On Election Day, I Ran

My friend, Dimitrios, is running a marathon on Sunday.

Bastard.

While I'm largely happy for his determination at committing attempted suicide, knowledge that he was going to run 42 kilometers before I ran the 21 km was kind of depressing.

Not 'depressing.' Rather 'leading me to engage in self-pitying.'

Thus, in a fit of desperation to prove I haven't completely lost it, I got in two runs last week. (I also punched a car that cut me off when I, the legal pedestrian, had right of way.) To cap off this resurgence, today, on Election Day, I ran home from work while Nat was at school.

From Highway 7 and Leslie to Yonge and Sheppard. Parts of Richmond Hill, Markham, and Toronto. Or, this:


View Larger Map

It's not nearly as impressive as I had hoped at the time, though. For some reason, I had it in my head that it was 17 km. Not even close--it's only 13 km. This, granted, is far more than you ran yesterday, but it's not exactly the 'almost-a-half-marathon' my ego so desired. My birthday isn't until November 12, but, realistically, it ain't getting any warmer between now and then if I'm still going to do this thing.

I'm in Montreal on Thursday and Friday (will desperately seeking out smoked herring, Iles cheese, and ecume, along with a trip to the Drawn & Quarterly store to snag some stuff by Kevin Huizenga), but I'll try to run an arbitrary two hours on Sunday and see how I do. Ideally, I'll run 21 k on Friday next, which I've taken off work in anticipation of being up late for the wicked-awesome Danko Jones show. We'll see.

For now, I'm going to watch the election results and read the third part of the Essex County trilogy by the brilliant (brilliant~!) Jeff Lemire. Incidentally, if you voted Conservative, I honestly think you're (a) an idiot duped by the devil or (b) an utter asshole who cares for nothing other than his/her own needs at the present without thought to the future. Please note, if we discuss this in person, I'll back-pedal and say I was being melodramatic and I understand people have the right to think differently about politics and that we can be friends despite having disparate opinions.

This, of course, is bollocks. You're an idiot or an asshole.

Here's my current running mix, in all its unfettered glory:

Warm-up walk
The Rock's entrance theme from WWE wrestling on a continuous loop

running
theme from Godzilla/The Champ is Here (Jadakiss, with Mohammad Ali samples)
Battle Without Honor or Humility (Tomoyasu Hotei)
Fast Cars (U2)
Weapon of Choice (Black Rebel Motorcycle Club)
Wolf Like Me (TV on the Radio)
Bombs over Baghdad (Outkast)
Big Wave (Pearl Jam)
Neighbourhood #3 (Arcade Fire)
Death or Life, We Want You (the Dears)*
Electioneering (Radiohead)
Call Me Lightning (the Who)
Right Here, Right Now (Fatboy Slim)
Man (Yeah Yeah Yeahs)
The Hives Introduce the Metric System of Time (the Hives)
Integral (Pet Shop Boys)
Black Math (the White STripes)
Choose Me (Danko Jones)
Tripping (Robbie Williams)
Red Receiver (Sons and Daughters)
Just Keep Walking (INXS)
We've Got a File on You (Blur)
On Her Majesty's Secret Service (Propellerheads)

didn't get to:
Unsound (Headstones)
A Little Less Conversation (Elvis Presley, remixed by JXL)
C'mon C'mon (Von Bondies)
Somethings Never Fall (Black Haloes)
This Fire (Franz Ferdinand)
Keep the Living Bodies Warm (Tangiers)
Zero (Smashing Pumpkins)
Not Your Stepping Stone (the Monkees)
The Plot (White Rabbits)
I'm So Bored with the USA (the Clash)

* Nat and I saw the Dears on Friday in a church. The show was very good and the new album is killer. Far superior to that crap you're listening to. Buy it when it comes out.

Bombay and Company

I recently spent a week in Mumbai. How and why is a good story; we should talk about it sometime. For now, as I'm sick as a sick dog, I'm just throwing in the photos.

Mumbai Madness

Not Photos of Mumbai

Photos of the city formerly known as 'Bombay' are forthcoming. But not yet. (We're on Indian time, clearly.)

For now, a small handful of digital pictures from Erik and Nat's first foray into solo camping (solo camping beside a car and hundreds of strangers, but solo camping nonetheless). In this adventure, our heroes:

-learn they are cottage people rather than campers;
-meet an old friend unexpectedly;
-spend money at the awesome Little Britt Inn rather than attempt a proper campfire;
-nearly run over painted turtles with their canoe; and
-buy tequila-flavoured beer but forget to drink it.

Kamping in Killarney

Don't Call it a Comeback...

... because, honestly, it probably won't last. After speaking with ex-bestfriend Rosemary J. Poole (we tried the long-distance platonic relationship and it was just too hard to keep things going), I realized I missed being on Facebook because I no longer can (a) keep tabs on far-away friends and (b) rant about nothing in a completely over-the-top self-obsessed manner.

Then I thought to myself, "Self... you totally can rant about nothing if you were only to resurrect your running blog."

Thus, like Jesus, Superman, and numerous other fictional characters, my Erik Runs Like Hell Blog has been brought back to life to save the universe.

Only now it has nothing to do with my running (or lack thereof). At least until next season.

We crapped out on both the stairs and the half-marathon (though we successfully ran the 10k). The moral of this story is if a goal looks insurmountable, just don't bother with it.

And hence, I'm trying to maintain a blog.

For now, dig the wicked-awesome photos of my recent summer vacation. Natalia and I went to les iles de la Madeleine. You should go too. Right now.

Îles de la Madeleine

I'm off to see Radiohead tonight, a friend turn 30 tomorrow, and SummerSlam on Sunday evening. Hurray for Santino Marella. But in between... I. Shall. Post. Something.

Or probably just go back to reading Journey volume one.

False Start

The title? Totally the last time I do a lame running pun.

Honest.

So, the original plan was to update the training blog twice a week, which let's face it, is charmingly naive. The second plan, a little more realistic, was to go for it weekly. That didn't work, of course.

Consequently, I'm just posting when I get a chance. Said chance would be now, as Diaz is off securing another master's degree and I'm home alone with freezing rain outside.

We've actually made some strides (ugh...not a pun) in going for the half-marathon. Two weeks back, I met with a podiatrist to ensure my orthotics (fancy name for the shoe inserts semi-cripples such as myself require) would hold up for 22 kilometres.

This whole thing came about after Diaz and I attempted to power-walk 25 kilometers and I thought it would be a good idea to try the stunt in hiking shoes one size too small. Somewhere around the 18k mark, my feet hurt like hell and the beautiful wife literally had to support me each time we moved from sidewalk to street due to the pain. I then limped for three days, resembling an obese sea lion with a spear in its side, while she skipped about effortlessly.

Right.

Back to the podiatrist.

Since it's been at least 12 or 15 years since I had orthotics made, it was suggested I get myself a new pair. (The cynical would suggest part of the impetus on the good doctor's behalf was his knowledge my insurance would partially cover the hundreds of bucks required.)

I strategically made the appointment the morning after the kicking Hives show at Koolhaus (I reviewed the concert for CHART, but they moved some paragraphs around--as is their wont--and I kinda liked my original better) so I could sleep in a bit. I'm brilliant like that. Similarly, I'm picking up the new inserts next week, again strategically the morning after a concert (the wicked/awesome Scottish rock quartet, Sons and Daughters at Lee's Palace) to ensure I'm not denied my beauty rest.

We also signed up for the Sporting Life 10k, which takes place on May 4. Out of the wide variety of 10-kilometer races that I've run (i.e. two), the Sporting Life one is probably my favourite. Yonge Street's closed down and you pretty much run straight to the lake (i.e. downhill) before detouring to sprint out the final meters under the Gardner Expressway. The fact 8000 others are doing it at the same time actually enhances the event; it makes you feel like a part of something. Not necessarily anything particularly noble, but something nevertheless.

To train for this, we renewed our membership at the local (Mitchell Field) City of Toronto indoor running track. We ran three times last week (25 to 30 minutes, plus a couple minutes of warm up and about 15 minutes of post-stretching stuff), but we're already dropping the ball for this session. The plan had been to run yesterday (and then go vote the Green Party into third place for our Willowdale riding by-election to justify us having Lou's sign in our window all week), but this was changed at the last second to the slightly less healthy 'head to Burger Hut for killer burgers, feta poutine, Cokes, and onion rings' plan.

We're running tomorrow, though, dammit.

In semi-related news, we also signed up for the WWF CN Tower climb (appeals for cash TK). This is incredibly stupid because we use to want to die after the 30 flights of our old Beecroft condo (stupid fire alarms) and the Tower Formerly Known as the World's Tallest is 144 flights.

Yes, seriously.

Diaz just wanted to show up and wing it, but this is beyond suicide. I've suggested we casually waltz into an office tower on Yonge Street, quickly find the stairwell and practice. We'll see.

Ok. The rest of my exciting night we'll include making baked chayotte and grilled cheese con ketchup, re-reading Rocketo, and pretending not to watch American Idol.

This is the second post.

Why, Dear God, Why?

I've started two blogs in the past (the venerable erikmissio.blogspot.com and the exciting pangolinpower.blogger.com), and I'm 0 for 2, with respect to getting past the first post. This is neither because I'm lazy (although I am) nor because I'm not self-indulgent enough to be a blogger (although, um, ditto). It was mainly because there was no real reason for me to do this, and I consequently lost interest within about three minutes.

Does anyone really care about my favourite albums of 2008? My feelings on the best comic artists? The remainder of the List of Things I Will Do Before I Die? What I thought about the Oscars, celebrities, politics, religion, television, books, professional wrestling, news happenings, or such?

No. No, they do not.

Does anyone care I've decided to try running a half-marathon this fall?

No. No, they do not.

But.

The proverbial deal is this: My short game's OK, but I've got no follow-through. The odds of me actually doing what I set out to are usually inverse to the amount of work involved. (Unless Diaz wants me to do it. Then, it's a given.) I've heard preparing for a half-marathon involves a decent amount of preparation, from dedicated running to conscientious cross-training, and from waking up early on weekends to, y'know, not eating four chocolate chunk cookies and iced tea for breakfast like someone foolish may have done today.

The only way I'm going to actually do this half-marathon stupidity is if I tell enough people I'm going to do it. That way, there's no graceful means of me backing out. Hence, this exciting training blog with the clever, dually meant title.

On the one hand, I'm updating a rapt audience on my progression in the world of sportiness. On the other hand, I'm using my own ego to encourage me to stick to some sort of exercise regiment. Cool beans? Cool beans.

I've seen (but note: not read) a book entitled Marathons for Mortals. The conceit's even a regular schmo like you can run if he or she puts his or her mind to it. This blog will be more along the lines of Half-marathons for Less Than Mortals. Cos let's face it--If I pull this off, then really no one with at least one lower limb has any excuse not to do it.

This is the first post.

Test Run

Hey -- my first blog post and it's a pun.

Goddamn, I'm brilliant.

22 k will be a piece of cake.