my eyes closed, my sensitivity to smell and sound was strengthened. It was like sleeping with a leaf blower that continually fans dysenteric horse manure. By treaty, Hans Blix is required to inspect his dutch ovens.

Waking up on Thanksgiving morning, we traveled to Philly for the 29th annual Fairmount Park 5-Mile. Fairmount attracts a crowd, which included my cousin and uncle! It was so inspiring to see them, and I actually felt a bit nervous warming up. After relieving those nerves in the bushes, the racers lined up, aiming towards the beautiful sunrise.

Thinking of family and friends, it was a truly spiritual, warm-and-fuzzy experience. I owe my family the world. My friends are some of the best people in the world. And thinking of the perfect adventure girl I was going to see over a mound of turkey and stuffing that evening, knowing that I found the absolute best of both worlds in one person....well, it was impossible to suppress a smile.

Our I-95 rest-stop guide from yesterday's post-Thanksgiving commute: punch in route to Google Maps, zoom out, look for green spots.

Try to aim your disgusted vomit away from the keyboard! I think that voids the warranty. Anyway, took off the shirt (promulgating even more vomit), toed the line, and peed myself, just a little. Maybe that explains the warm and fuzzy feeling I was talking about.

AND THEY'RE OFF! /pee splatters

Mhhhhmmmmm.....breasts.

Race:
After a frustrating race last Saturday (losing to newly-minted 14:17 road 5k-er Alex Varner), it felt so amazing to get out there and open up the legs on a day I felt great. 2 awesome-looking runners started with me, but the footsteps faded as I began a bit too fast. Out of courtesy, I should probably let other racers know that I have no conception of pace. That was reinforced as the digital mile-sign passed in 4:36, and we turned to have the sun at our backs.

Having the morning sun on my rear is great for a few reasons: (1) less brightness right in my eyes, and (2) that area probably needs to be disinfected. However, it is very bad when the sun displays my shadow in full contrast on the road. It looked like a person just beginning to fall down the stairs, or a plaster cast from Pompeii.

Kindred spirits.

Trying to catch that monstrosity in front of me on the road, I passed halfway (2-loop course) in 12:04. It felt super effortless, with only a bit of soreness in my calves and butt. I continued to lean forward, trying to stay smooth while cutting through the morning mist. It meant so much to have my brother Jesse at the race--I think part of the reason it felt so effortless was because I could hear his cheers. Also, it really made the start faster because getting away from his face is very motivating. Running-away-from-zombie speed.

Slaloming through some of the racers with a mile to go, everything felt perfect. After making a sharp left turn through some mud (though it was a two-loop course, so that might not have been mud), the finish line was in sight. High knees, pump arms, think about turkey, why is the sky blue?, oooh look a penny! SQUIRREL!

/darts off in wrong direction

I am very easily distracted. Anyway, was just over a minute ahead of my time from last year, but what was really awesome was getting to go give Jesse a sweaty hug. Well, a sweaty one-hand bro-hug, which says, "Yeah, I'm hugging you. But with the other hand, I insist on slapping the crap out of you."

Thanks so much, for everything :) A friend passed away too young the other week, and thinking back to his awesomeness gives perspective on what is really important. You guys are so great, and I hope your Thanksgiving was perfect in every way.

Medoc Mountain Trail 10-Miler Race Report

2011-10-15T11:48:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 57:38. This race is freaking awesome, a point embodied by the "trail names" on the bibs. I registered, so Dad was once again Nose Hair the Magnificent, while I went by my Native American name, Probably Smells like Poo. It turns out that I underestimated the olfactory presence of bodily fluids by 50%. Because there was vomit. Lots and lots of Green Rain Gatorade-flavored vomit. Of course, I'm an environmentalist so I recycled the Green Rain into dixie cups for the marathoners. No one could tell the difference.

I convinced my mom to use a shutter speed which would make turtles look fast.

Pre-Race:
I have been back for a bit over a week after injury, and feel awesome. Meanwhile, I look decidedly unawesome, like a three-legged baby deer with rickets. The coordination is slowly coming back, however, so I decided to thrust my delicate, fawn-like body at the oncoming shotgun shell of a 10-mile trail race. Mhhhmmm deer veal!

If you like this picture, Chris Hanson shows up in your living room.

The decision to enter was spurred by an amazing weekend at Megan's. Her great family, the Valley Forge Park trails, and enough ice cream to turn a baby cow (pre-veal!) lactose intolerant added up to a perfect weekend. Well, perfect except for my lactose-induced weakly disguised trips into the next room to fart discreetly. "Your living room is so beautiful, I need to go see it again!" "Still looking!" "Looked once, need to look again!" "Ummm...now I need to go look at your bathroom with a change of clothes."

That plus the early morning, pre-bathroom trail exploring is where my trail name comes from. Which is slightly related to Megan's, Tastes Better than She Smells. Limburger cheese is her pet name.

Seriously though, Megan is better than Barack Obama times Puppies to the power of all-you-can-eat Whole Foods salad bar. After a Tuesday interview, she traveled back to Duke. So on Wednesday, I traveled to Raleigh, (/drunken screaming) to see my BAAAABEEEE TONIIIIGHT (/Bluegrass crowdsurfing).

Things get hot when the fiddle comes out.

Just to clarify, that is not meant to be read as a metaphor.

Unfortunately, on I-95 outside Richmond, I hydroplaned into the median. It sucks, is frustrating, and I feel stupid, but the only thing I remember is doing vehicular pirouettes until impact, when, in slow motion, my Peanut Butter Panda Puffs flew through the air. At the peak of their flight, they paused as if we were on a Space Station with shag carpeting, before slamming into the windshield. Minor whiplash and a very sad car are unfortunate, sure, but that moment of doomed airborne children's cereal was the ultimate tragedy. RIP PBPP.

After two days of recovery, I felt up to running again, so me, my perfect Mom, and Nose Hair traveled to Medoc. To give you an idea of how awesome this race is, the race director offered free entries to anyone who would get tattoos of Medoc, the Speedo-clad Bigfoot roaming the forests. Two guys got HUGE tattoos, which was really cool, but a slippery slope. The same logic got me a tattoo of 106.6, North Carolina's rock leader. While the Hoobastank tickets were sweet, the confluence of a weak decimal and history-major friends makes me super tired of questions about my affinity for William the Conqueror.

I think the Magna Carta required William to introduce himself to every household in the neighborhood.

Anyway, we arrived at Medoc State Park, got our bibs from Michael Forrester and Scott Wingfield (the best race directors of all time), and warmed up along the rooty single-track. A quick visit to the woods to live up to my trail name, a strip down to underwear, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Race:
It began with a mile on park roads, and I decided to make up as much time as possible before my back acted up on the hills, hitting the checkpoint in 4:47. After a left turn onto the trails, I was alone, with just my hopes, dreams, and an anatomically correct blow-up doll of Barack Obama to keep me company. For full disclosure, those three things may all be the same.

The face that launched 1000 [horror-induced, race-spectator] shits.

(Unnecessary, totally skippable side note: Obama has been terrible with recent environmental decisions. Mr. President, industry ALWAYS claims the sky is falling, and that they can't run their business, with each new regulation. They always trot out massive cost projections, the likes of which could buy a year's supply of Mitt Romney's Just-For-Men. But, always, they prove to be wrong. There is a place and time for compromise, and that place is where there is an adversary motivated by rationality. Therefore, with the current scientific and social perspective of the Republican Party, the time for environmental compromise is anytime but now)

Based on that side-note, you can probably tell that I took detours along the course to hug particularly sexy trees. Oh cedars, you got a whole lotta bark, and just enough bite. Anyway, I got into a routine of trying to accelerate close to 4:40 on flats, while dropping back to a shuffle on climbs and descents. At mile 5, the back felt great, and the beautiful trails motivated me to just let go. It was so amazing to feel free again--free from pain, from worry, and from the ungodly smells I left on the trail.

This blog was briefly scratch-and-sniff.

There were no survivors.

Passing mile 7, I saw Mom and her awesomeness (and newly super thin body!) made me accelerate again. After a rough mile 9 (with lots of stairs, both up and down), the final windy single-track led me to the line with a 9-minute win. Hugging mom, seeing Dad cross the line, and talking to awesome friends Ash and Mike, it was hard to ignore how fortunate I am. Blah, blah, blah, boring sentimental stuff, poop joke.

Thanks so much for reading, and for everything else. You guys are really incredible, and whenever I meet people at races who happen to read the blog, they are almost always amazing human beings. You guys rock!

Insult and Injury, The Report

2011-09-29T18:02:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make: I have not run for three weeks. Also, I don't always wash my hands after using the bathroom. So your pink eye probably came from touching a door knob somewhere I visited.

Long story short, that is my poo in your cornea. Wait, no. I meant to say that the three runless weeks are the result of either SI joint dysfunction, or a sacral stress fracture, or a knife wound with exit/entry points in both hips, or low-back gonorrhea. Some notable events of the injured time:

1. Desperately going to a chiropractor who began by asking me if I had ever aligned my chakra. Being ignorant of sanskrit pronunciation, I wasn't sure what Shakira had to do with anything, but my hips were lying profusely so I did not immediately bolt out of the office.

Girl, my base chakra is only like this because the pool is cold.

Next, he got me prone on a table that had hooks and levers, looking like it came directly from a turn-of-the-century insane asylum. He proceeded to hold both hands out in front of his body with the palms facing the floor. "Sweet!" I thought. "Impromptu macarena!" He then looked intensely at his right hand, and moved it tentatively. His left hand followed suit, with his concentrated stare shifting sides as well. Finally, his brow relaxed as he nodded and smiled, moving with renewed, lusting confidence towards the right side of my low back.

Upon realizing that his right-left routine was a kid-tested, mother-approved method to determine which side was which, I did not share his enthusiastic spinelust. Seeing my life flash before my eyes (primarily images of loved ones, children's cereal, and self-serve frozen yogurt), I scadoodled out of there with an urgent limp, past both an indoor mood tree AND a motivation poster of a smiling puppy.

He accepted Visa.

2. The day before an interview, I wore my one pair of nice pants for a presentation. Getting out of the car that evening, I heard a loud riiiip. It both sounded and looked like there was a tear in the space-time continuum, with the wormhole opening directly over my crotch.

So, of course, I went to the interview in those pants. And because I don't know how to sew, the whole time we were talking, I was refreshingly aware of the breeze in my undercarriage. I actually thought the interview went great! That is, I thought it went great until I visited the bathroom 2 minutes later. My pit stains had a deep end.

"Strong enough for a man" MY ASS.

3. Corn-maze! Which is also what I call the toilet plumbing in my apartment.

"You're an ass." "No, you're an ass."

Anyway, after sucking-it-up, I realized that the time off from running was actually a chance to get stronger with quality time on the elliptical. I have a love-hate relationship with the elliptical, similar to how a self-aware sado-masochist has a love-hate relationship with vice-grips. [Side note: the Self-Aware Sado-Masochists is the name of a popular new band comprised of law students who say they are going to work 90 hours-a-week at a big firm, but only for a few years. Their safe word is "Rationalizing Depression." They realize it should be a single word for maximum efficiency, but doubling-up allows them to bill an extra 0.002 hours. DOLLA DOLLA BILLZ Y'ALL]

The workouts involve stepping on the machine, putting my head down, and grunting like a wild boar giving birth to a four-foot-wide pineapple. So basically just imagine the debate stylings of Newt Gingrich. I would ask you to imagine Rick Perry's debate style, but any temporary comic relief would be offset by your brain imploding like the Death Star. After those debates, I still think the best Republican ticket would be Poor Minority-Seeking Missile/Palin 2012. For some reason, I think Ms. Palin would be that campaign's weak link in the primaries.

Elliptical PRO's: Heart rate can get incredibly, floor-pukingly high (as in over 195). After a workout, the gym floor often looks like a Jackson Pollack painting composed using only bodily fluids. Definitely builds strength. And mental toughness/insanity. Also tones those tough-to-reach places for the end of bikini season.

Taking it to DA STREETZ.

CONS: It is not running. And people look at you funny. Though, for me, the second is probably unrelated to the elliptical.

I will get back to you on how it transfers to the road, which should be tomorrow! The back is feeling amazing, and I am so excited to rebuild. My guess is that, done right, the elliptical can operate a lot like cross country skiing and create a monster engine. However, in my case, that engine will support a chassis made out balsa wood and delicate flower petals. The goal is to run as close as possible to a 4-min mile next track season (before heading to my job in......COLORADO. Wooohooo!), and I can't wait to start down the path toward that goal.

Thanks so much for reading, and for everything else. The last few weeks were a bit frustrating at times, and the people in my life (both in person and online) made the time off bearable. Also, spending time with the most beautiful, perfect girl in the world helps recovery too.

/vomits on own keyboard, so you don't have to
//seriously though, she's the freaking best, in every way
///looks into your disgusted, hateful eyes
////shamefully vomits again for you

You guys are awesome!

USA Trail 10km Nationals Race Report

2011-09-04T07:08:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
6th overall and 1st under-25 in 43:39. Fabio, poop, and solo mud-wrestling ensue.

Pre-Race:
Law school has begun! September is blossoming! The British are coming! Of those three unnecessary exclamations, one is a statement of fact, one is the title of a harlequin romance novel, and one is the title of a chapter in that novel which describes the day in late summer when afternoon tea became extra steamy.

Fabio also can't believe you're not burning up in that corset.

You can tell law school truly is off-and-running when every sentence is a non-sequitur. Also, another clue is when excessive adverbs are inserted willfully and wantonly. Notwithstanding the truly shitty grammar, the semester has been awesome so far. I am taking 4 law classes (three are environmental), and 2 environmental science classes. Additionally, I am auditing a class at the School of Hard Knocks. So far, I've learned that, instead of kisses, we get kicked. Little does the professor know, but smooching me is a far more unpleasant experience than a roundhouse kick to the face.

With those thoughts swimming in my brain, I traveled to Laurel Springs, NC for the USA Trail 10km National Championships. My heel is starting to feel perfect, and the week before the race I had my best track workout ever. So there would be no excuses! Except, maybe, my basic inability to stay upright on technical trails. (OMINOUS GONG SOUNDS AWKWARDLY)

Brown fingers NOM NOM NOM.

I felt perfect on race morning, with bowels so lubricated that the lack of friction made it feel like I was pooping in a vacuum. Every ounce would be needed with 5 sub-14:20 5k'ers in the race, and a bunch of other fast people.

Lining up, the weather was amazing, with just enough rain to firm up the trails. I imagine the rain fell in such perfect proportions because Rick Perry prayed for North Carolina just enough. Thanks Rick! Though, in the future, you probably shouldn't pray for Vermont so much. After all, they do not interfere with personal decisions, and allow citizens to marry whoever they love, regardless of gender. Yucky!

Strip to underwear, toe the line, AND THEY'RE OFF!

I'll take a thigh. White meat please.

Race:
We stampeded over the opening grass section as the trail narrowed. I went out fast with the plan to string everyone out as much as possible, and the strategy worked over the first 2/3 mile. Then, the real descending began. It looked like we were approaching a freaking cliff! I let out a WoooooooooHOOOOOOOO as I led the pack down the rocky embankment. In these southern parts, they hadn't heard a rebel yell that flamboyant since the time of 70's porn star, StoneBalls Jackson.

I really don't understand the glorification of racist traitors. Unless they have sweet, bronzed pecs.

That excited yell quickly morphed into a scream of Holy Crap! as we all lost control on the insanely steep section. Luckily, there was a tree near the bottom that each of the first few runners wrapped our right elbow around on the way by, in order to make the left turn. The climb began instantly, with a pack of Bobby Mack (4 min miler), Jared Scott (LaSportiva Champ), Ryan Woods, Joe Moore (eventual winner), and me forming by the summit. It was awesome to run with those guys, and we stayed together down the next descent as Alex Varner (eventual 5th place, Dipsea winner) joined.

In retrospect, this is the moment I regret in the race. We were almost 2 miles in, and I felt good, but I conservatively let Mack lead the group along the valley. The trail was so technical that it played like a bike race, and I wasted too much energy with the surges. Then, on a slight surge around a downed tree, I absentmindedly took a step off trail. As the dirt gave way, I tumbled off the side and down the muddy embankment. It was only a few seconds before I was back on my feet, but the lead group had achieved a gap before the major climb at 3 miles. I struggled to regain my composure, and slowly closed the gap to Alex before the top. Reaching the spectators after the climb, Alex took off. He was just better that day, and his gap expanded down a long descent.

After headfirst sliding like Pete Rose.

My footing was increasingly a problem, which I think was due to a lack of composure. The brown mud caked onto my chest and face after 2 more dives. The Russian judge gave a 7.0, because I really sold the entry. Also, Russian judges are easily bribed. As the final climb loomed (with the famous rock wall), I was passed by Mario Mendoza (2010 Trail Runner of the Year). Finally, I woke up and hopped on his heels. We hit the wall, and he began walking. I took the moment to sprint/climb/get re-acquainted with the dirt, and opened up a 20 second gap that would hold to the finish. We crested the hill, and the suffering was almost over. I was covered in mud and blood. And had no GI distress, which is a shame. Waste of a convenient excuse!

All in all, it was an amazing race. I think I learned more about myself in those 43 minutes than in every effortless race combined. For example, sometimes this princess just needs to suck it up. Shit happens, and it shouldn't take a late-race pass to reignite urgency. Also, I really hope that Suck it Up, Princess isn't the next chapter in the harlequin romance novel.

Thanks so much for reading, and for everything else. So many awesome people were at the race, including Shannon (the incredible photographer who took the start pic), Anthony, Kim, Jason, Alex, and Duncan. Which I'm pretty sure were also the names on Beverly Hills 90210, or Middlebury's co-ed quidditch team. You guys are amazing, and hope your September is off to a perfect start!

LaSportiva Eldora 10k Race Report

2011-08-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 39:03. When a race is sponsored by LaSportiva, you know a bunch of pro/sponsored athletes will be at the start line. Luckily, I don't think I've ever been beaten by someone wearing LaSportiva shoes. Correlation always equals causation. ALWAYS. In that spirit, after doing okay on one law school exam, I now accidentally poop myself a little bit from nervousness before every important life event. Anyway, that statement probably ruins any chance I ever have at sponsorship. It's okay, though, because student loans mean the U.S. Government has my back. Which, ever since that law school exam, is a particularly bad place to be.

Toughest part of the race: ab-flexing. It appears that I refused to breathe whenever cameras were in sight.

Pre-Race:
Yesterday was the last day of work, and I am heading back to North Carolina tomorrow! This is exciting for multiple reasons: one, I enjoy it when running through the ambient air is a full-contact sport. And for people that pass me on the trail, my humidity-induced projectile sweating makes the experience feel like they are rioters being suppressed by fire hose.

Dear lord I hope those aren't nipple metaphors.

Two, there is a beautiful girl at the other end. In an example of fate smiling, the medical term for her sweat rate is "Niagra Falls". Also, birdwatchers in Duke Gardens can attest to her acceptance of a little bit of poop when the mood is right. Or, more appropriately, a lot of poop. It smells like roses though. Though that may just be the Garden.

Anyway, this is kind of my home race, and it always attracts amazing runners. I was super-excited all week, and woke up today feeling like a million bucks. (Note: After the financial happenings this week, a million bucks now buys 6 lead-based children's toys. In the aftermath of Tea Party America, the "Made in China" stickers will be considered a pledge of allegiance) (Double note: China is now proposing carbon cap-and-trade, and is rapidly becoming the world's most progressive nation on climate change. In America, Republicans fight every single piece of clean energy legislation, backed by billions of industry dollars. Conservatism is funny.)

Drive up to 9,000 feet for the race start, jog around checking out the haunches of skinny men, expose my own haunches to the start-line sunlight, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Kill it! KILL IT WITH FIRE.

Race:
The Eldora 10k begins above 9,000 feet, and gets close to 10,000 within a mile. Going anaerobic at altitude is dangerous (thanks to Lucho for teaching me everything I know about racing up here), so I was set on relaxing up the climb. Awesome guy and pro-triathlete Tate Behning changed those plans though, as he bolted up the opening jeep trail. We opened up a gap on the chase pack by the top, and loped down a gradual descent. Taking all the tension out of my hips, I tried to extend the stride and drop below 5-minute pace, knowing the course would soon become technical and steep. Just as we rounded a switchback for the next climb, Tate glanced over his shoulder at the chasers. That gesture of fatigue added urgency to my stride, and I attacked the single-track uphill to gain a few second gap. As the trail turned down into old mining road, my brain fired urgent signals, blaring that this move had to stick. Back down onto technical single-track, Tate's metronomic breathing no longer lingered at my shoulder. In what seemed like an instant, I was out of sight.

Running alone on rooty, rolling trails, I felt like myself for the first time since the injury. And by "felt like myself", I mean I was awkwardly flailing in a general direction, with an exertion-face that would scar small children. Possibly by turning them into stone. Leaving toddler-sculptures in my wake, I bounded down the trail to the final climb. And by" bounded", I mean I looked vaguely like a wacky inflatable arm balloon man outside of a used car dealership.

Fabulous gangsta lean.

The major climb came around mile 4. As the uphill progressed, I leaned into the mountain to sap every ounce of forward motion from my now-sapless legs. By the top, it probably looked like I was missing several essential vertebrae, or that there was something very important on the ground in front of my feet that required IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. After completing the observational study of my shoelaces, I reached the crest and accidentally glanced back. Second place (Geoff Williamson, formerly 26th at the World Trail Running Championships) was dangerously close. Spurred by his effortless-looking stride, I attacked a flat section with aplomb. Then I attacked a sheer descent with aplomb. Then I redundantly attacked a short climb. WITH APLOMB.

Coming through the final aid station, I heard no cheers in my wake. With a wide gap heading into the final descent, I excitedly fell toward the finish. This race has been won by national-class studs every year, so the spectators at the finishing chute were undoubtedly disappointed to see what appeared to be a zombie actively having a stroke (they said the course was extended from last year's mud-shortened race, so the time is hopefully comparable to Ryan Hafer's 36:36). Second was Geoff, followed by LaSportiva athlete (and great person!) John Tribbia, then Tate. Doing post-race interviews, I felt so lucky to be in that particular moment. After the injury, and with the Colorado exodus around the corner, it was definitely an important life event. With that in mind, I pooped all over myself and the interviewer.

Gradually learning the best way to present myself.

Thanks so much for reading, and for everything else. I am so lucky to have you guys in my life, whether you're a close friend, someone who just happens to check the blog occasionally, or an on-duty member of the Sanitation Department. You're awesome, and I hope your August is off to a perfect start!

Mt. Falcon Trail Race......Race Report!

2011-07-30T15:31:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall by 3 minutes...at the halfway point, then got a couple supplemental miles of training in, then jogged to the finish. It was awesome, because the wrong turn meant that I didn't have to expose my current descending style, which can best be described as what a three-legged dog would do if you cut off another one of its legs. In fact, this will probably be the strategy from now on--huff and puff to a certain point, then get out while there is still mystery. I will basically race like Sarah Palin governs.

Pre-Race:
Megan left on Sunday, and work at EDF is almost over for the summer. The soundtrack for the week was a mix of Gary Jules and the world's smallest, saddest violin. Luckily, I could commiserate with the world's saddest citrus fruit, John Boehner. His tears prevent scurvy!

Trans-Atlantic ships should always have a strategic reserve.

It was also OCI bidding week for law school. OCI stands for Our Cash Injures, and is the process where big firms come to law schools for On Campus Interviews. Segment 1 is the private firms, with fancy names that invoke nostalgic memories of tea-times and enslaving natives. There are 139 attendees. Segment 3 is the public interest firms, whose names invoke memories of being hounded by a college student to, like, put your name on this clipboard. There are 8 attendees.

Basically, you "bid" for "interviews," where you "express" your "character" through anecdotes about "advocating for Sudanese refugees." Unfortunately for you, Sudanese refugees have difficulty compensating the firms with several thousand dollars per billable hour. What you should probably do is reveal personal anecdotes such as your love for the coal industry, the Yankees, and anything else that may reveal a slightly more flexible conscience.

Just kidding, of course. OCI is not for me, and I won't be participating [Ed. note: cough LAZY cough], but it is a totally great option and I am so excited for everyone. However, and this is something that is important to remember, some of those 139 firms use their unlimited cash to advocate for somewhat reprehensible things. Our biggest cases this summer involve EPA attempting to protect health and welfare by limiting air pollution to levels which will, in one particular case, save 17,000 lives annually by 2014. Of course, Texas challenges the regulation, because you don't mess with their overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction. But alongside states like Texas and Wyoming, who seem to be aiming for the key post-apocalyptic hellscape tourist demographic, are many of the firms conducting On Campus Interviews. So, before you get caught in the 139 to 8 ratio, and chase the 160,000 reasons to join such a firm, remember one thing: many of them don't give a shit about anything. They will pay lip-service to pro bono work, and you may be able to make a difference with their resources, but the overwhelming inertia will be toward whatever the highest bidder wants. And when you are bidding, remember that the highest bidder usually wants whatever might save a few bucks, even if it means 17,000 extra death certificates every year.

That was a cheerful concluding sentence! Unicorns! The Fountain of Youth! Tax breaks for the top 1% will trickle down through the American economy! It's funny because they are all fictions of a bygone era.

Anyway, sorry for the detour. So...the race. Warm-up (FLAIL), ignore the pre-race instructions (FAIL), strip to underwear in front of children spectators (JAIL), and they're off!

Race:
The race began with a 3 mile, 2000 ft climb up Mt. Falcon, which is probably good for me after a couple injured weeks spent on the elliptical. In addition to bringing all the boys to the yard, my newly toned milkshake is better at going up. I spent the first five minutes going easy with the course record holder, then decided to try to end the race on the climb. A few switchbacks later, I was out of sight, which was good for the guy I was running with because, after the pre-race pit-stop in the woods, I was probably sporting a very chocolate milkshake.

Kinky.

The rest of the climb passed as most high-elevation climbs pass (think kidney stone). But after the injury, the lactic acid felt amazing. I crested in just under 22 minutes, which was the fastest known time on Mt. Falcon according to the race director's pre-race briefing. However, that should be taken with a grain silo full of salt, because this was the type of race that serves yellow Gatorade when people like my dad are registered. After countless time spent with him on road trips, in long lines, and waiting for the Weather Channel radar, the one thing I know is you NEVER, EVER drink the yellow Gatorade. In fact, you probably shouldn't drink out of water-bottles. While we're at it, just don't drink anything unless you can see the source of the spring.

At the top, the course rolled with a net elevation loss for a mile, and everything felt awesome. After the injury, I really welcomed the burning feeling in my legs, and the distance took just over 5 minutes. Unfortunately, a couple of those minutes were, in retrospect, spent off course. I should have realized it a few minutes later when I came to a parking lot. But I didn't. About a fortnight later, I realized it was time to turn around, and I came back to the mistaken trail juncture. The mistake was really, really stupid. It was the Balanced Budget Amendment of mistakes. Basically what I am saying is that the mistake definitely has the credentials to be a freshman Congressman from South Carolina.

Last night's sunset. If we supplement sky fire with frog hail and/or blood rain, we can be sure that the House bill is a bad idea.

Anyway, that was about it, a 3 minute lead lost through stupidity. But I still got fourth! WOOOOO! It was a totally awesome morning, with great people, in a really beautiful area. And I feel like I am back from the achilles detachment! Life is pretty awesome, and I owe the people in my life everything for that. Thanks so much, you guys are amazing :)

Gray's Peak Race Report

2011-07-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

My achilles is heeling! My puns, however, are still detached from the bone. Metaphorically. Like an epic warrior who olived in ancient Greece. Simile'aly.

/bludgeons self with keyboard

Barbed wire from the Hessie Trailhead is another good bludgeoning option.

Anyway, 10 days ago I went for my achilles check-up/dildo torture session, and the doctor said the heel was looking close to perfect. I AM [a scrawny] WOLVERINE! [whose sternum is smooth and moisturized] [:(] With my sensitive tendon on the mend......on (/re-bludgeons self), the most perfect girl in the world visited Colorado two days after the doctor's appointment. With Megan's smile accelerating the healing process, I was limping over mountains in no time. Luckily, cross training in a pool prepared me well for steep grades, because both involve lots of thrashing about, with very little discernible forward movement. Basically exactly like the debt ceiling negotiations.

Also involving lots of thrashing about: remaining upright after a double shot margarita.

Megan's visit was the best 10 days of my life. She is amazing, and perfect in every way. Even her tufts of back hair are well-conditioned and voluminous. Plus she smells similar to sauerkraut! I LOVE SAUERKRAUT. And alliteration! [but not brackets] [fuck brackets]

Megan looking up at James Peak post-hill sprints.

We had so many Colorado adventures! Every single morning, the sunrise dawned with countless possibilities. The unknown is the best alarm clock. And when the unknown promises belly laughs, shit-tons of energy bars, and massive poops in the woods, waking up every morning is so freaking exciting.

Gray's Peak on the way down. The way up is covered in blood, sweat, and....ummmm.....mucus. Yeah, mucus.

But that wake-up excitement could be my love of intravenous coffee talking. And I needed the stimulants, because Megan is the best athlete I have ever known. The fact that she lets me hold her hand is the main reason I can't wait to wake up every morning. Joke is on her for the non-obvious my-face-related reasons, though, because I don't wipe when I take massive poops in Aspen trees.

Fertilized. You're welcome, nature.

We made it a goal to avoid driving. It was a lopsided bargain, because I am pretty sure she has an engine. And, if it's not to risque to say, quite an amazing chassis. Plus, after eating my dad's legume-filled cooking, a well-tested exhaust pipe.

KING OF THE FLOWERS.
Surprise of the day: I couldn't think of a poop joke to go with this picture.

We trapezed over snow-banks along the Continental Divide, biked up James Peak to do hill sprints near the summit, and watched Airplane!, all in the first 36 hours. Surely, I can't be serious. I am serious, and I am terrible with movie quotes.

Picture taken by a marmot.

While I was working during the week, Megan had amazing adventures. I, meanwhile, carb-loaded, rested, ate bumblebee semen, and everything else I could think of to prepare for Gray's Peak. Fortunately, my imagination isn't strong enough to conjure the idea of compression socks. Because that would be embarrassing.

Dad going up Gray's Peak. IN ZERO GRAVITY.

Race:
Ummmm....we went up. We ran shirtless. We received many strange comments. The oxygen deprivation at 14,000 feet isn't great for narrative.

On windy mountaintops, our relationship is primarily based on symbiotic ballast.

Flipping back one year, what immediately jumps off the page is how different things were. Looking in that time-lapse mirror, the person looking back is happy. Probably a bit too happy to pass a field sobriety test. But that happiness, while awesome in its own right, is hiding a bit of apprehension. Have I been a good person? Have I made the right decisions? I guess it's strange when your imagination is filled with possibilities. With an imagination running laps, the past can be a wistful nostalgia, the future a daunting unknown. Last year, my imagination was working overtime. Those questions were prompted by uncertainty. I thought life was ruled by randomness, onto which we asserted order through power of will. And that thought was daunting—loneliness, nostalgia, carried around as a lump in the back of the throat.

Unnecessary sunset shot!

Flip forward one year. So much has been written in the pages, so many stories I will never forget. And now, a year later, for the first time in my life, my imagination is out of a job. Yeah, I still have questions, and I still don't have many answers. But there is one place where I have no doubts, where my imagination is only an intern filling in the blurry spots--and that was embodied by the past 10 days. So as I look back at the past year and think about everything that has happened, I see the first chapter coming to a close, and I'm unsure of exactly what the rest of the book will look like. (/crosses fingers for pop-up pictures). But while all those narratives are yet to be written, there is one thing I am absolutely sure of...this story is just beginning.

Thanks so much for reading, you guys are amazing :) Hope things are absolutely perfect!

Dildoesn't Race Report

2011-07-10T06:58:00.000-07:00

Pre-Race:
The last few weeks have been amazing. My birthday came and went, which is a rude thing for a personal holiday to do. Chivalry isn't dead, however, because the birthday left so many incredible messages/gifts on the dresser before it went. I really give thanks for the perfect people in my life. And their lax policies on closing their blinds. Though you should probably get that one spot on your low back checked out. You're welcome. THE GRATITUDE TABLES HAVE TURNED.

My heel became very painful a few weeks ago, and I decided to push through the discomfort. These stories always end well! Here, the ending is that my literal Achilles heel is now my figurative Achilles heel, as the tendon detached from the bone near the base of the foot. In positive news, the podiatrist said I had the highest pain tolerance she had ever seen. Looking in the mirror every day is great training.

Who is the ugliest of them all?

The treatment has been oodles of cross-training, along with something called E-Pat. E-Pat involves pressure waves being applied directly to the injured area, in order to get you to tell the CIA where Osama Bin Laden is hiding. It begins when the nurse wheels in what looks like a filing cabinet, which is attached to what is definitely a dildo. The nurse then applies lubricant to the dildo, and starts pounding away at the affected area. Reminds me of my time in the Boy Scouts.

I have also been doing lots of barefoot walking. LIKE THE CAVEMEN. (/deepthroats antelope intestine). Walking barefoot around a field along Boulder Creek, a hobo who was a few squiggly smell lines short of being a burnt-out hippie political cartoon picked up my shoes. He then sniffed them. In the ultimate insult, he then put them back on the ground and began walking away. Smelly beggars cannot be olfactory choosers! Fortunately, he rescinded the personal affront and came back for the bitchin' kicks. I was 200 yards away during all of this, and immediately launched into a race-walk in his general direction. He attempted an escape, but he made the mistake of bringing a butter-knife to the knife fight, and I caught him just before he escaped. Brandishing my slightly sharper butter knife, I showed my willingness to use intimidation and violence.

"Sir, I think you might be holding my shoes."

That'll teach him! Based on the smell, he peed himself in fright before responding.

"Really? You should probably wear them."

Don't lecture me hobo, now step back as I give you a piece of my mind.

"I really apologize. My fault. Hope you have an awesome day!"

BOOM BITCH.

Race:
Aside from vigorous walks, I also enjoy sunsets, puppies, and sado-masochism. That last part of my Match.com profile got me hooked up with pool running, where I run in place in the 5-foot section of the pool, doing intervals where I accidentally hydrate myself with pool water. Extrapolating from my own uncontrollable urges, about 75% of that hydration is composed of other people's pee. ELECTROLYTES!

Style points.

40 minutes of pool running bends space and time, with the relativity of extreme boredom resulting in time slowing down. When I emerge from my boredom- and piss-induced hibernation, the world seems much different. Now, the 24-Hour Fitness pool is occupied by ape-human hybrids, whose tendrils of back hair give them an unfair flotation advantage. Seriously, if you open your eyes underwater, their back hair goes down at least 3 feet. When you ignore the bulk from whence the flowing brown hair came, it looks like a group of jellyfish are swimming away from an oil spill.

At least, I hope the brown comes from an oil spill...

Then it's on to the bike! The doctor said no to outside riding, so I sit upright on the machine, clad in nothing but gigantic headphones and tri-shorts, pumping my arms in order to simulate running. Yes, my life is officially an embarrassment. After that, it's back to the pool, where I attempt to swim. After 15 minutes drowning with general directionality, it's back to more pool running. After swallowing my share of hepatitis, I finish the workout by laughing at myself. Shame is great for the core!

This detour journey has actually been a blast. While my running will certainly suffer from the layoff, and my self-image may never recover from the gym workouts (there are mirrors in there!), a new challenge is also a new opportunity. I am so fortunate to have amazing friends, a perfect girlfriend, and a job that is unceasingly inspiring. While running is important, performance is not an end in and of itself. The journey is what counts. So the detour has been frustrating at times, but I can't wait to see how this journey ends. (/fingers crossed for more filing cabinet dildoes)

Thanks so much for reading, and for everything. You guys are freaking awesome :)

Camp Eden 5k Race Report

2011-06-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 17:32. You know you need to rethink your finances when a hilly high-elevation 5k doubles your net worth. Right behind was Tim, one of my all-time favorite people who I respect so much. Of course, after articulating emotions such as that one, he probably is slightly nervous around me because all evidence points to my compression shorts fitting just a bit tighter. Don't judge, I am just trying to keep my bearings by pointing in the direction I want to go. Well....slightly to the left of the direction I want to go. Anthony Weiner made it cool.

Battle of the liberal bulge.

Pre-Race:
Last weekend, I "raced" in Vail, Colorado. It was like watching a baby gazelle learn to walk...directly into the jaws of a lion. I proceeded to be chewed up, shatten out, swallowed again by a hyena, thrown up into a bush of red berries, when finally the berry/poo-vomit mixture was eaten by a monkey. Which then smeared his colorful feces onto the forehead of a lion cub.

So that was humbling. Along with my spirits, it broke a 10+ race streak in such emphatic fashion that I doubted I would ever race again at elevation. The only positive was that, in the past, I would not have finished. Walking over the snow, I was inspired by a perfect girl back on the east coast right now, and everything she has done, to finish what I had started. And I sent my poo-vomit berry idea to Gatorade! I expect royalty checks any day. At the very least, it's better than G2.

The last two weeks have also been my first working at EDF. It is so inspiring to be surrounded by brilliant, amazing people who are fighting for what is right. Because of people like them, the world will be a much different place than it could be. And that...well, that makes it so incredibly exciting to wake up each morning.

As does coffee! So after free-basing Folgers, I drove to Camp Eden, a beautiful religious camp at 9,000 feet. Mapmyrun said the course had 197 feet of climbing. Note: Mapmyrun also thinks the average ruler is 4.5 inches long. Warming up with Tim, we talked about everything. After test-running the first hill, everything mainly involved grunting.

He also tried to psych me out with humbleness. I SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOUR HUMILITY LUCHO. Strip to underwear (HEATHEN), attempt to hide the bruise from a snow-induced fall last week (LESION), explore the surrounding flora (PEEIN), AND THEY'RE OFF!

Pre-race hydration.

Race:
The race director started things directly up a climb, which doesn't seem very Christian. Repenting in Tim's slipstream, he took it out hard to the first 180 degree turnaround. I admire how he raced so much--he went for the win right away, realizing that if I went into the red, I probably wouldn't have been able to come back. Luckily, things went back down the hill, and we caught our breath while exchanging pleasantries. "Something something great job!" I said. "You fucking asshole!" I thought. "Sorry!" I felt. "Badly!" I write.

It was a long descent past the start, and I opened up the stride in an attempt to get a gap before the major climb. Somehow, I had a few seconds after a section around 4:40 pace, which gave enough of a cushion that there was still a slight gap after the uphill. At the crest, we did another turnaround, and went flying back down the hill. I felt good, but knew that I could not allow there to be hope or I wouldn't win. That last part is also the slogan of the Tea Party.

The faster running was quickly replaced with 8 minute pace slogging on the final major climb. At the final turnaround, I took a quick glance across the sandy road, and saw that the gap was enough to survive to the finish. Tim gave a congratulatory wave, while I gave a smile that probably betrayed how badly I felt like I had to poop. Crossing the line, all of the camp workers and spectators were so amazing, and really made me realize why I love Colorado so much. Though hilly 5k's at altitude would be better at Lent. Especially if you were giving up both breathing and bowel-control.

Thanks so much to Tim, and to the race director, Jason. Tim, Oliver, and Ben (as always) were awesome in every way, the race was so much fun, and the 100 bucks should delay the descent into selling superfluous organs. And thanks to you, for reading. I owe you guys so much, and I really appreciate everything. Hope your summer is off to a perfect start!

Suicide Hill Trail 10k Race Report

2011-05-29T10:12:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall by a bit over 3 minutes in 34:33. Driving across the country, we took a quick detour off Route 70 near Salina to travel to Little River, Kansas for the race. After 1.5 days of driving, we were greeted by an exit ramp billboard asking, "If you die TODAY, where will you spend ETERNITY?" Well, existentially-inclined sign, if I don't get baptized in the meantime, I imagine the answer to that question is Salina, Kansas.

AND he knows Kung Fu.

Pre-Race:
Road-tripping across the country with Dad for a summer in Boulder, he suggested we race along the way, in...Kansas. The joke was believable until that point, so I playfully slapped him on the shoulder for joshing with me. He insisted and said it was called Suicide Hill Trail, named after the steepness of the trail, along with the 1800's postmaster who went for style points in the 360 degree hickey contest at the race's highpoint. At this point, I punched dad in the mouth for pulling my chain. Everyone knows that the only things in Kansas are meth labs, Dairy Queens where you can get food, and dairy queens who win down-home beauty pageants with the talent of playing offensive line.

But he was serious, so we took the quick detour and were shown the light by a billboard. 99 cent Denny's Grand Slam?! Praise various deities!
I felt great after a recovery day, and loosened up while admiring the beautiful scenery. Two of my favorite people in the world (who happen to be top-level runners) grew up in Kansas, and lining up at the start, talking to spectators, it was clear that the locals shared many of the great traits. Kansas, you're pretty awesome. At the very least, you're not West Virginia, where Match.com and Ancestry.com use the same database. Or New York, where there are investment bankers. (/shudders)

This cat found an apartment on the Upper West Side! And a litter box in Harlem.

Stripping down at the start-line, it was so exciting, and so motivating, to see Dad on the line as well. I owe him everything. Though the sight also brought the stark realization that, when I am 58, with slightly unclear sinuses on a gusty Kansas morning, my nose hair will double as a wind chime. Unless I develop uncanny dexterity with a weed-whacker.

Race instructions, 4-wheeler lead vehicle revs the engines, AND THEY'RE OFF.

Artist's depiction of me and Dad driving.

Race:
The first mile was on gravel, so I decided to attempt catching the 4-wheeler. A father and son were driving, and the sight of a compression shorted beast worthy of a Stephen King novel wheezing down their necks had to be a good bonding experience, like narrowly avoiding tornadoes on I-70 in western Maryland, or listening to 30 minutes of Rush Limbaugh while driving through Missouri. (/blacks out from post traumatic stress) After a gradual descent into the crosswind, It went through the mile in 4:41. It then faced the cold-reality of prairie-winds after a left turn, and It barely kept It's footing. Which is good, because It is afraid that yellow-bricks are bad for the ankles.

Turning onto beaten down grass 2 miles in, the toughness of Kansas trail-running had beaten the third-person right out of me, and the first ascent began after a quick clomp through a prairie stream. With the four-wheeler pulling off, the seemingly ceaseless climb instilled a simultaneous feeling of humility and inspiration, with every stray thought blowing away in the wind. Coming to the top of the rise and turning with the wind, a crowd of cows looked on with a disinterested stare. Suddenly, one began moving, then two, and within seconds the entire herd thundered along the ridge. Spooked, I jumped off the trail, only to have 2 cowboys on horseback clear the path. With their whips cracking at my back, the pace went from plodding to pushing, and each step became a race to see what was over the next hill.

Chasing ghosts of races past, the terrain flew by until Suicide Hill at mile 5. My weakness on hills became evident as I limped up the rutted path. But the climb ended soon enough, and knowing Colorado climbs were in the future, I thought that this hill had a slightly overdramatic name. To describe the steepness, maybe a more appropriate moniker would be "Self-Consciousness Knoll" or "I Shouldn't Have Eaten that Extra Piece of Cheesecake Rise." With a lactose-filled pastry seemingly sitting in my stomach after the effort of the climb, the trail once again merged with a gravel road. Plunging back into town, enthusiastically leading with the tongue, the teeth of the wind rebuked my advances with a quick bite. The clock stopped at 34:33, a time bested by 2 great runners in the early-90s.

I call it The Telltale Fart.

After crossing, I ran back to see Dad. He was amazing (just under 50 minutes on a tough course), and I am so proud of him. After receiving the overall trophy of a piece of cow poop mounted onto a plaque (my favorite award ever), we continued on to Colorado. Chasing the setting sun into the mountains, a new chapter in the journey began as the snow-capped peaks loomed in the distance. I have to admit....I'm a bit scared. This will be the first time I have worked in my field, trying to make a difference in the future of the natural world, and the excitement is shrouded by a bit of apprehension. The path is easy. The path lets you take step after step without fearing failure. But the destination is hard. The destination replaces the security blanket of warm routine with the chill of cold judgment. Toeing the start line, there is excitement, sure. But there are also nerves. There is the fear of failure tickling the pit of your stomach. And just as the race is about the begin, just as the gun is about to fire.....the butterflies flap their wings.

Thanks so much for reading! At times like this, at a crossroads, it is easy to look back. When I look back, I see how fortunate I am, and so much of that is owed purely to the people in my life. So thanks for that :) Hope things are amazing!

Greensboro Road Mile Race Report

2011-05-22T08:20:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 4:22 over Adam Currie, who finished 4th in the 800 meters in the 2008 Canadian Olympic Trials. Knowing he was in the race, it became tactical in the warm weather, with splits of 2:21 and 2:01. The weather provided good heat acclimation for the future, which was especially important if Saturday actually turned out to be Judgment Day. There isn't much good to say about being left behind in the Rapture, but at the very least, the souls left to roam the barren hellscape are more fun at cocktail parties.

While a despicable human being, there is a chance he lets you borrow from his porn stash. Though I wouldn't touch that hand.

Pre-Race:
First year of law school is over! The last 8 months remind me so much of reading Odysseus' journey while in undergrad. Primarily because I didn't do the reading for either. Just kidding, law school was really great. I accomplished my goal of avoiding the Siren song of corporate law, and will be working for Environmental Defense this summer. But the main reason the last year was amazing is that I met the perfect girl. Megan is beautiful, brilliant, and my best friend. Also, with sentences like the last one, she has the added benefit of coming with a complimentary full-body cleanse, accomplished purely through mouth vomit. With how much blog readers have come to associate bile with love, the stomach flu would probably lead to a Pavlovian response where they fall head-over-heels for the attending ER physician. Or food poisoning would lead them to, at the very least, vigorously hump the bedpan.

After a week with my awesome family at the farm in MD, I hopped in the car, gassed it up, and traveled down I-95 for a weekend trip for the amazing Karen and Ronnie's wedding party. With the traffic, I had time to think about the cars with Ivy League college stickers on the back. Seriously, dudes (or dudettes), you shouldn't just be able to pick and choose what personal attributes you display to the world. Just once, to make it fair, I'd like to see "YALE University" then, as a subtitle, "ONCE FUCKED A TEDDY-BEAR."

Teenagers get lonely in the Northeast.

Anyway, with the mile race in the evening, I stopped 3 times to put my feet up and walk around. This also gave me time to see the defining characteristic of each locale. In my hometown, it was the gas station that sold single cigarettes; in rural VA it was pork rinds out the wazoo (also describes the scene at every NASCAR porta-potty). And in NC, it was the Confederate flag keychain. Purchasing that would be a great indicator of viability for sterilization. While good for society, the real winner in that scenario would be the sheep.

After 7 hours in the car, I arrived in Durham, picked up Megan, and drove another hour to Greensboro. The gun was set to fire at 7:40 PM, which is very close to the time that I am usually counting sheep (If that last sentence gave you an erection, you probably own a Confederate Flag keychain). During the warm-up, I eyed Adam, who looked very serious. As we toed the line, he made the cross on his chest. Crap! I thought. He called dibs.

Runners set, LET THERE BE LIGHT.

I have no idea.

Race:
I was expecting Adam to take off around 4 minute pace, so I was really bewildered at the slow start. To be honest, I think I ran scared for the first 800, thinking that he was better than me, and I think that thought is extremely negative. In case you are wondering, I think that thought on that thought is very positive. Meanwhile, I think that thought on that thought on that thought.... (/blacks out)

The plan going in was to sit for the first 1200 meters, then kick on the slight uphill to the finish. By 600 meters, however, it became clear something was amiss. The balled-up pack all seemed to be racing with the same tactics, deferring to the racer announced at the start and hyped-up in pre-race newspaper articles. Usual emotions of race-day--joy at being alive, humility from being so fortunate--became replaced with a derisive frustration. With the anomalous anger gathering in clenched fists, the final straw was announced in the 1/2 mile split. 2:20...2:21...shit. Screw the tactics. Screw the cash prize. Time to go.

Happy thoughts.

I jumped away on the outside, with a spectator at the 1 km mark saying there was a 15 meter gap. I don't like to talk about training, because it so often becomes an internet groin-measuring contest where all the rulers seem to start at 10 inches, but the last couple months have been so much fun. After six weeks of 8 x 400m, the average times had dropped just below 60, so I came in shooting for ~4:08. The start line insecurity vanished after the acceleration began, replaced with comfortable familiarity. High-knees, controlled breathing, fast running. Summary: 11.5 inches. ACROSS.

Hearing the cheers on the backstretch, I felt so fortunate. Running towards the finish line, towards the perfect girl....well, it felt effortless. Breaking the tape with a 7-second win, the time and result became irrelevant. I guess I started the race scared. A neutered fear. Anger confronted that fear, and that is what I will remember about Friday evening. So at some point I'd like to try to get around 4 minutes. At some point I'd like to push my limits. But Friday evening had more significant implications than money or time. From now on, when I line up beside the best...I won't be scared.

Thanks so much for reading! After the race, a group of children came up nervously to ask questions, and their enthusiasm really put into perspective how lucky I am. A huge part of that amazing good fortune is you guys, and your support. You really are awesome, and I owe you so much. Thanks for everything :)

Owl's Roost Rumble Trail Half-Marathon Race Report

2011-04-30T11:34:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:15:29. Marc Jeuland (2008 Olympic Trials marathoner with a 1:05:50 half time) raced amazingly for second, and did the lion's share of the work. It was one of those cat-and-mouse races with tactics, nerves, non-consensual makeout-sessions with dirt, surprised Bambi, and non-consensual makeout sessions with surprised Bambi. Come to think of it, that last one could have been a hallucination. It's law school finals period, and I really, really [Ed. note: REALLY] miss studying the environment.

Pre-Race:
Law school finals! We had two 8-hour exams (on which OUR FUTURES DEPEND) this week, so the training has been scattershot. With my running caught in the crossfire of the fully medicated Dick Cheney that is Contracts, I decided to enter a competitive trail half-marathon the day after the test. There is no better taper than sitting at a desk all day! Loneliness just makes you want it more! Crying is an outstanding ab workout!

On Thursday night, I studied in my usual abandoned parking lot (which luckily has a great sunset view). There was a travelling carnival staging behind me this week, so all of my Contracts memories are associated with the smells of funnel cakes and actively fermenting porta-potties.

The tests were awesome, which is good because it almost makes up for apparently looking forlorn enough, alone in the shadow of a hot dog stand, to be asked by a Ferris Wheel operator if I needed someone to talk to. Fortunately, no talk was necessary. The spooning, however, was a godsend.

After a night with amazing people eating sushi and ice cream, I woke up with an extra pep in my step (for those counting, that makes it 3 peps). In honor of the incredible Lucho, it wouldn't be a race report if I didn't disclose that the aforementioned sushi made my bowels operate with the whooshing efficiency of a fully greased slip-and-slide. In this analogy, I guess the slip-and-sliders are business students.

Drove to Greensboro, both Tooting It and Booting It at volume 24 in the car, and arrived 30 minutes before the elite wave went off. Jogging to the line, I saw wonderful human being/photographer Shannon, and asked her if there was anyone to worry about. She pointed out Marc, who I knew from stalking. Let me clarify...internet stalking. I mean, the binoculars are far too fuzzy to tell me anything about his PR's.

Strip to the underwear, explain that I am working my way through college, and that Cinnamon is a family name, gun sounds, AND THEY'RE OFF!

In fairness to my flabbier physique, I did have both a pack of Gushers and a Capri Sun during yesterday's test.

Race:
The race began with a half-mile on roads before plunging onto the rooty forest single-track trail. Immediately, Marc and I were side-by-side, beginning our running tango that would last nearly all the race. As we hit the trails, the forbidden dance progressed as I took up the rear and just tried to keep my hips moving forward. Wait..........ummm.........let's just move on.

Passing the mile in 5:08, it became clear that Marc actually was the real deal, and I proceeded to hold on for dear life. Relaxing up the hills and bounding on the descents, we continued yoyoing on a 10-yard string. By mile 4, I had decided not to look at the watch, and just attempt to make it a race. I felt good, but I knew breaking away was a pipe dream--he was too strong to allow me to escape unless I went with a balls-to-the-wall move. Worried about maintaining sphericality, and wanting the wall's misery to last for as short a time as possible, I decided to wait until the last 800 meters. In retrospect, it may have been cowardly, but it was solely due to how much I respected Marc's ability.

Shame dog understands why I raced that way.

Six miles in, the true climbs began. He effortlessly bounded while I effortmorely scurried, until we came to mile 8. Complacency is never more visceral than when the taste of dirt scrapes across your lips. Marc began to slow after my reckless root-jump, and I screamed for him to go. I didn't want charity, but now I had to catch. Skirting the lake, his shadow bounced ahead up the trail as the coursing caffeine of the fall flowed through my veins. By 9 I caught just as we surprised a deer, and we passed 10 in 56:39. The trail leveled slightly, and I had time to catch my breath. I think Marc relaxed a bit too, and chills of excitement began radiating from my spine to my toes. To give you a glance into the race-day mind, at mile 11 I smelled rotten eggs. Now, the obvious explanation is anaerobic bacteria releasing methane, but I chose to think that Marc farted. While obviously a substantial initial boost from the afterburner effect, this provided a glimmer of hope--he didn't feel good. He was weakening.

So we hit 12, and I felt invincible. Cowardice has its rewards, and I wanted to make the final move completely decisive, using every bit of reserved energy. 1:11, 1:12, the minutes passed with inexorable lethargy while the my legs pushed like a colt against the starting gate. Slight descent into the final climb....wait.....wait.......NOW.

I sprinted. I sprinted with the effort of an all-out 400. My arms burned and my legs went numb past mile 13. I let myself glance back. Marc was out of sight, behind a switchback I had just passed. Stumbling towards the line, I crossed in 1:15:29, with Marc 20 seconds back (both well under the course record set by Aaron Saft, who went on to win the Trail Marathon National Championships that year). It was great, but I don't think getting to the finish line first is all that important. No, I really think it's the experience of being out there that matters. Whether it's a test, a race, a sunset, or just a breath of fresh air, the simple euphoria of being is...well, for lack of a better word, it is awesome.

Thanks so much to Shannon, Anthony, Marc, Shuwen, and Dave for being great. And thanks to you, for reading. You guys are amazing :)

Mountains to Sea 12 Mile Trail Challenge Race Report

2011-04-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

Something different with this race report. Hope it is somewhat readable, and not too boring. Thanks for reading, you guys are awesome :)

Megan and I smiling at the start.

Gun sounds, and the jokes and smiles quickly fade to focus. With the first half-mile on pavement, Duncan Hoge (2-time Uwharrie winner) went off well below 5 pace. At that moment, I knew this was going to be a battle. I let him lead onto the trail, and the first steep climb. About 150 meters from the summit, I pulled around on his right. In an attempt at winning the race before the end of the first mile, I immediately slowed, and forced him to come back around. I wanted him to see vulnerability. I wanted him to relax in a false oasis. When he reclaimed the lead, I sat back strategically. 50 meters to the summit.....20.....10.......GO.

Commit! Commit! Commit! My brain screamed a familiar mantra, knowing that a loss of sight would be a loss of mind. I didn't dare turn around; I wouldn't show weakness. But Duncan stuck. The searing attack became a slow-burn, where I tried to keep the pressure on without withering on the technical trails. We hit a short road-section at mile 3, and he was still there. Mile 4, still there. A knock-out blow became a rope-a-dope, until a sustained climb at mile 5. He was so efficient that I didn't recognize the fading of his footsteps. But by mile 6 there was a gap. The aid station rung their cowbells as I passed. 5 seconds....then 10....20.....suddenly, more cowbell rang through the forest. He was there, but now was the time.

I went. My brain refused to let go of the persistent ringing of the cowbells, hearing his footsteps through the peaceful morning. It was a trick though. There was a gap. Time to go. Attack! Attack! Attack!

Crack.

FUCK! My ankle. The mud has a metallic taste. 2 seconds becomes 5........10. Self-pity wells under my eyes. Sadness is a neutered emotion. Once it takes hold, the empty embrace is completely consuming. Just then, as the fatiguing force becomes heavier and heavier, something lifts. There is someone behind me on the trail. Not Duncan, chasing his prey. No...Megan. Life.........Beauty...........Strength.................Speed.

FUCK THIS! I scream violently, telling the rocks and roots what I think of their mothers. That scream becomes internal, drowning out the ominous sound of cowbells and the penetrating pain of exertion. Mile 7 becomes mile 12 in a blur. 1:15:54 for 1st place, a 1:40 win and course record. Duncan second, and La Sportiva's Josh Wheeler third, 4:10 back. Megan won by 10 minutes in 1:26. She is amazing.

Sharing a pre-race North Carolina sunset.

This was the hardest race I have ever done. It hurt. It tore off any facade of stoicism, and substituted the nakedness of vulnerability. But in the vulnerability--in the agony, and especially in the weakness, came a wholly new feeling. From the depths of desperation came the peaks of empowerment. By letting go, and succumbing to the pain, I never had so much control. I was the one testing my limits. I was the one testing my will.

But I wasn't "one." The word I is pregnant with the idea personal empowerment, which is not why this race meant so much. No, this race meant so much because I was never alone in the journey, not even for a single rock jump or root stumble. A perfect soul was always with me, even when she wasn't right at my side. And that combination, the singularity of suffering combined with the duality of devotion.....from that combination came strength.

We run to glance over the edge, and in doing that we see what life can be. As beautiful as that feeling is, it is limited because it is self-contained. Seeing Megan cross the finish line, she radiated--she represented--the universal beauty. So we run to explore what life is. But we love....well, we love to see what life means.

-----------------------------------

Thanks to all of the awesome people at the race (especially Alicia, Mary, Kim, and Jason). And thanks to you, for reading. You guys are amazing :)

Al Buehler Trail 5k Race Report

2011-04-02T08:59:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 15:25. Power-thrusting and porpoise porn ensue.

Pre-Race:
Jogging to the track, I ran by a gathering of compression shorted people congregated around several porta-potties. Being both the shrine and the water-cooler of the running community, I provided my offering to the fellowship, then caught up on the gossip in spandex-world. The gentleman I spoke to was adorned in his Saturday morning-best white Under Armour shorts, and I asked him what the hubbub was all about. Doing a hip-flexor stretch that can only be described as a prolonged power-thrust, his mouth said that there was a race this morning. Meanwhile, his groin seemed to be saying that there was something very interesting to the left.

Being the type of person that is distracted by both shiny objects and liberal groin bulges, I entered the race just before it was about to begin. The course was a lap and a little bit of Al Buehler Trail, a hilly packed-gravel path that treats all Duke runners like the wife in a Lifetime Original Movie.

It hits because it loves.

There is something about sitting on the ground, putting on racing shoes a few minutes before toeing the line, that is purely life-affirming. Maybe it's an external stimulus--the sunrise poking through the trees, penetrating the eerie silence. Maybe it's chemical--the endorphins and adrenaline anesthetize awareness, outside worries blur out of focus. But, to tell you the truth, I don't think it is either of those things. They are easy, they are everyday. No, I think that the rush of life emanates from the same source as the disquietude of death.......it is the unknown. Toeing the line and peering over the edge, our frailty--our vulnerability--reflects back. But just by glancing across, and seeing what is on the other side, our strength--our invincibility--shines strongly through. Failure is inherent in a race, just as failure is inherent in life. We will weaken. We will die. Just by testing that limit, though, just by toeing the line, we see what life is. We see what life can be. And life...well, for lack of a better phrase......life is beautiful.

I figure now is the time to get my flower pictures out of the way. I also wrote some delightful sonnets about the sunset...

You can tell whether grammar and syntax are important to you from whether you are currently seizing violently after reading that last paragraph. With those thoughts coursing through my veins like heroin delivered via rusty turkey baster, I interrupted everyone else's start-line epiphanies by removing my shirt. My milkshake may not bring all of the boys to the yard, but it is fat-free! Unfortunately, it is also covered in unexplained red marks and smells vaguely of brown bananas. Ummm....I guess I'm trying to say is that there is rhetorical similarity between delicious and nutritious, and contagious and infectious. Ladies.....

Gun sounds....AND THEY'RE OFF!

Fighting for position.

Race:
We careened down a steep descent at the start, and I heard the racer in second curse loudly. Yes, good sir, I do have no conception of pacing. I opened a significant gap on Mr. Fiddlesticks on the first steep uphill, and I went to work on finding a sustainable rhythm over the wet path. It was strange, I know every inch of the trail like the back of my hand. What I mean is that both are slimy and probably cause some type of warts if you rub your face against them. But also, each step traced thousands before it, so that a race transformed into a journey. Each step explored a path that became wholly new in the moment, and each stride carried with it a firm purpose.*

*Firm Purpose is also the name of my legal practice/personal training studio.

**Firm Porpoise is also a local enterprise, and it's as disgusting as you'd imagine. Unless you're a porpoise.

Flipper thought it was only going to be a photo shoot.

Leaning forward over the climbs, and striding down the descents, I came to the biggest hill on the course just under a mile to go. Accompanied by the same searing legs of a hundred hill reps, I attacked the familiar foe and crested the climb at 14:56 for a lap of the 2.95 mile trail. Then, falling in control down the descent, the tape broke in 15:25 for the net-downhill course (a few minute win). It was an amazing race for a great cause, and an awesome training day. More than that, though, the race made me think. It made me think about the unknown; it made me think about the future. I don't know the answers to those big questions, I certainly haven't solved any mysteries. But thinking about the most perfect girl in the world at my side, my amazing family, and all of those daily moments, I do know one thing......

Life is beautiful.

Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome, and I hope the start of your Spring has been absolutely perfect :)

Kidney Kare 5k Race Report

2011-03-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall registered as Kilgore Blowfish. It's a nearly indecipherable Kurt Vonnegut reference mixed with the fish I look most like in race photos. Having "Blowfish" in big letters on the race number is a good reminder that if I don't stick out the chest and suck in those cheeks, the very best I can hope for is being named Miss Congeniality. And everyone knows that it is one small step from being named Miss Congeniality to being named "Most Determined" in Foot Fetish Prostitution Quarterly's Spring Rankings Issue.

Ladies....

Pre-Race:
Megan and I ran hill repeats for 1:30 yesterday evening, because there is no such thing as a healthy relationship that can't be reconstructed by a forensic scientist using sweat and snot splatter analysis. Upon getting home from the year's first warm run (83 degrees!), my pee looked like Canada's number 1 export. Justin Bieber! No.....wait. My pee looked like maple syrup. So Canada's number 2 export.

Checking the race schedule before dinner, we saw the Kindey Kare 5k, which gave 100 dollars to the winner and benefits a charity which teaches young children to spell. The race organizers did not have such a program when their phonics were impressionable.

Kare Bear Koitus.

Actually, it was for kidney transplant research, which is amazing, and especially important to me because loved ones are going through a transplant process right now. I love those guys and am thinking about them every day. However, science has not yet figured out a cure for whatever is going on with my brother's face.

(Picture omitted for those who do not wish to turn to stone)

So I woke up at 7 for the 8:30 race, had some sugary coffee to whisk the lethargy out of my bowels, and drove to the race site. After a warm-up which consisted primarily of praying that no one who knew me showed up for what would certainly be a performance best timed by sundial, they called the racers to the line. "Sub-16 pace up front," the woman with the loudspeaker bellowed. 2 guys moved up. "Shit!" I both thought in my head and dropped behind a tree in the woods. I proceeded to approach the front when they said 21 minutes plus, because I wanted the element of surprise. KUMQUAT! Bet that surprised you. And you aren't currently running a fast 5k. See, the logic is inescapable.

Strip to underwear, toe the line, AND THEY'RE OFF!

The pace car leads me toward the Quad.

Race:
Just before the gun, I dumped water all over myself to deal with the warmth. It also qualified me for the Wet Compression Shorts Contest, where I finished first in spectator vomit and small-child mental scarring. A Bull City Running guy that looked awesome took off at sub-5 pace, so I sat back a bit, hoping to loosen up. Pulling alongside him a half-mile in, my body felt like it was being propelled forward by a 1972 Ford Pinto engine with two moist, floppy chicken tenders instead of wheels. Thinking speed might make things better, I showed the other racer the rusty exhaust pipe (here, rusty exhaust pipe is a metaphor for pulling away, and not the sexual act legal only in Tijuana), and passed the mile with a firm lead.

From here on out, I just wanted to get to the finish and the complimentary post-race TCBY. This was the first race I have entered unrested, and where I felt the fatigue the most wasn't in my legs, or my breathing, but in my feeling of horrible uncoordination. Today was the opposite of smooth. So....rough, I guess. Like the role of the Tijuanan armadillo in the rusty exhaust pipe. There were some hills, and the course measured 3.2 miles on the Garmin's I saw, so I was utterly shocked to see 15:50 on the clock at the finish. I ended up with a 40 second margin of victory, a good tempo run, and some amazing frozen yogurt. 1 of those 3 will go straight to my midsection. Which I guess is good, because a well-developed muffin-top would protect the children from horrible sights in any future wet compressions shorts contest.

It felt like great training to run at the end of a weekly cycle, so these super-informal tempo races might become routine. (UPDATE: 3rd place has a 1:10 HM on his resume, so it might have been a slightly better day than I thought) Thanks so much for reading, and for everything else. You guys are amazing, and I hope the start to your Spring is perfect!

Blog Change

2011-03-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

So the blog is going to change a bit while I am in law school. For one, it will be lazier. How can it be any lazier? you may ask while pantomiming a very, very slow dismissive wanking gesture. Well, I may say through the cascading tears, overrated literary conventions like "narrative structure" and "proper spelling" will be replaced with starting posts with the word so and inventing inquisitive readers that ask exactly the question I seek to answer, while allowing me to post humorous videos.

Basically, there will still be race reports, and the occasional serious post, but also more daily updates of ideas, training, and whatever else comes out of the tired hamsters performing an uninspired rendition of the Vagina Monologues that is my thought process. However, I am only allowed 10 minutes to write. It will be like an action movie! Which I guess you won't be able to see. And it will mainly involve typing. Against the clock. To tell a story. BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE.

For example:

Today I ran. I was tired. I am on the track tomorrow. I ate food. ALL HAIL XENU.

Random Spring Break picture, which includes my brother! It is almost Spring, so his eyebrow will be a butterfly at any moment.

Ummmm....we will work on ironing out the kinks. Thanks so much for everything, this will be a lot of fun. XENU PROMISES.

Spring Break Sights

2011-03-08T07:53:00.000-08:00

It's Spring Break! Which means I'm back on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, a place where Confederate Flags are flown next to American Flags, likely outside houses whose stairs were designed my M.C. Escher. These citizens, aside from being paradox-ignorant, often look similar to how they smell. In other words, vaguely reminiscent of a Skoal Can filled with two-week old catfish. Basically what I'm saying is that Drew Carey should update The Price is Right, and remind everyone to spay and neuter their local racists. Now that would be patriotic.

The Eastern Shore is amazingly beautiful though, and I always look forward to aimless long runs around my childhood home. The plan is to run a fast 5k in late March (hopefully in the mid-14's based on recent workouts), and a key to getting stronger recently has been monthly 3-hour jaunts. Aside from jaunting, ambling and sauntering are acceptable. Don't you dare frolic, though. The guy with the Confederate Flag looks to frolickers for his hate crime quota.

The trail was inundated, necessitating lots of barefoot running across flooded sections after Sunday's 3-inch rainstorm. This plank bridge is usually 20 yards from the river!

Tuckahoe Lake, taken while standing in the reeds post-run. If only the Indians knew what our phonetic pronunciation would do to their majestic bodies of water.

The trail ended at a cemetery. Which, as a metaphor, is slightly more sobering than if it was an ice-cream shop.

This is actually a side trail most of the year. The power of nature inherent in the rush of water is so amazing.

Two pictures of the same mushrooms. Of all the fungi,
probably in the top 5 for taking pictures.

More of the mushrooms. In a pinch, I can also do
carrots. Or any phallic vegetable, really. VERSATILITY.

Also, side-by-side pictures. I AM A COMPUTER GOD. /takes a celebratory sip of Capri Sun. One or two more:

THE CHOSEN PLANT.

Okay, I'll stop. Time to go for a run! I will be shirtless and in tights, because dodging cigarette butts from pick-up trucks is great for agility. Anyway, things are amazing, and I owe all of that to the people in my life. Thanks so much for being there, and I hope things are amazing!

Pantsless Photography

2011-02-26T17:37:00.000-08:00

Dang, have I been busy! I mean, do you have any idea how long it takes to pickle a human kidney? Multiply that by 7 and you're looking at a week where the blog falls by the wayside, submerging into a brine whose contents, surprisingly, taste wonderful with ketchup. But then again, what doesn't taste wonderful with ketchup? Not a pile of detached toenails, I'll tell you that much.

Anyway, my foot acted up last week, but I finally ran long today, and want to share some pictures (all taken while pantsless, so I had to deal with the adversity of passers-by dry-heaving IN THE SHOT). It's like a slideshow! Feel free to hold your applause until after the boredom-induced sadness-coma subsides.

The river was filled with Sparkles. If it were last year and I was talking about the Hudson, that would be in reference to dead strippers.

The beginning of the Cox Mountain climb. Yada, yada, yada, the mom of someone who doesn't check the blog climbs this a lot. Like, all the time. And 10 times on Sundays. Also, the person who doesn't read the blog smells like garlic bread....down there.

This would make an awesome fort. Is a thought I would have if I weren't so mature. Wall Street Journal! 10-Day Forecast! 21 Jump Street! Wait...what?

Now a few from a complete rest day (the first in just about forever) last week:

Creeping on strangers at the Duke Gardens gazebo. This was taken just after I sniffed them, and just before I grunted my approval. Mhhhhhhhmmmmmm.

Duke is actually a fairytale land. Even the unicorns pop their collars!

It's a parable about parenting. Gotta watch out for those photographers wearing buttonless trenchcoats. I think Aesop said that.

Anyway, things are wonderful. Durham is amazing, as are the people in North Carolina. On top of that, the most perfect girl in the world lets me hold her hand, which, in an upset of expectations, does not come with inflatable orifice attachments. I guess I am just really fortunate, and I want to thank you guys for everything, even if it is just a click of the blog now and then. Hope things are absolutely perfect!

Groundhog Gallop Trail Half-Marathon Race Report

2011-02-14T16:29:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:17:39. It was extremely muddy on the second lap, which provided an exciting in-race frolicking opportunity. And post-race, it provided a convenient excuse. Luckily, I won by 9 minutes, because I had lots of fiber the day before and the splatter radius was at least 20 feet.

Mud. Yeah.........mud.

Post-Race:
Saturday was our Valentine's Day. It was also our April Fools Day. WE DON'T SUBSCRIBE TO YOUR CONFORMIST CALENDARS. Or do we? It's a Valenfools mystery! Anyway, we were both still a bit sore from the half-marathon the week before ("we" of course refers to me and my imaginary girlfriend. Pet name: Sasquatch. Theoretical beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Unfortunately, sometimes all-too-real back hair is as well. In our case, love hurts the most when it scratches a cornea.). After wearing racing flats for 13.1 miles, I wouldn't have been surprised if a group of Midwestern, homonym-susceptible famers followed me around, ready to slaughter my useless, flailing calves to make veal. Since they were from the Midwest, I evaded their butcher knives by trapping them in the apartment, and scratching out the telephone number to the local forklift company in the Yellow Pages.

After the race, we romantically shared Fritos Scops, peanut butter, and Capri Sun for recovery. It was like one of the aforementioned Iowans made love to a tropical melon using JIF lubricant....IN OUR MOUTHS. Limping back to Duke, we began the evening by watching the elite women's mile at the Husky Classic. Amazing person and close friend Lauren Bonds won an incredible race over Jordan Hasay! It is so cool that two of the people I am closest to, two of the best human beings I have ever met (Lauren and the imaginary girlfriend) might be Olympians one day. I WILL PROFIT MIGHTILY FROM MY LOCKS OF HAIR COLLECTION.

Watch more video of Flotrack Husky Classic 2011 on flotrack.org

With that amazing finish as a start to the evening, we proceeded to do some stuff that might be deemed romantic, had I not been oozing peanut butter and high-fructose corn syrup from my pores. When we returned to the car, we saw 3 policeman (with dogs!) shining bright spotlights on my pint-sized Suzuki Reno. We approached and asked if everything was okay, which led to being chided for being in a non-perfect part of town, parked in an abandoned park after-hours, all while leaving the doors open. So the officers searched the car, but before letting us go asked one question:

"Why are there so many empty Capri-Suns in the back seat?"

Ummmm...well, we are TOTALLY not dealers.
/smoke bomb
RUN MEGAN!
/post-race getaway limp

With that rebelliously refreshing day of foil-wrapped juice-drinks in our future, we drove to Greensboro, NC for a half-marathon trail race. After getting lost 3 times, we arrived at the race site, which is good because at this point of Western North Carolina, it was either that or a gathering of inbred mutants intent on using our extremities for chainsaw practice. We signed up, warmed up, romantically pooped in the woods, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Last second hydration in the "Delicious" division.

Race:
The first 3/4 of a mile were on park roads, after which we hopped onto twisty single-track (my specialty, I think), plunging down towards a river. Suddenly, I found myself circumventing a wooden structure that looked oddly like a gallows, and was immediately confronted by a fallen tree next to a dilapidated bridge. There may have been a troll, but I am not 100% sure because I turned around as soon as the sinking feeling of losing the trail seeped into my loins. Seeing my mistake, I promised myself I wouldn't repeat it on the second lap. (FOREBODING GONG SOUNDS)

With the urgency sapped by my flirtatious dalliance with the troll, the race transformed into an exploration, consisting of skips and jumps, thinking as much about my partner-in-Capri-Sun-crime as my own body. Hitting wider horse trails (trails.....MADE OF HORSES), I had a disconcerting feeling. In an upset of expectations, it was mud, and not troll herpes. Opening up the stride on the grassy, solid sections, I tried to accelerate whenever I could, while taking the more treacherous sections more easily.

Back onto the single-track, we came to the first of four stream-crossings. There were also rocks for the daintier among us, and being a delicate flower, I did an uncoordinated Black Swan routine across the Boulders. After doing an out-and-back whose divots were impregnated with horse poop, I finished the first loop with a substantial lead in 37:14. Little did I know what awaited me on the quickly thawing trails.

There Will Be Mud. And puns.

After the road section, it was clear that the trail would play tougher on the next 6.5. Bounding down towards the river, I (of course) paid the troll another visit. He refused to pay child support, so I was on my way, back on the trail, trying to stay upright. Hint: I failed. Luckily, if there is anything that playing football taught me, it's how to go down.*

*Let's forget I ever worded a sentence this way

Getting up from my 3 falls, I decided to take it super-easy on muddy sections, then sprint everywhere else. The gap to second-place opening, the only remaining obstacles were the last 2 stream crossings. Lapping another racer, I showed my cutthroat urgency:

Such a gentleman. And I hear that he rarely lets his poop splatter on strangers!

After the creek, it was only a mile until the finish, where I excitedly awaited the arrival of my beautiful Valentine. She was amazing, and won the women's race by 7 mintues over Team Montrail's Annette Bednosky (a super-cool, really nice person). It was a perfect day, and it is so exciting to be living in a moment that I know, on some distant Valentine's, I will look back on and think:

That was the best time of my life.

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope everything is perfect. You guys are awesome :)

Heart and Sole Half-Marathon Race Report

2011-02-05T12:42:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:11:04. I registered under the name Kilgore Trout, which is the pseudonym Kurt Vonnegut used for himself in many of his books. Abstract literary references are SO FREAKING GANGSTA. Also, it is kind of a pseudonym inside of someone else's pseudonym.

*BRRAAAAAHHHHMMMMM*

Pre-Race:
Up until this point, I had never finished a road race over 10 km without walking. So the thought of a half-marathon was horrifying, but I was buoyed by the beauty and enthusiasm of a very special person who also raced, and ended up winning after registering under the last name 'Butthead'. In an unfortunate case of art imitating life, it was a descriptive pseudonym. The upshot of her deformity is that when you kiss her, you get your daily dose of tossed salad.

Cookie Monster, you are disgusting.

Anyway, on Wednesday I found myself stranded at school with no running clothes or shoes. Because it was 70 degrees, I did the logical thing and went to the Duke Athletics practice field, where I proceeded to strip down to my briefs. After realizing that the tuck and run is not as easy as the tuck and stand on Greenwich Villages street corners, I hopped behind the bleachers to turn the briefs around. I then proceeded to run 40 minutes on the field before two baseball players appeared. They gave me curious looks, at which point I had an epiphany--the opening in the briefs, now facing my ship's stern, was agape. YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO DOWN THAT RABBIT HOLE, ALICE. I scurried away somewhat shamefully, but not before getting some strategically situated Vitamin D.*

*Ummmm.......let's forget I ever worded a sentence this way

Off that recovery run, and two other easier days, Ms. Butthead and Mr. Trout traveled to Goldsboro, NC in conditions which would make it much more efficient to travel by ark. I mean, after the all-too-accurate reference to Greenwich Village street corners, it is safe to assume that I was transporting 2 of every STD. Arriving at the race site after coffee, a banana, and penicillin, we went to the registration tent. Apparently Butthead is a common name, because no one made any comments. I guess they assume it was Buttheadowicz before Ellis Island.

15 minute warm-up, strip to shorts, AND THEY'RE OFF!

A bit bulky. Probably triathletes.

Race:
I think my failures to date at anything over 5k are not due to conditioning, or pacing, but fear. Today, if nothing else, I was not afraid. Though after a few steps in 40 degree rain wearing compression shorts, I realized immediately that certain extremities would seem afraid in the race pictures.

LIKE A FRIGHTENED TURTLE.

Alone after a mile, I came to the first of five turnarounds. Retracing my steps and seeing a gorgeous smile, a wave of endorphins neutralized any remaining apprehension, and I made a decision. Go. Opening up the hips and bounding over the gravel road past three miles, my breath assimilated with the mist, while my numb feet fell like phantoms. Freedom. I couldn't tell where my skin ended, and where the air began. I couldn't separate the wandering thoughts from the blowing leaves.

The rest of the race became a blur. I remember crossing the start line at mile 6, and feeling completely fresh. I remember going up a hill at mile 9, and fighting off brief fear of frostbite. That complete numbness in my toes (and other extremity...which was actually very, very scary) created an empowering liberation from normal sensory experience. Every few miles, I would see Ms. Butthead, her breath as controlled as mine, and be hit by sudden, euphoric happiness. There was always someone with me out there, even as I hit the aid stations before they were prepared, even as I crossed the line 12 minutes before the next racer. I am not sure there is a such thing as loneliness anymore....I am not sure there is a such thing as fear....and that--well, that is fucking empowering.

Mouth Vomit Part III: Return of the Bile. Anyway, I had not looked at the watch the entire race, so I was thrilled to see 1:10:xx when I glanced down (I must have messed up a bit when pressing start). Ms. Butthead crossed as 1st woman (5th overall!) in her first ever run of that distance. The extremities thawed from frozen pig-in-a-blanket status. And no one laughed at the awards ceremony when Butthead was announced. This may be evidence that the terrorists have won. Thanks so, so much for reading. You guys are amazing :)

Law School Grade Release LIVE BLOG

2011-01-31T14:53:00.000-08:00

11:35
I am sitting here at the law library, where grades from first semester may or may not be released at noon. Today could be the day when the proverbial boys become men, and the proverbial slime molds realize their dreams of getting an interview with Sullivan and Cromwell. Interviewing tip: they love if your slimey slug ooze can be used as lubrication, because it may come in handy with the job of screwing pandas/poor people. CORPORATE SYNERGY.

What does it all mean? Don't spend too much time thinking about it.

11:44
The library is 4 stories tall. The bottom floor is silent, and filled with cubicles. If you want to start a discrete puppy-skin assless chaps business, this is the floor. Why puppies? Because the meat is tender (Ed. note: Duh), and using the whole puppy is just environmentally friendly. The second floor is also quiet, but whispering is permitted. If your voice rises above a whisper, however, you will be shushed with nuclear aplomb. FEEL THE WRATH OF MY EXHALATION. The third floor is where I am, thus it is full of annoyed people and smells vaguely of brown bananas. The fourth floor is open and overlooks the third, thus it is the best place to pantomime riding a horse while wearing the assless chaps.

11:54
T-six minutes. Could this be the time? A group of first-years just rolled out. Maybe they have inside information! Maybe they talked to people in the know! Maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me! And after all! YOU'RE MY WONDER-WAAAHHHLLL.
/Oasis seizure

11:59
3.....2......1......aaaannnndd nothing. The world hasn't seen an anti-climax like that since my one-man erotic cabaret, Gone in 60 Seconds. The world hasn't seen a bad joke like that since the climax of my one-man erotic cabaret. The world hasn't seen rhetorical redundancy like that since this, which is rhetorically redundant.
/continues convulsing to Wonderwall

12:05
Time for lunch! Back with updates in the future. THE.......FUTURE...

/screen goes whispy, time passes, men grow beards, women all have babies and cankles

Art imitates life.

3:15
Email from the Registrar saying grades will be released by 5:30! Wait...why don't you just release them now?
/goes to office
//Registrar is not finished using baby golden retriever blood to paint his Hosni Mubarak mural on a wall covered with our tests because of recent puppy shortage
///DAMN ASS-LESS CHAPS, WHY DO I LOVE YOU SO?

4:00
Unfortunately, I am not currently at the law school so my creeping ability will be cramped. Ummm....I will describe the atmosphere in my apartment:
Sights: Potential grade scenarios scribbled from floor to ceiling in brown...........crayon
Smells: Like Crayon

4:18
I am realistic about my grades. While I am extremely passionate about trying to make the world a better place, the act of law school is not an end in itself, at least to me. First semester was the best time of my life--I met a perfect girl and made amazing friends....I have never been so alive. So grades do not define me, but they are a part of that whole experience. And no matter what happens today, that is an experience I will always cherish.
/pops another pill I got from Columbia before graduating
//DANCE TIME

4:56
Text message says grades are out.....

4:56, 2 seconds
I see my grades! They are literally right in front of me, right now! On a scale of 1 to Thrusting in the Direction of the Nearest Wood-Chipper JUST TO FEEL SOMETHING DIFFERENT, I am safely away from the edges. Duke has an unwritten rule where we don't talk about grades, so I will leave it at that. My extremities live, unchipped, to fight another day.

5:00
Thanks so much for reading. For my law school friends, you guys (almost universally) really are amazing. And regardless of grades, that is what really matters.

Little River Trail Run 10-Miler Race Report

2011-01-23T16:52:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall/500ish racers. The North Carolina newspaper called me "Shirtless Dave Roche" in their article (quotations included), which is a great nickname for a trail racer, or a horrifying alias for a sexual predator. Unfortunately, my inability to grow adequate facial hair precludes me from sporting the mountain man beard necessary to ever be taken seriously on the trails. Fortunately, that same inability precludes the wispy mustache needed to be legally coerced into introducing myself to everyone in a new neighborhood. MORAL VICTORY.

KILL IT!

Pre-Race:
Life has been really great for 3 reasons:

1. I have an amazing girlfriend who is neither imaginary, nor a leper. And her hunchback is larger than her Adam's Apple, which I guess is better than the other way around.

2. I committed solely to running in September, and I feel my body constantly adapting from the increased mileage. My legs changed shape after starting to go barefoot and focusing on form, allowing me to push harder in races without the same fear of collapse. We'll see--the next few years could be really exciting.

3. Law school has begun! The people are great and Duke is amazing. I love the south because it is the type of place where you can say hi to strangers. Though through a recent epiphany that came in the form of extreme awkwardness, I now know that this tendency should probably not be extended inside the men's bathroom. I mean, he was carrying a briefcase and was wearing cuff-links--obviously he could use a hand. I JUST TURNED ON THE FAUCET TO GIVE YOU THE IMPRESSION THAT I WASH MY HANDS EVEN THOUGH I DIDN'T. In my defense, this process makes me metaphysically clean through the perspective of Armani Suit Guy. And that is all that really matters, because Goldman Sachs is VERY PRESTIGIOUS.

Their hiring partner made an awesome entrance during On Campus Interviews. Puppy blood burns in such interesting patterns!

So I felt wonderful heading to Little River, the biggest trail race in the area. There was snow all over the place, which in addition to making things a bit more technical, also provides a good excuse because on dry days my dandruff accumulates 3-6 inches. Dipsea Tral Race winner and sub-15 5k'er Alex Varner was also lined up, so after 20 minutes of getting warm, I went to the start line to do some psyching out. "If I fall down on the ice, don't wait for me." Implied meaning: I am uncoordinated, and a stray elbow might knock the handsome right off your face. BEWARE MY AWKWARDNESS. Took off the shirt, toed the line, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Whoever finishes last gets fed to his faster brothers.

Race:
The gun sounded, launching the racers down a half-mile on gravel roads. I started slowly, but felt a small gap forming. Looking back, Alex looked relaxed. Too relaxed. That one glance changed everything--any plans were gone, flying out the window and falling lifelessly to the gravel as I stepped on the pedal. Opening up my hips and pumping my arms, I was off, down the path onto the single-track, trying to get out of sight. Hitting the ice in the first mile with the racers in the rear-view rapidly retreating, I realized that this moment could be decisive. Commit! Commit! Commit! Screaming across every neuron and permeating every synapse, that mantra meant adrenaline...which meant fearlessness...which meant speed. At mile 4, a long set of stairs switched back over skid marks made moments before, and out of the chaos emerged a new emotion---peace. I was out of sight.

Suddenly, the dim, dilated dreams obscured by exertion were replaced by the crystal clarity of relaxed exploration. Trail runners of all abilities understand the feeling--it can only happen on beautiful, happy trails. We see one of these happy trails, and we just want to explore every contour, and follow every inch to see where it leads. Wait, why are you laughing?? THIS IS A SERIOUSLY ARTISTIC RACE REPORT.

Other authors have gone to extreme lengths after being misunderstood.

The trail snaked erratically, causing countless stops to avoid the venom of a fall. In each icy step, however, was an opportunity. Where the trail cleared, even for just a second, opportunistic urgency would extend the gap. Each step oscillated between aggressive thoughts where I was the predator, pursuing each mile with ferocity, and passive introspection where I was the prey, scurrying from a formidable hunter. Combined with thoughts of Megan, and her beauty somewhere on those same twisty trails, a wholly new emotion mixed ubiquitous euphoria with adrenalized apprehension. And that new emotion made me feel invincible. Out there on the trail, the paradigm shifted.

Crossing the line in 1:02:54, the race director excitedly announced a 3-minute course record. The fuse-delayed fatigue hit immediately, and my eyes were barely open to see Alex cross 3:30 later. A few minutes later, seeing Megan at the finish (after twisting her ankle while on her way to a huge CR), it was clear that epiphanies of inspiration aren't limited to art or poetry--a muse acts in every facet of life. And that universal inspiration...well, that is enough to make a person feel invincible.

Mouth-vomit returns! Anyway, I met a few blog-readers at the race, and it is always amazing how great you guys are. So thanks for that :) Later in the week, my email inbox was filled with comments by professors about the newspaper article, with many comments on running shirtless in sub-freezing conditions. They clearly do not understand my life maxim, "Let your nipples lead the way." While good for trail-racing, it is works slightly less well in job interviews that don't involve floor-to-ceiling poles. Thanks again, and I hope things are absolutely perfect!

Law School Sexy Remix

2011-01-11T14:36:00.000-08:00

As the new semester begins, Hope springs eternal. In an unfortunate maxim mix-up, Hope is the name of a local legless stripper with two slinkys for prosthetics. Her shows are eternally sexy as long as the stage has no stairs.

That statement is rescinded if MC Escher designed the stage, and Pour Some Sugar on Me can be played on endless loop.

And so law school continues its inexorable grind through bone and sinew before expelling the distilled, now fully uninteresting collections of bodily fluid from the sausage-maker of a legal education into the wood-chipper of the legal profession.*

*statement only applies to those looking to work at big law firms. Other options include:

1. The public interest, where you fight against the most uninteresting of the expelled intellectual sausage, all while having fewer resources than the big firms and the time-consuming commitment of maintaining an unsold soul.

2. Small firms. These are usually in small Montana towns where the best prospect for finding a mate is a willingness to look past udders. Also, you may still have to sell your soul, but the going rate is significantly less.

3. Street corners. You primarily just make sure the drivers that pass in their 1964 Camaro at midnight have a good time. So I guess this is a type of public interest, in the same way that a New Jersey Turnpike stall could be considered a public bathroom.

When shown this picture, number 1 sees a fascinating visual representation of a black hole, number 2 sees the legal job market, and number 3 sees a potentially viable orifice.

In reality, law school is awesome. Also in reality, prairie dogs control the media through their underground volcano-dens, but we don't go around blogging about it. Hmmm...this semester may be off to a delusion-filled start, primarily because I made the mistake of buying gummy vitamins. Either having 190 times the recommended dose of Vitamin D has negative consequences, or the prairie dogs are commanding me to write that a paranoid schizophrenic who murders innocent victims is actually motivated by political rhetoric. Because that last part would be absolutely crazy (not to mention irresponsibly lazy), I will assume that I am suffering from Gummy Vitamin toxicity, and may need to have my stomach pumped.

Bear: You eat gummy representations of me, I will "play" with your children.

Now that law school is off the board in Hating Things Jeopardy, I need to find new categories to pick. Ummm....I will take Southern Drivers for 400 Alex. Ummmm, Alex?....ALEX? OH DEAR GOD ALEX, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! Of all the possible weapons to use in a murder/suicide, two adorable puppies as nunchucks shows a particularly driven depravity. Though I understand if North Carolina drivers drove Mr. Trebek down such a furry/bloody highway.*

*get it? DO YOU FUCKING GET THE WORDPLAY?

On a good day, southern drivers approach a speed bump with the same reckless abandon that pandas take to procreation. But even constant visualization of panda-humping (Environmentalist's Viagra) cannot prepare you for southerners in snow. Imagine a snail. Then imagine a Senate Filibuster. Then imagine a Senate Filibuster in the snail Congress. That is the current traffic situation.

The slug representative, Mr. McCain, says Don't Ask, Don't Shell.

Anyway, things are really great. The people here are awesome, the area is amazing, and the strippers have surprising dexterity, given what they've been through. Thanks so much for reading, hope your week is off to a perfect start!

New Year's Midnight Run Race Report

2011-01-05T14:57:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:

1st overall/200+ racers. Megan won the overall women's title, because she is amazing. Her dress, meanwhile, won the award for "Most Likely to Work Part-Time Spinning above a Disco Dance Floor."

Staying Alive spontaneously plays every time the dress turns towards the light.

Pre-Race:

On New Year's Eve, I drove to the Philadelphia area to visit a girl (non-inflatable variety). Before driving to her home, I was nervous. Now, I am not the type to get nervous. I am as cool as a cucumber, if the cucumber's humorously phallic shape and puke green coloration prevented it from taking itself very seriously. The nervous caterpillars became full-blown flop-sweat butterflies when I walked into the door. Two steps later, all of the apprehension vanished when I saw Megan's radiant glow backlit by her Mom's welcoming smile. Luckily, I did not turn that sentiment into words, because it is less romantic to hug someone when they are vomiting in their own mouth. Kissing, however, can become a source of nutritious sustenance, depending on the status of the person's previous meal. COME ON THOROUGHLY CHEWED!
/crosses fingers
//spins wheel
///wheel lands on Raw, Swallowed Asparagus

In Soviet Russia, regurgitated asparagus swallows YOU.

The entire family is amazing. Megan's mom, dad, and sister are all uniquely empathetic and intelligent, and treated me with a genuine kindness for which I will always be grateful. Therefore, I will use part of the proceeds from selling their loosely guarded family heirlooms to buy a very tasteful, yet chuckle-inducing thank-you card. Seeing her mom at Whole Foods (where we shopped for dinner), calling every worker by name when stopping to chat about their lives, showed me how a person embodies the type of life I hope to live. I will never forget those moments in the grocery store. And trust me, with the massive quantities of hallucinogenic mushrooms I put into the casserole that night, if I haven't forgotten it yet, it's likely sticking around. Along with these mutant geese that are just outside my door. WHY WON'T THEY TAKE THEIR MACHETES AND FLY AWAY?

Being a New Year's Midnight Race, it came with a twist...the fastest runners in eveningwear would win cash prizes. Megan came down the stairs after dinner in slow motion looking stunningly gorgeous in her dress. I wore a bowtie and suit. It all came adorned with a Cummer-Bund, which I was not aware existed. Though based on the name, I now want to know what a Bund is, and whether I can buy it on Amazon.com.

We left for the race at 10:30, which is usually a time when I am reading, flying, or peeing, depending on where I am in the sleep cycle. Sitting with her family at the bar/race staging area, everything took on a surreal quality, like reading a book of your life's most cherished memories from within an ear-marked page. Looking to the right at my racing partner, it was clear that alongside those stories are astonishingly beautiful illustrations. And, after the last line, astonishingly large amounts of mouth-vomit. Keep your jaw clenched and we can hopefully keep it off the page!

Race:
After a five-minute suited-up warm-up, the countdown began. Looking side-to-side at the start line vista, at suits and dresses accompanied by trainers and flats, I smiled at Megan. She smiled back until 5, when she gave me a stare that promised a murder with a heat of passion defense if I went in for a kiss when the clock struck midnight. 3......2.......1.......AND THEY'RE OFF!

At the back of the pack, some racers had too much to drink at the pre-race open bar.

I immediately bounded to the front, the euphoria of the moment shooting caffeinated chills into my legs. Glancing back, a runner appeared in tights and an Under-Armour, the proverbial pajamas at a naked party. I slowed to speak to him and see what type of effort was necessary. He responded with a confident smile that can only come from race experience, or 4 pre-race loosening-up beers. A half-mile in, I strided away to test which it was, and he responded as we hit the mile together in 5:01. Forgetting my outfit, and the hour, each step became a percussive beat punctuated by the twang of dueting exhales. Suddenly, a loud bang. BANG!*

*Redundant Onomatopoeia, in addition to being an underutilized rhetorical device, will be the name of my heavy metal garage band that only needs three cords to MELT YOUR FREAKING FACE OFF

Yoda Stalin is a fan. Why? DON'T DOUBT THE POWER OF REDUNDANT ONOMATOPOEIA.

The sound was a cacophony of fireworks. Fueled by the sudden realization that this wasn't a normal race, or a normal moment, I accelerated further. Running alone now, I passed the 2-mile in 10:13. Lapping fellow racers on the 3-lap course, we exchanged New Year's greetings, and a race became a celebration. One kind fellow gift-wrapped what looked like his lunch, dinner, and internal organs, which was too much. Really, it was too much. I could have used his large intestine as a climbing rope.

Crossing the line in 16 minutes after a relaxed third mile, I ran back to the finishing chute. Staring into the distance, a bouncing figure rapidly appeared. I look back at the clock...17:41...17:42...it couldn't be! She is a field hockey player coming off of an injury, no one is that amazing. As the resolution became clearer, I first saw her legs pumping, then her beautiful smile, and finally her glowing eyes. Well, I guess technically I first saw her disco-ball dress, but that thing can be seen from particularly distant galaxies. The amazing girl crossed the finish line first, winning the overall and eveningwear titles. Looking into her eyes and sharing a sweaty embrace, I realized that what I won that night had nothing to do with a race.

P.S. Her mom finished third in the 30+ masters category and her dad did great, which makes sense because awesomeness is genetic. You, the reader, finished first in mouth-vomit. And raw, swallowed asparagus went on to star in it's own sitcom, Two and a Half Men. Thanks so much for reading, hope your New Year is off to a perfect start!

Christmas Stories

2010-12-27T04:04:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas! Hope your holidays are cheerfully jolly and/or painfully pleasurable, depending on whether you received nipple clamps in your stocking. Decorating Tip: Looking for a neat ornament? Try anal beads! Little Johnny will love the interesting shapes and colors, while Big John will love the opportunity to turn it into a Do-It-Yourself project. DISCLAIMER: Only applies if John enjoys masochism, which can be inferred if he watches Fox News.

Are you a secret dungeon-master? Prove to me you're not! CONSPIRACY.

Have you heard that it's snowing out there? How about this weather? DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THIS FUCKING WEATHER? Oh gosh, sorry about that, uninteresting people are becoming slightly pushier with their conversations starters. I actually love snow! But as I get older, and more introspective, I realize that nose hair is a fucking waste. Evolution: DISPROVED. I also realize that I enjoy the idea of snow more than the actual fact of not being able to move, run, or go pantsless to formal functions. Snow is like baseball or polar bears--sounds like a great idea to go to the game, or study environmental science. Then you find yourself an Orioles fan with bite marks on your butt (the unsexy kind), and you realize it would have been better to just watch football and major in political science. In this analogy, football is wishing it didn't snow 18 feet (approximation), and a political science class is a completely useless intellectual masturbation competition. That second part isn't really related to snow, but is a universal truth of a liberal arts education.

Actually, I'm in Florida visiting family! It is absolutely gorgeous here, with 70 degree temperatures and perfect visibility allowing for stunning vistas of swamps, trailer parks, and meth labs. Granted, I did see a stink bug the size of a Volkswagen, which was cool. Also, running without a distinct fear of extremity loss is awesome! Workouts in my grandparents retirement community are amazing as well, because I feel like the fastest human being alive. Passing cars during a tempo run is a uniquely empowering feeling. Especially after losing an arm wrestling competition to a stink bug.

I did not intend for this to illustrate the stink bug.

To be serious, things are absolutely perfect. Florida has some very unique habitats, which make for cool pictures and even better runs.

Taken through a wooden viewing area at a river full of alligators and manatees. Or that could have been a group of overweight retirees with dry skin.

It is so awesome to spend time with the family...to feel ocean water on my skin...to eat a quantity of oranges that are roughly the same weight/color as John Boehner.

Barbed wire shot against the brush.

Most of all though, it is really awesome to be alive, and all of the little things that come with it.

Little things do not include getting knocked over by a wave after taking a picture of said wave. Amazingly, the camera recovered from the spill overnight!

Wherever you are this holiday season, I hope everything is absolutely perfect. Be careful in the snow (for those in the Mid-Atlantic), under the snow (for those in the Northeast), or snorting the snow (for those in the film industry). Thanks so much for reading--you guys are awesome.

5 Best Runs of 2010

2010-12-20T06:52:00.000-08:00

Because structured narratives are for elitist communists, we (the royal we, which I think means that I chop off the head of any of you that can't give me a son) are going to do some year-end lists. This is going to be fun! And informative! NOW DROP YOUR PANTS.

(5) Eastern Shore of Maryland, December

Yesterday cracks the list with a mixture of frigid beauty and desolate peace that encouraged ecstatic introspection. And, after that first sentence, also encouraged comically overemphasized dismissive wanking gestures.

Melting ice. Which is much better than melting Ice, after the unfortunate accident with an early 1990s rapper and a bunsen burner.

The trail meandered around a lake, informally jutting over fallen trees and through frozen creekbeds. That small feeling lurking in the back of my mind--am I lost?--served to amplify each little noise, and magnify each unknown undulation.

Interesting fact: I am two inches tall.

From leaves to snow and back in a stride, every step brought a wholly new experience.

Autumn crunch.

Most of all though, the idea that my parents were on the trail made the run a joyous celebration. Even when they are not by my side, I take them with me everywhere I go. Knowing that Mom and Dad, two amazing people to whom I owe everything, were tracing my footprints, changed a physically demanding run into a spiritually transcendent journey.

Life is pretty amazing :)

(4) Central Park, March

Running with awesome friend Brendan on a clear, frigid night, we came across 2 raccoons sitting attentively on the reservoir trail. Now, it was 7 PM and the park was almost completely empty, so we stopped for a look. Just then, a soft voice came from a bench beside the trail, "I am talking to them," she whispered. "I hope you don't harvest our kidneys, crazy lady," we thought. She went on to tell us all about conversing with raccoons, then ended the conversation by giving us her business card. "A Top-20 Clairvoyant in NYC!" it touted. It also said she gave massages, though I'm not sure if that was directed at people or the raccoons.

More than that though, I will never forget the skyline, silhouetted by the lurking feeling that my time in New York was coming to an end. It was just 8 miles, but provided a content closure to a frustrating four years.

(3) Walker Ranch, Colorado, July

Running with Lucho turned a bad day into one I will always cherish. I knew I loved Colorado--the places and things are one of a kind. But this summer, running with Tim or listening to live music in Nederland or walking the streets of Boulder, I realized that the people are what really sets CO apart. As I head back to start a new chapter of my life this summer, working at EDF, I owe a lot of that realization to the learning, laughing, and....well...living, experienced on this run.

I most likely took this while bent over throwing up.

(2) Eno River, December

First run with Megan, completely alone on beautiful trails in the middle of law school (and undergrad) finals. Even now, thinking about it with a smile on my face, it is impossible to ignore just how lucky I am.

(1) Continental Divide, August

18 miles through valleys and up mountains, along ridges and down snowbanks. Feeling small, feeling big, but most of all, feeling alive.

THOSE FLOWERS ARE FREAKING HUGE.

So here is to an awesome 2010 (/chugs almond milk)! Hope to see you on the trails (either those like the five above that are beautifully literal, or those of life hinted at in the commentary that probably seem pretentiously figurative) in 2011. I owe you guys so much for everything over the past year. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Booty and Change

2010-12-17T10:04:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
We came. We saw. We conquered. Which is a much better order than seeing, conquering, and coming, because the horse did nothing to deserve that type of treatment.

Always in our hearts and/or crafts.

Pre-School:
We were told that law school has been called two things. "Soul-murdering" is one. "Dream-destroying" is another. The third is "groin-chafing," but you probably didn't write that on the test. What, you thought they meant "two things" when they said "two things"? You would.......you would. Your children would be lucky to get into Cornell. A SAFETY SCHOOL.

So with those expectations, we began class. We learned about the Socratic Method, whereby professors employ the ancient philosopher's method of making everyone in the room feel uncomfortable. Just so the professors know, when we answer "yes", and you say "What is another possible response?", the correct answer immediately becomes "You deserve an experimental colonoscopy via pineapple." At least Socrates had the common courtesy to make sweet, sweet love to his pupils. YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER MY NAME.

You can call me Lobster Dog. Or David. But I'd prefer lobster dog.

School:
But, after some initial hurdles, followed by the subsequent faceplants and the ensuing botched cosmetic surgery, we looked into the mirror and came to accept the disfigured man-beast staring back at us. Can we do this? YES WE CAN. Will we survive? YES WE WILL. What is this rash? MOST LIKELY HERPES. We found that law is pretty easy, that the teachers are nice, and that it only takes 6 Four Loko's to think like Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia. The gays do have an agenda! (takes another swig) And shouldn't it be Constitutional Law for women to dress in white so we don't get them confused with other kitchen appliances?

In a 5-4 decision, the Supreme Court decided it is okay to laugh at this picture.

Suddenly, finals began to loom. The fun and games came to an end. We only had a month to study for three tests which would determine whether anyone ever loves us for a reason other than that thing we do with the dog for 10 dollars extra. But the tests were pretty good too! Everyone did awesome! And the realization that strict grade curving means that the future would be brighter if your friend had an "accident" only led us to "contemplate" the building of a dungeon. Even if we built the dungeon, we would have provided copious amounts of lotion to put on their skin, and as a reward they would not get the hose again. TRUE FRIENDSHIP.

And now it's Christmas time. We can watch It's A Wonderful Life, and cry joyfully if we are Democrats, or condemn the Commie bastards if we are Republicans. Most of all, we can look back on the last few months, a few months when everything seemed to change, and realize how much things stayed the same. Even now, learning the law is not what we'll remember, but we will never forget the beauty of meeting new, lifelong friends. That in-class failure, or success, becomes a hazy dream, while sledding in the first snow will always be a clear recollection. And I guess that's the takeaway. No matter where this road takes us, the trip is what we'll remember. This is so much fun. It really is a wonderful life.

Law School, Racing, and Perspective

2010-12-13T17:19:00.000-08:00

WOOO! At the law school, we are currently 2/3 of the way done 1/2 of 1/3 of the HARDEST THING WE WILL EVER DO. Which will then be followed by a number of fractions relating to how far we are from the weekend/vacation/retirement. Then comes death. SWEET, SWEET RELEASE. And it all depends on Thursday's Constitutional Law exam. If I fail, perhaps I will be immortal! Or something. Fractions confuse me.

Actually, this stuff is pretty fun. The same will go for those responsibilities in the future. Part of saying such aspirational generalities as "Life is amazing" is the acknowledgment that even the slightly less fun parts are still pretty fucking awesome. I wasn't sure what to expect coming into 1L exams; I mean, the horror stories! The sleep deprivation! The depression! And THE BEES...ANYTHING BUT THE BEES.

In reality, it's intellectually stimulating. It gives every action a purpose. And we don't have to wake up before 10 AM. Pretty fucking awesome if you ask me.

Anyway, raced on Saturday! The New Balance Reindeer Romp was a cross-country/trail 5k ran in conjunction with Girls on the Run, an awesome charity that provides mentors for younger female runners in the triangle area. Girls With the Runs, meanwhile, is just as worthy, but has a much harder time with funding. I blame Obama.

Won the race in 15:48, which I am super happy with considering the terrain. And I contributed to the charity by providing the girls with a lesson about albino-tolerance!

The area from my ankle to my hip works part time at Home Depot as an off-white to white colorscale.

To be serious, that race, and the Turkey Trot a few weeks ago, were completely new experiences for me. It has nothing to do with running really, but perspective. Running is an inherently selfish activity--we are testing ourselves, every step propels only one person forward. At those two races, though, I barely even thought about myself. At those two races, I couldn't wait to see the person waiting at the finish.

Hear those cheers! See that smile! A perspective of selfless joy empowers. A pound of uplifting chills counters every ounce of heavy fatigue. And after crossing the finish line, looking into her ecstatic eyes as she wrapped her arms around my sweaty neck....well, that type of beauty makes it almost impossible to think about myself.

Sunshine.

Thanks so much for reading! Only 3 days left as a first-semester law student :) Hope things are really great guys. You all rock.

Final Exam RACE REPORT II, The Empire Strikes Back

2010-12-10T12:54:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
Hey, Civil Procedure, STOP......Hammer time.

Pre-Test:
Three days ago, I thought Civil Procedure was just the process after the paternity test, but before you found out if you made it onto Maury. Now, I know that is only partially true. There are also rules, and numbers, and shit. Like, lots of numbers. I mean, have you ever just looked at the number 3. Like really, really looked. It's boobs, man. Boobs.

There are also other numbers of importance, but knowing them is almost unnecessary because law school tests are open book. Seriously, what is up with this shit? I obviously graduated Magna cum laude from the school of hard knocks, so this is child's play. Also, do you know Magna? If so, what is her phone number?

So over the last 3 days, I taught myself the subject. DID YOU KNOW that the word "penal" is used all the time in the law?? HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY.

Test:
The exam was actually oodles of fun. Our professor likes to make jokes in his questions, which is cool because it is only our futures, our eternal souls, and our ability to make it rain at the club that rests on this one test. Anyway, the forecast at the strip club is for a lot of moistness, which is only something that is good to hear in this context. Unless you are a carpet cleaner, in which case I imagine it is a win/win.

Long story short, it was a test. It was 3 hours. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It is a blog that may get sued by the estate of Charles Dickens for using his shitty opening sentence. I think things went super awesomely though, which is good because I just took another test, and I don't want to leave anything to chance.

Thanks so much for reading guys! Only one exam to go before Christmas :) You guys rock, and I hope everything is absolutely great!

Criminal Law Final Exam RACE REPORT

2010-12-06T17:50:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:

Hey, Criminal Law, SUCK IT.

Pre-Test:

You know that moment when your finger hits the edge of a piece of paper? And you're unsure of whether you have a paper cut, so just wait for blood to show up? That wait is law school exams, only the finger is your future and the blood is the inevitable descent into foot fetish prostitution that is COMPLETE AND UTTER LIFE FAILURE. So the pressure is substantial. But not as substantial as the 3-inch thick calluses resulting from our professional status if we fail.

Test:

My computer crashed last Thursday. This is understandable as karma only if some higher force actually witnessed what I did to those gerbils. Because we all know what one does with/where one inserts gerbils is not admissible in Criminal proceedings (wholly circumstantial), I wrote the crash off as an unfortunate twist of fate. With my fate looking like a dried out Twizzler, I entered the test room with my new computer. Turn on, enter the test application, and.....NOT RECOGNIZED.

/directly injects contents of inhaler into jugular

The gerbil just got caught in the crossfire.

Luckily, Aparchio (my friend in the IT department) resolved the issues. Whew! The tests are out, there is a lot of scary instructions, then the pressure begins. Of course, it is advisable to just imagine your fellow test takers naked in situations like this. Unfortunately, Duke has a very attractive student body, if you know what I mean.*

*What I mean is that I didn't type with my hands.

That joke was disgusting.....he will never forget.

I am not allowed to talk about the contents of the test under penalty of death (which is only slightly better than providing sexual pleasure to strangers through foot dexterity), but let's just say it was about Criminal Law. Did you ever watch Judge Judy? Or Matlock? What about Cheers? MASH? I heard MASH was really good, but I never got around to it on Netflix. Wait....what? Oh yeah, Criminal Law. Something, something, something else, or was it........MURDER??

/end scene

Long story short, it went super great. It is impossible to predict, but I think I did as best as I could, and limited myself to TWO jokes about Republicans. And that is change we can believe in. USA! USA!

On a serious note, hope all my law school friends that read this are feeling great. I root for each and every one of you. Except that one guy. But you're not that one guy. Though he might read if I included more references to the 17th century wardrobe of gentlemen.

Law School HAPPY FUN CURSING TIME

2010-12-03T15:41:00.000-08:00

The descent into madness continues slowly, but with a sureness usually reserved for fat-ass tortoises and particularly bitchy little engines. Seriously, little engine, shut the fuck up. I think you can motor off an uncompleted bridge, and I was planning to keep that thought to myself until you started being an attention whore. Seriously, just join Twitter already and get it over with. In conclusion, little engine = ASSHOLE.

As you can see, law school finals are upon us. It is a wonderful time of year where spending time in the library counts as time spent scouting the enemy for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. I saw a Red Bull truck pull up to the law school, and fully expected a group of sweater-vested undead first years to overrun the cargo, while the slower stragglers resort to the driver's brains and those whose ascots slow them down even more to deep-throat the tail-pipe in the hope that the exhaust has some Red Bull fumes. IT GIVES YOU WINGS.

Just kidding, of course. Red Bull is not advisable to use as a study aid. I mean, those cowards should stop cutting corners and better invest in an eight-ball of Adderall before they find themselves on the wrong end of the bell curve. Neither Latham nor Watkins will hire your ass if you get a B+ in Criminal Law. Though that should be enough to familiarize yourself with the statutes pertaining to the jobs that B+ students get after law school. After all, it is not an open-book test when you are on the street corner in fishnets.

To be serious (seriously), things are awesome. My first test is on Monday, and I am super excited. It is so cool to realize that the current moment is one I will look back on as one of the best in my life. Maybe it will be 10 years from now, maybe 50, but the tingling exhilaration of such a definitional time is simply beautiful. By understanding this beauty now, I hope that recollection of the present will be accompanied with the same ecstatic contentedness.

Hey Little Dave, the Little Engine read the last paragraph and wants you to know that you will be a bitch when you grow up.

I will update after each test with a post-mortem (possibly race report style!). Thanks so much for your support, and hope things are perfect in every way!

Fairmount Park Turkey Trot 5-Miler Race Report

2010-11-26T06:37:00.000-08:00

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 25:38. At the start line, the race director asked who would finish first, and a runner to my right raised his hand. First of all, dude, I wasn't wearing a shirt, which either means I think I am fast or I'm doing an active study break for the indecent exposure statutes of Criminal Law. Second, don't think I will hesitate to use these nipples for evil. At this temperature, I could cut you just by deciding to turn sideways.

Artist's depiction. I am erotically patriotic.

Pre-Race:
Thanksgiving break...you know what that means! Passive aggression mixed with the unique awkwardness of forgetting a family member's name. "Hey girl," you say sexily, "I give thanks for those jeans." (/winks)

"Hi David. I'm your second cousin."

"Ummmm....I meant those genes. What did you think I meant?
/turns on football game

True fact: extended family is the only reason anyone ever watches the Lions. It's like a game of peak-a-boo with a super ugly partner and 364 days of not peeking. Anyway, traveled to Philadelphia with Nose Hair the Magnificent (my dad). The "special person" from the previous post was there, and surprisingly she is not the type of "special" that runs into mirrors inadvertently and/or watches Fox News unironically.

Like the media, reality has a well-known liberal bias.

A quick shirt removal post warm-up and I was ready to go. As the gun sounded, you could tell who was born and raised in West Philadelphia because half the field ducked. Hopefully they have an understanding auntie and uncle in Bel Air. AND THEY'RE OFF.

Race:
I ran with the cocky guy for the first 800 meters. He was wearing arm warmers---from the plethora of forearm garments among the racers I have come to the conclusion that it is Elbow Hypothermia Awareness Month. Feeling great, I looked around and decided it was time to go. After getting a nice lead, a cylist appeared. "You're Dave Roche?" "Yeah!" "I can tell from your shirt." Oh, good burn cyclist...good burn. Apparently my humps and/or my lovely lady lumps have a following.
(the cyclist is Matt Hayes, who was/is awesome)

Bounding into the lead, I hit the halfway with a solid gap. Energized by the beauty of the moment, I started the second half. I try to control my thoughts when running solo--today, I mixed "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow Medicine Show with thoughts of Megan, because I want any blog readers with musical taste or masculine sensibilities to cringe in disgust. Hey guys, WHO WANTS SOME POMEGRANATE FRO-YO FOR THE TAYLOR SWIFT CONCERT???

Matt was amazing as a lead bike (seriously, I give thanks for people as selfless and kind as him). He cleared the course like Ronald Reagan parting the Red Sea. Don't check my math, or you will ruin the trickle-down Conservative narrative. I mean, the narrative is full of pictures of yachts that pop-up ALL BY THEMSELVES.

John Hinkley was really fooled by the sweet moose impression.

Running past the crowd in the last few hundred yards, the words of encouragement were simultaneously exhilarating and humbling. Chills radiated down my spine and into my legs, my gratitude to be alive at this one moment in time manifesting itself in an acceleration to the finish. Crossing the line in 25:38 with a few minute win (as far as I can tell a course record), it was clear that Thanksgiving isn't a temporal, yearly reflection on joy. No, Thanksgiving is hugging someone you are close to at a finish line, or a selfless act of kindness by a cyclist, or the first snow falling softly on the nape of your neck. For those moments, and for all of those daily miracles that stretch to infinity, I am thankful.

Beauty

2010-11-25T09:13:00.000-08:00

To a very special person--today, I give thanks for Beauty.

----------------------

Poetry has always been an elusive art that I respect intellectually, but view through the opaque lens of skepticism. "Emotion does not necessitate rhetorical gymnastics to be expressive," I thought. Now though, for the first time in my life, I could see how that would be different. For the first time in my life I can see how that opaque lens of skepticism would gain translucence.

The beauty I often speak of, and for which this blog is named, is universal and ubiquitous in a way that is unceasingly sublime. And through the new lens, this new perspective, the enduring light of universal beauty has been focused in a way that is difficult to describe. Even with philosophy...even with vocabulary, I don't think I can articulate the emotion.

"But maybe," he thinks, "With just a bit of thought, a poem would work."

Awesome News and Picture Celebration

2010-11-20T20:24:00.000-08:00

Note: I changed the awesome news into a game of Mad Libs because I am not 100% sure about protocol with these sorts of things.

It was 70 and sunny today in North Carolina. I freaking love this weather, primarily because I feel the same way about snow that I do about baseball--I like them as ideas, but in practice they are miserable and filled with white people. That being said, I would drop that idea in a second for a chance to be in the wonderland of Colorado, even though it has the market cornered on both snow and white people. With that out of the way, today's awesomely exciting announcement: I will be working in Boulder next summer!

In a stroke of good fortune, [noun] has a(n) [adjective] office in the Rocky Mountains, and they are amazing people who are changing the world. "But why did they hire you?" you may ask, sounding strangely like my driving school instructor (who I could never impress, even though they obviously call it a bumper for a reason). "I'll tell you why," I may respond, visibly shaking from an attempt to parallel park. Ummmm.....actually, I'm not sure. Perhaps it was the enthusiasm embodied by my willingness to sleep my way to the top if called upon by such an amazing organization. If nothing else, that would have given a whole new meaning to the aforementioned stroke of good fortune. PLAY ME OFF, KEYBOARD CAT.

Anyway, I celebrated today by doing a long run on Duke's Al Buehler Trail, with nothing but a camera and, after a week without shaving, what can only be described as a five o'clock shadow of leg hair. BECAUSE I DON'T GIVE A SHIT.

Freud would say it's a sexual metaphor. I hear his mom is pretty hot.

PRETENTIOUS ARTSY CAPTION.

Parting of the leaves. PUN-TASTIC FIVE!
/slaps own hand
//looks around empty apartment
///sobs

There's a few more self-indulgent, dismissive wankfest worthy pictures on Facebook if you are at all interested. Friend me if you'd like!--the link is on my Blogger profile. At times like this, contemplating the past and future simultaneously, it is clear that my true good fortune is the people in my life. For that, and for reading, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A Marathon and Relativity

2010-11-16T16:37:00.000-08:00

Time continues its inexorable march. I guess that is one universal constant, at least for everyone on Earth. If you are close to a supermassive black-hole, things might be different--that being said, not many of us get the privilege of being anywhere near Dick Cheney's soul on a daily basis.*

*Statement not valid if you are a crypt-keeper, or a minion of Lucifer**

**(Republican-AZ)

As clarification, this is the crypt-keeper. Though I hear TLC is trying to sign Beelzebub to a TV deal.

The march through time brings highs that necessitate lows, and nearly room temperatures that necessitate almost, but not quite lukewarms. This weekend, and this time in my life generally, is an example of that relativity with which we evaluate our experiences, ourselves, and our abilities to parallel park (Evaluation: A, B, and OH MY GOD WHAT DID THAT BUMPER/CAR/SMALL CHILD DO TO DESERVE THAT, respectively). It all started with a Saturday morning marathon. Now, I am not ready for a marathon. I never will be ready for a marathon. My children will probably be allergic to Snickers Marathon candy bars. And their children will likely crash their flying Segway at a Marathon Gas Station/Teleportation Supply Store.

A willow tree silhouetted by the sun, taken just before our cyclist passed me the baton. MY TESTOSTERONE COULD FILL A GRAIN SILO.

But as a favor to a friend, I ran the relay leg marathon in the Beach 2 Battleship Ironman Triathlon. The tantric root canal was accompanied by a moment when I was waiting in line at a porta-potty while eating a Chocolate energy gel. I feel as if that was the point I decided to reevaluate my life, because if I had waited just another minute to get to the front of the line before opening the gel, I probably would have winked out of existence in a matter/anti-matter collision. And no hound dog wants to go while sitting on the toilet.

His hair was also a bomb shelter.

Anyway, I decided to turn it into a long run, stopping at each aid station to drink, and my body still reacted with a trip to the med tent due to low blood pressure after crossing the line first. On a 2:32 pace at the 3/4 mark (out and back, out and back course), I walked in while fighting full body cramps. But we won! And I set the course record by 20 minutes! Plus I'm uninjured because of all the walking! Moreover, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER! Granted, after the porta-potty trip, I'm not sure I want to know exactly what it is.

Contrasting that experience with the rest of life, however, it is immediately evident that things are relatively awesome. The next day I explored Eno River with an amazing girl (I don't think she is imaginary, because my imagination is not that talented), enjoying every moment in a way that I couldn't comprehend 24 hours before. And I guess that's the moral of the story--whether extraneous or self-inflicted, life is full of valleys that can plunge into the very abyss of questioning the act of living itself. But juxtaposed next to those valleys are soaring mountains. What is unceasingly exciting, what is relatively awesome, is that those mountains are around us every day, if we just know where to look.

Is he trying to say that there is cocaine under the water??

So things are great! Last night I had dinner with John and Patricia Adams, world-changing founders of the Natural Resources Defense Council--their brilliance, enthusiasm, and advice are great reminders of why I am in law school. As for law school....well, I am pretty sure the day after that marathon is going to be awesome too.

Realistic Change (A Law School Jam)

2010-11-11T16:58:00.000-08:00

In United States v. Virginia, the Supreme Court ruled that VMI must integrate women into its student body. The lone horseman in dissent was Justice Antonin Scalia, kicking the spurs with rhetoric that pervades Constitutional argument:

"The all-male composition of [VMI] is essential to that's institution's character."

"That system is destroyed if the smug assurances of each age are removed from the democratic process and written into the Constitution."

He continues, invoking history and precedent to support VMI's policy of exclusion. So it goes for most social issues, from women's rights to gay rights. My in-class response was uncharacteristically passionate, and describes my objection:

This history was founded in an era, and a society, where women were rarely afforded the opportunity to be anything more than kitchen appliances. If an "institution's character" lays on a foundation of such disgraceful precedent, then perceived benefits are nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing, and serve to perpetuate the disgusting legacy of gender inequality.

I do not think Justice Scalia is a bad person; however, many of his decisions are those of a bad person (albeit an outstanding lawyer). Based on the words of agreement from classmates the rest of the day, I decided to elaborate on the purpose of law as I see it:

Law as an ambiguous external force is nothing but a false assurance that promises impartial governance while propagating cultural conservatism and social stagnancy. Nowhere is this more true than in the civil rights battles of the 1960s, women's rights since, and gay rights in the future. Yes, there is no direct precedent for gay marriage, just as there was no precedent for desegregating schools. No, formalistic adherence to abstract principles of law cannot be allowed to obstruct the realism of social change. And while overturning the precedent of bigots is no longer controversial--it once was. That history, that precedent, is reprehensible on every level of the shared human experience. Opposing cultural liberalism, opposing social progression, is inherently reprehensible whenever it degrades people for any immutable characteristic of being. And if precedent--if history--opposes positive change....well, fuck precedent, fuck history, and fuck Justice Scalia.

-------------------------------------------

Awkward transition ostrich makes an appearance.

Anyway, very exciting weekend planned, but it will be a surprise. Primarily because you can never be sure if the stripper will be alive when she exits the cake. Hope things are great guys!

Eve Carson 5k Race Report

2010-11-06T10:42:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
2nd overall in 15:17. It was 45 and raining, so I spent the last two miles of the race debating if this was the moment I should let go of the door and tell Rose I love her.

I am sorry Jack, letting your type up here would diminish property values.

Pre-Race:
I lost many electrolytes this week from pitiful sobbing. The sobbing started whenever I realized that every lost Democratic Congressional seat was a vote for climate change legislation. Barack Obama sobbed a bit too, but wherever his tears hit the ground, a fully formed apple tree appeared.

Ugh, women. AMIRITE??

But running has been swell! So I signed up for the Eve Carson Memorial 5k, a race with a heart-wrenching history that attracts a couple thousand runners. Leaving the apartment, the mercury read 41, and there was steady rain. "Awesome!" I thought in my race-day rose-colored goggles, "it is sweating FOR ME!" Other optimistic takes on weather:

Snow: Today, I'm dandruff free. It's clinical strength precipitation!

Extreme Heat: A great philosopher once said that when conditions are like this in herrre, we should promptly remove our wardrobes.

Frogs and/or blood: It shows how much He cares!

Warming-up was not really happening, but I was content because I took my pre-race pee against the side of the Dean Dome. All I have to do now is wait for the inflatable, ergonomically-designed Coach K doll to arrive from Ebay, and I will officially be a Duke student! My collar just popped in anticipation.

Tucker Whiskerman III just completed his application! HE LOVES LACROSSE.

Lined up, saw good friend/awesome runner Alex Varner, and wished him luck while secretly hoping he was prone to debilitating cold-weather cramps. Waited in the rain, lost most evidence of having a Y chromosome, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Race:
The course was nicely rolling, with a long downhill to start. At that point, running fast provided freedom from the fear that my fingers would freeze, and from the fear that I would experience brain damage causing me to use alliteration unwittingly. I opened up the race immediately, and gained 20 yards on the pack of ice-people. At the second turn, I water-jumped what I imagine was the Caspian Sea while wishing that my amazing geography skills translated to knowing where the hell I was on the course. Luckily, Alex handsomed up alongside me just before the mile mark, and led me through the more complex neighborhoods.

Our race photographer captured the course well.

After another descent, the road kicked up sharply for a half-mile. My cardiovascular system felt wonderful, but my legs labored at Alex's fast pace. Luckily, we crested the hill only 5 yards apart and I fell in control back to his hip. At this point, I was hoping to just stay with him until 600 meters to go, because I knew my kick would be stronger. But he was just better. A yard became two, which became ten and finally twenty, until by the crest of a hill at mile 2.5, he had a 10 second lead. Meanwhile, I started hallucinating from what I can only assume was advanced hypothermia. "Is that philosophy building made of wood?? IT WOULD MAKE EXCELLENT KINDLING." Of course, I should have gone through with the plan because it would have made me warm, and would have been the basis of my award-winning dissertation, "Not to Be".

Bullshitting ain't easy.

Back to reality, I succumbed to Alex's superior strength and held a 10-15 second gap to the finish. It was a really fun race for an amazing cause, and the weather allowed me to wear my Mickey Mouse on a surfboard t-shirt. In addition to being what my dad wore to his wedding in 1977 (true story), I feel as if Mickey in swim trunks provided just the cognitive dissonance boost I needed. SUCK ON THAT, other racers.

Thanks for reading guys. Hope things are great!

So Much for the Afterglow

2010-11-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

I am alive! In other news that makes me different than the Democratic Party, things are pretty great. Though perhaps the good times are limited, because we all know that happiness is a hoax perpetrated by liberal elites, just like hope and the idea that gay people have souls. My dramatic imagining of a typical far right-wing thought process while watching Social Network:

This is Michigan Assistant Attorney General Andrew Shirvell (Google him to if you would like to see a piece of live-action performance art), he will be our movie-goer.

Good heavens, why do I get these tingly feelings whenever Justin Timberlake shows up on the screen?

I wonder if that guy in the seat over there will be going to the bathroom during the movie? Follow-up question: has he heard of Larry Craig?

OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I BEEN THINKING? I hate myself. No, I hate other people. You know what else sucks? THE ENVIRONMENT. Hey panda! (points at little girl in front row) FUCK YOU!

GIT ERRRR DOOONNE.

It has been done gotten.

Ahhh, that was catharctic. And I apologize. Political discussion is one very tiny step above poop-flinging on the scale of primate-communication, and I will refrain from further comments. Unless California overturned the Global Warming Solutions Act.
(checks news)
(prop 23 rejected)
WOOOOO! America is not crazy, and the bill is still in place!
(hugs imaginary friends)
(cops a feel)
(imaginary friends are HERNIA-FREE!)

Anyway, fall is the season of change, and unlike Barack Obama (whose autumns have gone from "Yes We Can" to "Maybe we might" to "Fuck all y'all"), my fall has been awesome. First, Halloween--the time of the year when the costumes are skimpy and the candy is often razor blade-free. I went as "Tour de Franzia", where I was a box of wine with bike clothes.

I am BY FAR the worst athlete in this photo.

I was drinking wine before that picture. It is an allegory for America's cannibalistic culture. FREE TIBET! (sniffs own fart)

After a late night on Friday, I raced on Saturday! Patrick Reaves, a 52 minute 10-miler, also toed the line. His game face was on. He was serious. I was serious as well, but primarily about not puking on his shoes. The course was a hilly 5k over Al Buelher trail, and we ran together until I kicked with about 500 meters to go for a 17 second win. He was an awesome guy and an awesome competitor....as well as awesomely handsome. Oh dear, that must be the wine talking....
(winks)
(has dehydration-induced face cramp)
(this is not very different from my winking)

Afterward I watched an exceptional girl play field hockey, which was so much fun. This was primarily because I had no freaking clue what was going on. Based on my ignorance and what I gathered watching a certain person play, the best way to determine the winner would be by who looks best in a skirt. This also works for football, but requires a slightly more active imagination.

Male Ref: Do you know what is going on?
Woman Ref: Fuck no.
Duke players: Touchdown?

So things are good! Colorado went (mostly) democratic, which is huge for the practice of environmental law over the next few years. As much as I joke around about politics, time is running out for significant environmental reform. 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. I just hope that political shit-tossing does not stand in the way of change.

Farm Dancing and other Law School Breaks

2010-10-26T17:39:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am invited to events. Now, I know what you are saying..."David, unchain me from the radiator!" While I appreciate the sentiment, I feel as if your failure to cite legal precedent is fatal to your claim. In fact, I am pretty sure the post-Reconstruction Supreme Court made it legal to chain people to radiators if they drank at the wrong water fountain. So while you are over there, let's talk about some event invitations!:

1. Event: Contra Dancing

In the tradition of dances that even the most melanin-deficient cannot screw up by thinking that thing with the hips is a good idea comes contra dancing. Basically, a banjo and a mando play music while you dance with randos. In a perfect world, those random people are not horrible at using rhyme as a rhetorical device.

Attendance: MANDATORY

Reasoning: Anytime you combine bluegrass-style music with swing/line-dance moves, then add some home-brewed alcohol and copious amounts of just-consumed pulled pork, the potential for life-affirming awkwardness gets me every time. I CAN’T BE DEAD IF I’M THIS UNCOMFORTABLE!

The nuclear option of barn parties.

My partner and I demonstrated such time-honored and restraining order-inducing moves as the “take-a-peek”, when we held hands with another couple and proceeded to nearly clothesline them as we took a long stare at their butts. In a turn of events that was TOTALLY NOT deliberate, we were lucky enough to be paired with the elderly farmer/wife combo who owned the barn. Our good fortune is now burned onto my retinas in a way that cannot be undone. Let’s put it this way--Cosmo’s “Down on the Farm” issue will likely have a comprehensive plowing-based glute workout in addition to the mandatory 27 sexy tips to please your Ram.

Hoeing--The world’s oldest profession, or the world’s best way to a sexy stomach?

2. Event: Speed Dating

“Hey girl, what’s your sign??? Scorpio?? That’s strange, I’ve never seen that one. Mine is probably SLOW! Children at Play.

"Joey, do you like movies about gladiators? I am going to call you Joey, because I really like baby kangaroos. I mean, REALLY LIKE. Their livers taste wonderful with fava beans and a nice chianti, you know? Speaking of chianti, would you like a sip of this Orange-tini? I know it’s still full, but I got it just for you. You should drink it. Really, you should. DO NOT DISRESPECT THE SCOURGE OF SCURVY. Wait, why are you leaving?? I have plenty of hard candy! Oh well, you’re no better than all the other girls.....you are slightly less blurry though."

(bell sounds, next date approaches)

“Do you know where I can buy a new pair of binoculars?”

Attendance: ABSENT

Reasoning: Speed dating is creepy.

Anyway, life is pretty interesting in North Carolina. I am even going to a jazz concert on Thursday! I AM SO CULTURED, YOU SHOULD CALL ME YOGURT. Seriously, call me yogurt. The radiator won't turn itself off. On the running front, 60 miles over the last 4 days, including a 21 miler on Saturday. Saturday was also Duke's Parents Weekend. I think my agressive shirtlessness horrified the more conservative southern parents, which is cool as long as they don't complain to campus police and I have to extract revenge. There isn't much space left on the radiator.

Adventures

2010-10-23T08:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I ran a track workout. Now, anyone who reads the blog knows that I enjoy track workouts as much as Fox News enjoys reality, so I decided to do something different. After a full day researching a heartbreaking work of staggering tediousness, I left the apartment with a camera replacing a watch, and went to Occoneechee Speedway, a NASCAR dirt track from the 1940's that has gone back to nature. As my extremely masculine Suzuki Reno pulled into the unmarked parking lot, the Sun began its inexorable journey to the horizon, and the curiously probing rays could not find any other cars. I was alone. This wasn't going to be a normal track workout.

This is turn 4 of the old dirt track. I imagine each and every tree is growing out of soil that is a mix of spilled Country Club Malt Liquor and partially digested corn dogs.

The track was some distance slightly greater than a furlong and slightly less than a fluid scruple (yes, I just looked up units of measure on Google. MY RESEARCH ABILITIES COULD FILL 8 BUSHELS). So I ran at a comfortably hard pace for a lap, then used the rest interval to take a picture. Each break lasted anywhere from a minute to twenty, with the ghosts of NASCAR fans past cheering me on. Good thing I didn't mention that I have friends who are black.

The 1940s in the South....where the men are men, the women are kitchen appliances, and the minorities are not permitted in the Woolworth's.

Each lap was so exciting because the faster my feet ticked off the meters, the sooner I could go exploring. After the third interval, I wandered over to the meandering river, and took off my shoes.

But did I take off my pants...?? IT'S A SLIDESHOW CLIFFHANGER!

Another repetition and another journey to the water. Alone in the river, I couldn't help but think how far I was from the mountains of Colorado. But, when I grabbed the camera and thought about the isolated beauty, I realized how close I actually was.*

*2000 miles. Don't ever spend a second thinking I use figurative language.

...NO PANTS! Those who voted otherwise do not know me very well.
Picture Explanation: The feet are in the mud, and the body is the reflection off the still river.

As you can see, I use mud as toenail polish. It is organic. You probably wouldn't understand.

FUN WITH REFLECTIONS!

I couldn't wait to run so I could explore once more. Twice I found myself disoriented, and couldn't find the trail. But as a friend said to me after a similar experience, no matter where we are, we are never actually lost. It only seems that way at the time.*

*This would be the event info on Facebook for the Donner PARTY. It's a Potluck. Bring your friends.

North Carolina full moon. Luckily, I am on Team Edward.

Leaving the park, alone at that eerie hour when the stage is lit by the setting sun and rising moon, I thought a bit about my North Carolina experience. In this flawed reality, I will fuck up [Ed. note: repetitively], the narrative won't always be perfect. And the future....I have no idea what the future holds in its concealed grasp. But in the moment.....in the instantaneous change between day and night, or boredom and exhilaration....life is beautiful.

BOLLARDS and Meaning

2010-10-20T16:33:00.000-07:00

From a run this morning:

BOLLARDS! OH shit? This sign invoked simultaneous fear and confusion. Nothing was visible up the trail....but what the hell is a bollard? Should I be afraid? Thoughts of the inevitable epitaph ran through my head: "David Roche: He was warned".

But what could it be??

1. A bollard sounds vaguely like something that would be cooked in a sheep's stomach and served with boiled potatoes. This is actually the scariest option, because nothing is more horrifying than unknowingly ordering English food.

2. A rare mix between a bear and a mallard. Possible movie taglines: "The newest endangered species is in.....THE MIRROR." And, of course, "Duck.......duck.......DEAD."

3. Phonetic sign-making with an utter disregard for traditional word-spacing paradigms. If that were the case, I don't know why they are telling us that there are bowls of lard on the trail. They could just be more succinct and put a sign for Bojangles.

I am not exactly sure why, but I feel like that name is racist.

Anyway, this week has been really great. On Monday I got lost with a friend, and ended up at one of the most beautiful places I have seen. That had me thinking about the unexpected. Below is an essay motivated by that experience, and also something a person I respect said the next morning. Feel free to skip, and if you do, hope things are awesome!

---------------------------------
Meaning

"Life is what happens when you aren't expecting it.........................I guess death is too."
-Constitutional Law professor, returning from a family member's funeral

Part of us can't help look into the abyss and see nothingness staring ambivalently back. The looming scythe of a simultaneously daunting and unknowable end often accompanies introspection. Whether that introspection occurs after something trivial like an injury or something profound like the funeral of a loved one--one thing is clear, the abyss is real. The end is real. Really....what is the point?

Part of us approaches the chasm under a veil of willed ignorance. Occasionally the veil will lift, and our eyes will wander. But it's nothing more than a glance through the wrong end of a telescope. I am content to see the unknown through the eyes of others; I am happy to contemplate uncertainty through the most narrow lens. Really, I am happy. Aren't you?

One final part steps up to the infinite, takes a long, deep breath of the refreshing air, and feels hope. This part feels the pervasive transcendence of looking up at a night sky, the instinctual chills of looking up at a mountain range. Look! Is that a star? No, that's a smiling friend. Over there! That must be Everest! No, that is reaching a goal. That is making the world a better place. We are all a part of the universal whole, and through that connection our actions are manifestly important all the way at the other end of infinity. Tomorrow has so much meaning. I really am happy.

The day he started class with that quote, my Constitutional Law professor proceeded to give an amazing lecture. He wasn't an ambivalent nihilist. The quote shows that he fully contemplated the uncertainty of tomorrow. But that class.....that class shows that he thought what he was doing was meaningful. And that day in class, he was making our worlds better. His actions exemplified the hope that can spring eternally from infinity. His actions exemplified the one universal truth:

We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.

The Battle: Medoc Mountain Trail 10-Miler Race Report

2010-10-16T13:19:00.000-07:00

Pre-Race:
Law school fall break! Ten days ago, I had gone 2 months with a focus so pointy, an intellect so rotund, that only the shiniest of objects could divert my attention. But over fall break, all of that has changed. Now, my unmotivated state-of-mind has returned (a family of chipmunks singing Journey songs on repeat), and my running is really taking off.

So after my first stretch of really solid training in three years of running, I traveled to today's race with newfound confidence, strength, and Not Stopping Believing-ness. But could I hold on to that feee-eee-liiii-ing? Well, I was told by the race director that Tim Surface was also racing, a pro with a 2:20 marathon and heart of gold (*wink*). So it would be a race. As an added bonus, this race had "trail names", and I signed my dad up as "Nose Hair the Magnificent". BONE DREAMCRUSHER MOCKS YOUR OLFACTORY CANALS. Anyway, sign-in, warm-up, THROW-DOWN.

Race:
The first 1.3 miles were on pavement, and we took off as if it was a road 10k. After hitting the mile in 5:02, Tim asked who I was. Who am I? YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE. Especially if your worst nightmare is a person who races shirtless in 40 degree weather, and kind of has a thing for kitten photoshops. After 1.3, we started on the trail, and Tim immediately dropped the hammer. I was ready, and responded, coming up alongside his hip. Then, a truce formed over the rolling, rooty single-track trails until 4 miles. Ahead was Medoc Mountain, and he took another shot. Bounding up the hill, his lead stretched to 2 meters, then 3, before I realized that someone with his resume COULD NOT be given a gap. Increasing the stride rate, I crested the climb on the inside, and took the lead for the descent.

Knowing his distance pedigree, I wanted to hurt his legs on the downhill. Opening up a sprint, I jumped down the mountain and I heard an urgent panic in his footfalls. As the trail turned back up, I slowed to force him to the lead. At that moment, I KNEW I had him. He looked beaten right there on the trail---but I also knew he could stick a move, so I waited. Performing a back-and-forth waltz up stairs and across bridges, we came to seven miles side-by-side. The race director went crazy, astonished this was a 2 person race. Tim grimaced. I smiled.

The track race would play out over three miles. I thought he had conceded. I thought I couldn't lose. Mile 8, no change in positions. Mile 9, the same. Butterflies crept up while my heart rate inched even further down. This is the moment, nothing left on the table. Slight downhill leading into a climb, it is time, wait......wait........GO.

With 800 meters to the finish, I unleashed a full sprint. 10 meters became 20, which became 50. My legs powered up the rocks, the win all but secured. But wait. OH SHIT. I slowed for just a second on a sharp turn and he seized the moment. The gap shrunk as the single-track opened into the bright green clearing. Wild cheering and legs searing, still a 20 meter gap. Final right turn, only a football field to the finish. I looked back. Never look back! My mom's screams rose out of the din. Pump your arms! PUSH! A first-down to the line. Suddenly, a green flash. Failure from the peripheral vision.

So yes, Tim won. He deserved it. He led nearly all of the race. His power of will and physical strength were awe-inspiring. And, most importantly, embracing and talking after our battle, I realized that I will be a tougher athlete, and a better human being, for losing to such a great person.

Executive Summary:
2nd overall in 57:30 (6 minutes ahead of course record). I went stride-for-stride with a gladiator (Tim Surface, 2nd overall at 2010 Trans-Rockies, Team Timex), and it was an honor.

Of Depressed Mice and Corrupt Men

2010-10-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

Because we have the week off, I finally have time to catch up on the news. Now, elections are just around the corner, which can only mean one thing---anti-masturbation campaigns by women who ARE TOTALLY NOT witches. Also, ballot propositions for stupid, stupid shit. By far the most reprehensible is California's Prop 23, which calls for the repeal of the Global Warming Solutions Act until unemployment drops below 5.5%. California has had 5.5% unemployment twice in the last 30 years, most likely because Ronald Reagan lowered taxes on the rich who sell bootstraps with which the poor could pull themselves up. So basically this is a downright repeal of an essential piece of legislation. A related California ballot initiative:

We will kill every pet over two-years old because that will make every dog a puppy.

You have 2 years Scruffy......2 years.

The logic is inescapable. PALIN 2012!

Needless to say, the general state of climate legislation is depressing. The time to act is now, and moments like this make it very clear why I am in law school. Luckily, this depression from thinking about the Republican environmental platform is being studied by researchers. An awesome friend studying neuroscience provided information on a current project:

1. A mouse is placed in a tank of water.

2. STOPWATCH STARTS.

3. Mouse sinks.

4. STOPWATCH STOPS.

Then my friend would retrieve the mice. For the sake of my innocence, I imagine that she gives it the cutest mouse CPR before it gets up, thanks her, then drives away in a little red car. The purpose of this study----depressed mice sink faster.

The blue on the left is actually a cliff to the ocean. Stuart loved the ending of Thelma and Louise.

Democratic Response: Oh my god, that study is awful.

Republican Response: Oh my god, that study is awful. Unless the mice are gay.

Tea Party Response: Oh my god, that study is awful. There must be some illegal immigrants that would provide more reliable data.

The results might actually be directly applicable to climate science. If we can extrapolate to humans, the times may be extremely relevant to those living near sea level.

We should probably replace the beer with a letter to our Senator.

Anyway, training has been awesome! Hit a 2h20 minute run on Tuesday with 45 minutes barefoot, and threw in a few hill reps yesterday. I have never done a run focus before the last couple months, and I am thrilled with how my body is responding. The general plan is to hit some big races in November/December, then decide then whether the times are good enough to keep this going for a bit. If not, I'll get back to the other sports, and the mouse study will be very relevant to my swimming.

P.S. If you have a few minutes, watch the video below. Cry a little. Pass it along. It's time for change.

Funky Memo Writing and Wrong Turn Sadness

2010-10-12T11:41:00.000-07:00

The next 6 days are known as "Writing Week", which the first-year law students have off in order to write a memo. Notably, this memo is only 2,600 words. Assuming 6 hours of work a day, this means we have to write less than a word per minute. I have been using the extra time to make my paper stand out by turning the entire thing into a palindrome. I bet our professor has never fully understood the importance of racecars in North Carolina property law. Not to give too much away, but men with plans in Panama are essential parts of any well-formed argument. In conclusion, go hang a salami, I'm a lasagna hog.

Think about it.

But not too hard.

Anyway, notes from the week so far:

1. If you listen to any 70's radio station while running, you will hear "Brick House" and "Play that Funky Music White Boy" a disturbingly large number of times. Granted, I now like both songs unironically. In fact, I think the FBI should use them in every stand-off--not to make the occupants go crazy, but to make them go completely funky. Waco would be remembered so much differently if it had turned into a marathon dance party.

I would feel so much less guilty about liking this song if it were actually by James Brown. Also, just press play and listen to the song while you read. It will make the rest of the blog much better.

2. Also while running today, a pretty girl gave me a hard stare while on the Duke Forest trail. "Sweet!" I thought, "I must be at the perfect stage of glistening." A few steps later, I passed an older woman. She did a double take. "Damn! There is circumstantial evidence that I am currently bringing sexy back." Suddenly, a man who looked like he was smuggling a loosely packed sleeping bag under his shirt began smiling in my general direction. "Oh no!" I thought while rapidly feeling the funkiness draining from my system. I stopped to take my headphones off. A massive branch, fully adorned with leaves, fell from my head to the gravel trail. Apparently I had acquired some foliage as a cranial accessory when exiting the more intense single-track trail. Oh well, at least a hunter didn't confuse me for a particularly slow deer.

At ease, soldier.

P.S. I couldn't find a picture of the guy with antlers from Hot Shots. But I tried, and it is important to remember that effort is the key to success. "It is also the key to epic failure," you may say. After a year of blogging, I agree with you, and realize it might be best for me never to leave the house. The Briiick....Hoouuusse.

In other news, you may remember that I had a big trail race last Saturday. Of course, usually I would provide an update, but I was far too frustrated to think about that day until now. Halfway through the race I was directed by 10 screaming volunteers onto the full marathon course (which started 30 minutes earlier). Basically, they told them to be ready for the half-marathon at course record pace (set by trail stud Shiloh Mielke last year) and I arrived a few minutes before. This is partially my fault for not knowing the course, and partially their fault for being raised/educated by a pack of glue-sniffing wolves.

I apologize for this picture.

So I continued for 5 miles onto the marathon course without realizing my mistake, passing all but the lead marathoner before getting to the next aid station. Going from complete euphoria to utter dejection was a unique experience, and something I hope never to feel again, in any context. Trudging back to the start, it was difficult to reconcile feeling as if I had this paradigm-shifting performance with the fact that not only did I have nothing to show for it, but that it was mostly my fault. By the time I arrived back, the news had reached the finish and the race director was kind enough to refund the entry fee as soon as he saw me. With a thoughtful smile, and a pat on the back, all of the animosity left my body. My jaw became unclenched, and I finally returned the smile. Even when things are going badly----no.....especially when they are going badly----a smile from a stranger can make all the difference.

Ummmm....on second thought, Dammit, I'm mad! Satan, oscillate my metallic sonatas! YO BANANA BOY! Okay, enough of that. Things are great, the week is beautiful, and the white boys are feeling rather funky. Hope things are awesome!

Law School Legends: Revenge of the Ascot

2010-10-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

Law school is designed as an "exchange of ideas". Of course, the dialogue is an "exchange of ideas" in the same way that hypothetical, simulated drowning is an "exchange of water". My favorite method for combating the one-sided nature of this intellectual water-boarding is to ask particularly difficult questions. Bonus points are given when the question is confusing or impossible to answer without a degree in metaphysical philosophy. In this most dangerous game, the hunter never expects the huntee to show up on the front porch with a bushel of apples and a DVD of Saved By The Bell: The College Years.

The most dastardly example of such an event occurred yesterday in Criminal Law. After discussing conspiracy, the professor paused. "Any questions?" she asked rhetorically. "Screw this," one student thought, "How do you like these apples?" The question:

"Can you conspire to commit a conspiracy?"

*BRRRRAAAAAHHHHM*
INCEPTION

I feel like that question is easier to answer on the fourth dream level. POWER TO THE PROLETARIAT!

Speaking of subjugating the proletariat, Goldman Sachs was doing campus interviews on Wednesday! I didn't know this until I saw a significant portion of our class in full suits. I was confused. Did they have dates? ARE THEY AGENTS IN THE MATRIX?? Of course, the latter question turned out to be close--they wanted to apply for jobs working as an intern for Mr. Smith. After thinking about it, I guess trying to put your best loafer'd foot forward makes sense, because I hear Goldman gives out children's souls instead of business cards. Hopefully they are in the original packaging, they are probably worth more that way!

To be honest, my disdain for all things Wall Street is most likely influenced by a distinct inability to tie a tie. Our next subject does not have that problem. To understand this story you are going to need a little background. We have a student in our class who wears a 3-piece suit every single day. He also has a handlebar mustache. And wears a top-hat.

He is a lock for the lead role in the Chester A. Arthur biopic.

I am thoroughly convinced that he is an elaborate piece of performance art, like a Civil War-era Borat. Numerous stories surround this well-dressed gentleman of leisure, but no one really knows his deal. He is a riddle wrapped in an enigma covered in a time-traveling croquet outfit that often stylishly pulls off an ascot. So yesterday in Civil Procedure, the professor regaled the class with a recent case where bow-ties and cuffs were deemed common property, and not under copyright by Chippendale's.

In other words, this wardrobe is generally, not specifically, the weapon of choice for male strippers. With the story completed, the class chuckled politely and the teacher walked over to his notes. The class was silent, preparing for the aforementioned intellectual water-boarding, when our hero suddenly spoke for one of the first times all semester. Loudly, with a passion reserved for telling the world that Soylent Green is, in fact, people, he said contritely:

"Sir......Detachable cuffs and collars are the attire of gentlemen."

Stunned silence filled the room. Suddenly, one student hesitatingly clapped. Then another. Finally, the slow clap became a cacophony of cheers. A few minutes later, the class was able to settle down. But the glory of our hero, the legend, will last forever.

-------------------------------------------

Sorry about all of the law school stories...it's pretty much all that is going on right now. Even with that, things are great! I am doing a big half-marathon trail race tomorrow in Greensboro, NC, and I am really excited. One of my closest friends at Duke grew up in Greensboro, and I told her about the race earlier this week. She didn't really understand what I said (it was during a quick break in class), so she asked later what I was doing this weekend. Now, we were sitting around a table of 6 at lunch, which makes my response that much worse.

"I am going spend my time hanging out with your mom!"

I AM SO FREAKING SMOOTH. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope everything is awesome!

Running Partners and Law School Stories

2010-10-05T16:33:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a run with Jim, who is in town from Boulder for professional development! If we had met before the run, I would have told him that I heard that people can just go to a Chinatown massage parlor when they want to be developed, professionally. Though I guess a top-level research institution works as well.

To be serious, Jim is an outstanding guy who happens to be a great runner too, which reinforces my idea that it was probably unfair to steal his wallet. Wait, that's not right. It actually reinforces my idea that the types of human beings that run are generally the same types that make the world a better place just by being themselves. Jim greeted me with a huge smile, and interspersed conversation about his work at the Nature Conservancy with genuine interest in my life. And so it goes with almost all of the running partners I have been fortunate enough to come across. I think that when we push ourselves to our physical limits, when we truly experience the vulnerability of feeling small, it is damn near impossible to look at anything but the big picture. And the big picture of life is that we are here to help each other get through this thing---whatever it is.

Awkward transition ostrich makes an appearance.

So running has been incredibly important as a device to maintain sanity, as has finding humor in the little things. 2 notes from a class today:

1. Today in class, the professor dramatically paused after making a particularly important point. Everyone in the room turned completely silent. Suddenly, one student slowly raised his hand. Now, this student is known to answer questions with questions, which is only good on Jeopardy or if you are asked the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow. With this in mind, the professor stared at his hand, clearly in existential angst. The room turned completely silenter. Finally, the professor spoke...."I don't think I want to do that right now". OH SNAP! LAW SCHOOL BURN! IMAGINARY HIGH FIVE TEACH!

The low-five might have been an inappropriate greeting for office hours.

2. In our Criminal Law book, every section finishes with questions designed to make us think 'critically'. Now, for me, 'critically' usually means 'skip that shit because it won't be on the test'. But on this day, I must have been absent-minded and accidentally did all of the reading. And today the book said this (picking up on the last 3 of a string of 10 questions):

"If not, how should these issues be addressed? Are you tired of questions? If not, why not?"

SCREW YOU CASEBOOK AUTHORS. EACH OF YOUR QUESTIONS IS THE INTELLECTUAL EQUIVALENT OF A CRAPPY ROCK AND A SHITTY HARD PLACE. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND MY PAIN.

They wrote another book as well.

Anyway, things are really good here in Durham, and I love the law school so far. The weather has made an amazing Fall turn too! Thanks so much for taking the time to read, and I hope things are awesome wherever you are!

Carrboro 10k Race Report

2010-10-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

Executive Summary:
3rd overall/585 finishers in 32:36. Maureen Marshall of Smyrna, Georgia, meanwhile, is officially 195 times lower in the standings. AND WHAT TYPE OF NAME IS MAUREEN ANYWAY??? (quick update: 4th and 5th both have sub-15 5k's on their race resumes, which makes me especially happy I roofied their Gatorade)

Pre-Race:
Ummm.....law school. Awkward conversations at bars. Panda videos. Awkward bar conversations about panda videos.

Decided to hop in this 10k when I realized that all of my law school home slices were doing Campout for Duke basketball tickets. Campout involves 36 hours with no sleep and no shower. John Mayer wrote a remix about the weekend, and the title is "Your Body is Pretty Freaking Gross". It will be huge in prisons.

Race!:
The course was rather hilly, so the plan was to attack the downs and chop up the steeper sections. Of course, the first mile was down and the leader and I passed in 4:38 and 4:41 respectively. What I lack in good sense, I more than don't make up in basic pacing ability, so I hit the 2 miles in a much slower 10:06 as the leader pranced away.

Michael Cera played the prancing role in the movie. It was based on a comic book about the race. You probably aren't cool enough to have read it.

For the last few months, running form has been my primary focus, and I think it showed in this race. First, because I was able to come back from the brink after the too-fast mile using rapid turnover with a soft forefoot strike. Two, because the race pictures don't make it seem like I was fighting off a pack of angry Chihuahuas while doing an inspired, yet fundamentally lacking Riverdance solo. SMALL VICTORIES. Anyway, another runner passed about halfway through the race. We had a delightful time together, talking about existentialism and whispering sweet nothings, but that jerk decided he didn't want to give me a rose as he sped off to his next date. I am totally going to bad mouth him at tribal council.

The beauty on the left unhinges her jaw.

Then she feeds.

Running in no-man's land, I hit the 8k in 25:28, then struggled up the final climb to a 32:36 finish. Regardless of the result, it was one of those races where every second is amazing. Talking to people after the race, laughing loudly and often, it was easy to remember why we do this. It stimulates our minds and reinforces a healthy lifestyle, sure, but when the adrenaline courses through the veins pre-race, the pain creeps into the quads on the final hill, and especially when the unstoppable urgings of a smile pierce the post-race stoicism, the real reason becomes clear. We do this to experience the enduring euphoria of being alive.