Car

On one of my weekend runs, I was blessed with a 10-mile jaunt.  It wasn't too hot, probably around early November, so around 85 or so...goddamn you, Phoenix, AZ.  I left in the afternoon, so I could have most of my evening to relax and do whateverthefuckitwas that I wanted.

In Phoenix, AZ there is nothing but sun nearly all the time.  To be very honest, we almost never see clouds during the day, ever.  That hot as balls star doesn't usually quit at any point in time - in fact, you can sunburn in January if you tried hard enough.  My point?  It fucking bright as balls outside.

A smart runner wears reflective gear so dumbfucks in their steel deathtraps who are more likely to hit-and-run than pay child support are less liable to hit you.  I am a smart runner.  Black shorts with reflective lines up and down the sides.  A brightly colored shirt.  Even reflective shoes!  Oh, and I'm white.  Cracker white.  YOU WILL SEE ME, YOU WILL NOT HIT ME YOU HUMAN SHITSTAIN.

Some 17-yr old ghetto-brat in her daddy's Range Rover decides she wants Starbucks NOW, and I mean right fucking now!  I'm jogging at this point approaching the turn in for the complex in which the glorious coffee dispensary is located.  This flaming cunt of the south decides I am too unimportant to wait for and guns it into the complex.  There is no waiting.

4 inches.  That's the amount of space between the front of daddy's car and my statuesque legs.  I came to a complete stop to let Ms. Bitchy McBitchface-Bitcherton into the complex without my leaving the imprint of my face/sweat/DNA on her driver's side window as I continue my forward-propelled direction.

The best part?  I screamed.  I screamed every obscenity and racial epithet I knew at her while those on the patio looked on in amazement at the vulgarity of my English.  The result?  I didn't feel any better.  I didn't feel good about berating her and everything about her.  But the ADRENALINE rush.  Holy fuckballs, I felt like God.  I felt like 3 Gods, Trigod, if you will.  The last 6 miles of my run were easy and about a minute and a half faster.

Lesson: Before a big race, put out an ad on Craigslist to get someone to come attempt to hit you with their car.  Protip: Make sure they fail.

Schedule!
MONDAY: Yesterday, yeah...I hope you rested.
TUESDAY: 3 miles
WEDNESDAY: 3 miles
THURSDAY: 3 miles
FRIDAY: REST!

Looks like we're cutting back, right?  We are!  You just ran 5, if you've been following along, and that's huge.  We're going to do ALL threes this week.  Next week it gears up again!  Enjoy!

Oops and an update

Holy fuckfarts, I totally spaced out.  If you're paying attention, here's the schedule for the weekend.

Saturday: 2 miles
Sunday: 5 miles

It seems daunting, but you can fucking do it!  Get outside, get retarded, and get to it!

Dog

I think I'm going to take some time to talk about myself for a little while, you'll tell me if I'm interesting.

It's about November of 2010, the days are getting too short to do anything productive with and the nights especially.  Wife wants me to take the fuck-trophy out during my 7-mile mid week run.  I'm like, "What the balls?"  This presents a unique opportunity: use the whitest thing I've ever purchased for my runs...a running stroller.  Jeezus H Tapdancing Fuck, with my running stroller, New Balance trainers, and trendy clothing I'm begging to be raped like a 12-year old white girl walking the dark alleys of The Bronx.

Destination: buddy's house.  I'm going to be picked up there, then I'm accompanying the dunce wife to a shopping expedition at some glorious armpit/asshole of society like TJ Maxx or The GAP.

So, I start my run and for the first two miles, I'm reasonably still within my ghetto neighborhood.  And, I define this loosely based on the fact I live adjacent to a goddamned Wal*Mart...I'm talking 2-minute jog.  At about mile 3 and 4 we're getting into heavy agriculture.  Cotton, palm trees...uhm, more cotton, and no fucking sidewalks?  I've now realized that I'm pushing my kid either on gravel or into traffic.  This goes on for two miles dodging the El Caminos and the other rice-burners these wall-climbers decide to steal.

Last mile, I can see my buddy's house from the street.  I turn the corner, and WHAT THE FUCK there's two goddamned foaming at the mouth retard strong as balls nuclear killing machine Indian reservation pit bulls.  I feel like I'm dodging the raptors in Jurassic Park.  I'm going to turn around to look at my surroundings and a 3rd little bitch is going to be right there ready to gouge my spleen out.  Luckily, nothing like that...  So these two pitbullasauruses start loping toward me.  I've got NOTHING to fight them off with.  I'm a big white dude, why would I need protection?!  I'm looking for rocks, sticks, anything to encompass the Palestinian within me and fight them off with the worst shit Mother Nature could hand out.  I look closer and Monsterdog 1 has a rabbit carcass in its mouth like a hillbilly with a sliver of wheat sticking out of its mouth like it's no big thing.  Monsterdog 2 plops down and begins to aggressively bathe his testicles with his mouth.  Decidedly, it's time for me to start RUNNING. THE FUCK. AWAY.  I start fervently pushing the babychild in my white-as-can-be stroller and trying not to sweat because I think those beasts are like sharks are with blood.   While number 2 was busy licking his scrote, number 1 sat down to eat his tasty roadkill.  Yes!  Easy getaway!

***EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GOGGIES!!!***

Goddamnit, child...  The pair drop their balls and bunny and start charging and the sound of the baby's siren.  I'm fucked.  I'm going to be unforgivably raped and by a pair of ravaging pitbulls.  And, oh Christ, THE BABY!  Daddy mode kicks in and automatically I swear to fuck I'm goddamned Rambo, Batman, Chuck Norris, and Star Wars Kid wrapped into one terrifying vortex of murder.  Spider sense kicks in and I find a hollow metal pole (where the fuck was this five minutes ago?) and I start banging it on the ground and screaming my fool head off.  The baby has a strong distaste for the abrupt change in volume in and around her immediate environs so she lets out a wail reminiscent of 12 banshees being penetrated by rakes and razor blades.  The dogs stopped about a good 100 feet from me, 100 feet too fucking close if you ask me, and turned in a circle.  The canine scrotum washing machine realized his balls were dry and got back to it while his pack mate decided to run into an adjacent yard and disappear for good...or at least until I was out of sight.

Running a long distance is like an adventure, leave prepared for the worst.  Next time, I'll be ready.

I don't know what the schedule is right now, so I'll double post tomorrow.

Global warming, Libya, and you

As explained earlier for those of you who have bothered to pay attention this long, AKA my dedicated readers (seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?), you know that I reside a fresh, dirty hell known as Phoenix, Arizona.  Not only am I a marathoner, but I'm also an agent of running death.

This week, weatherbug is telling me that it's going to be a hundred and fucking seventeen degrees on Wednesday.  117?!  This makes me want to leave my air conditioned house as much as Muammar Gaddafi wants to leave Lybia.  Do I REALLY feel like running outside in that?  Fuck you, no, and thank you.

What to do?  Honesty, treadmills aren't great for distance running because it takes some SERIOUS mental fortitude.  Plus, I get bored looking at the same hot piece of ass in yoga pants...I'm not getting any closer to it, am I?  Back to the point, in this case the treadmill just might be OK.  You retards need to remember you're doing something that has LITERALLY KILLED PEOPLE.  Perfectly healthy 20-30 year olds, flopping down dead on the pavement due to strain, water intoxication, or rogue sniper.  Remember how hot the pavement is too...they fall, they become hamburgers on a flat grill.

Keep cool, run in the shade or maybe an indoor track to keep up with your normal running regimen.  Running early in the morning helps, also.

Also, the Laveen 5K, click for location and more information. I'll see you there. I'll likely even be sporting something so you know who I am and can punch me in the neck for being so flippant and "intolerant." Whining assfaggots.

SCHEDULE!!!
MONDAY: REST
TUESDAY: 2 miles
WEDNESDAY: 3 miles
THURSDAY: 2 miles
FRIDAY: REST

The rain - definitely, definitely, the rain.

Definitely rain.  There's no better retard than the Rain Man for today's discussion.  Have you ever been so fucking gung-ho about getting your ass out to run that come hell or high water you're going to do it.  You could look right into the face of God and be like, "Fuck you, God; get out of my way!  I'm running!"  And he's all, "Fuck you, no!" And tries to smite you, but he misses, because of your retard fast energy legs!

Yeah, well we here in Phoenix have these Middle-East wanna-be bastards called haboobs.  In other words, a huge fucking dust storm.  Well, I looked right into God's face, and I'm like, "Fuck you, God!"  And then he threw a huge cloud of dust at me...  And I'm all, "I SAID FUCK YOU, GOD!" and BAM! I punched that dirt cloud right in the goddamned eye and kept fucking running.

Think of it as an obstacle.  Something big to overcome that people are like, "You fucking ran in THAT?  Plus it was 154 degrees outside!!  Are you retarded?"  And you can look them square in the nostrils and say, "Yes, yes I am."

What are you doing this weekend?  Not that I fucking care...  oh, wait.  You want the schedule.  You aren't paying attention to me anyway, assclowns.  What do you care?  OK, fine...HERE!  Faggots.

FRIDAY:  REST!
Saturday: 2 miles
Sunday: 4 miles.  WOO!!!  It's easy.  Think of it was 15 minutes per mile...and that's reasonably slow.  Block off an hour of time, and you got this.  Did you ever think you'd go and run for an hour...four miles?  You're a fucking mutant.  AN ANIMAL!  DO IT!

That fucking kid...

Got a rugrat?  Me too, pain in my fucking ass.  I bought a fucking running stroller so I can take the little anklebiter with me on runs.  What does this fucking get me?  Well, on a longer run, I actually have to stop whilst dripping sweat from greasy wop forehead to wipe my daughter's ass.

Fuck this!

Can't do shit about it, but suck it up and push through.  I guess it's better than dragging a Christing Radio Flyer behind me.  But, shit, you'd know I was coming.  Rattlerattlerattle...

Point is, that stupid thing provides some resistance.  Plus, she's a fat little sausage, so schlepping 30 extra pounds on top of the 20 pound stroller gets my heart pumping fine.  Any fatter and I'd be kicking her around like a bunch 6-year olds playing soccer.  Once you don't have to push the tubby fuck-trophy on race-day you'll be flying so goddamned fast.

Who's got kids?  How do you cope?  Sound off, vaginafaggots!

EDIT: So you're all aware, I love my daughter with every bit of my soul.  Best.  Fuck-trophy.  Ever.

Refer a friend week!

Hey, fucktards.  Happy fucking Monday.  Seriously, this day can bite my ass, so I'll keep it brief.

Monday is a rest day, you all know that by now.  If not, you should read my blog more often...douchecanoe...

BUT, you have homework.  Today, call up a buddy, friend, pal, compadre, sex puppet, spouse, fuck buddy, or significant other and convince them to run with you.  You could even take this week back to week one if you'd like to cater to them, just be sure to ramp it up a little quicker.

Here's the meaningful sappy bullshit.  Your accomplishment will mean infinitely more to you if you were to share the moment with someone else.  Your happy is their happy.

Otherwise, it's all distance this week.  Nothing better than hitting the ground running!

Monday: in case you weren't paying attention, REST and FIND A BUDDY!
Tuesday: 2 miles
Wednesday: 3 miles (uh oh, what are we doing this weekend?)
Thursday: 2 miles
Friday: REST AGAIN

Here's hoping a flock of penises or vaginae (your call) find their way to your crotches by the end of the week.

Surprise!!!

It's not the kind of surprise where a pair of perky titties jump out of a cake.  No, this is like a shit sandwich.  Or, for you running tards who are really getting into the swing of things, a milestone.

If you've never run a 5K before, now is your chance.  This Sunday, at a time of your choosing, you are going to run 3.1 miles.  Best part?  You don't get a medal for it.  You're not running for cystic fibrosis or lupus or AIDS or explosive West Nile with a side of SARS.  So what do you do to celebrate your accomplishment?

You should ALWAYS have something encouraging at the end of a triumph, even if you've done it 9 times before.  Me?  I have a fruit infused beer.  Before you call me a fag, it's like wine, champagne, and beer mixed into one epic drink...and it costs $14 per bottle.  But, I earned it, so fuck you as I say with a giant 7-incher in my gob!  What should you do?  Smoke a nice thick stogie, get a blow job (or the female equivalent) and just sit there, have a craft beer, grill a huge fucking t-bone and be sure to cook it no more done than medium-rare, go to the tittie bar and make it rain.  Celebrate in a way to make it special for YOU.  It's your fucking accomplishment and don't pussy foot around.  Live.  It.  Up.

Schedule: In case you need a reminder you addle-minded simpletons, Friday: REST
Saturday: 25 minute run/walk
Sunday: 3.1 miles - I don't care how you do it, just finish!

Next week it's nothing but distance!

Two last things for a final thought: how the fuck do you track 3.1 miles without equipment?  Google maps + Google labs (the gear looking thing in the top right corner) + Distance Measurement Tool.  Lay it out to 3.1 and go do it.  Final thought?  Go fuck yourself and congratulations, you mongoloid bastards.

Water, water everywhere

Little did you retards now, water is a poison.  True story.

You make it a point to bring a bottle of dihydrogen monoxide with you on your jaunts, whether it's a lowly 25 minutes or a lowly 3 miles.  Awesome!  This is a good way to keep your innards moist and your body hydrated.  Then you go home and chug an entire gallon to balance things out and rid your body of toxins, free radicals, and semen.  You're very likely to feel a little fucked up about an hour later.  You brush it off and think you're just tired from your "run."  I say "run" because this is soon going to be the bare minimum you'll be expected to do starting next week.  Don't ignore this feeling!  You're going to die.

Water is known as the universal solvent.  Everything dissolves.  This includes the shit inside your body that actually needs to be there in a reasonably undiluted state especially sodium.  This imbalance in electrolytes in your body is going to kill you.  Now you're asking me, "WHAT THE BALLOCKING FUCK DO I DO?!?!"

Well, don't piss yourself over it.  Oh, wait.  YES!  Piss yourself!  It's the best way for fluids to leave your body.  Nothing more and nothing less.  In the event of extreme water intake, a diuretic can help or call poison control.  Keep your feet on the pavement, assholes...it's a much better alternative than using your face to run.

Are you serious?

I mean it.  Are you serious?  Serious about what you're doing, is what I mean.

For example, how many people have you told that you are training for a marathon?  If you told even a single one: you are a marathoner.  Have you started looking at running blogs (besides this one) for tips and tricks and how to improve your running style?  You are a marathoner.  Have you gone shoe shopping specifically for running shoes and did you tell the 17-year old fuckknob you needed them because were training for a marathon?  You are a marathoner.

If you are not this serious after the first month.  It's time to rethink your approach.  Hate running?  What's the problem?  If you run the same pattern everyday, you're going to burn out.  Take a new route, get some new scenery under your eyeballs, keep the brain busy.  Feet hurt?  You HAVE to keep going to build up the tolerance.  It's going to hurt.  Can't find the time?  Wake up early and hit the pavement before it gets hotter than Satan's taint or wait until it's a little darker and try a moonlit run in a lighted area...you know, so you don't get raped...unless you're into that thing.

You've got some very auspicious goals this week.  You're going to do something monumental, at least if it's nothing you've ever done before, but I'll tell you Thursday or Friday.  This weekend is going to be fucking HUGE for you retards.

Monday: REST

Tuesday: 25 minute walk/run (last week of this, then we go for distance all the time, every time)

Wednesday: 40 minute walk/run (more walk than run)

Thursday: 25 minute walk/run

Friday: REST

P.S. I reread the last post...  fuck these typos.  I'm so sorry for making you read that.

Substitute activites

Imagine this...CLOSE YOUR FUCKING EYES, COCKBITE...  You just built the Great Wall of China.  That mess of concrete, human remains, and unicorn tears can be seen from motherfucking SPACE.  Your notice on your smartphone tells you that you are do for your cardio exercise in 15 minutes.  First off, you should be impressed with how white you are, you alabaster gods and godesses...you've got a device that tells you when to do cardio...  Second off, you just completed the construction of on of the greatest manmade structures in human history.  You are NOT about to run/walk any distance after THAT.  A masked rapist wielding a rusted rake and a chainsaw could be coming for you and you will not be bothered to more one micrometer.

You know what?

That's cool.  Why, you ask?  Was your heart beating some sick dubstep beats?  Did you sweat?  At any point were you out of breath (not because you had to climb up stairs, you porcine tub of ass)?  If you answered yes to at least two out of three of these, file today under CROSS-TRAINING!  You can't be a running machine all the time.  You earned it.  Kick back.  Relax going into the weekend.  You're running tomorrow.

Saturday: Run/Walk 25 minutes

Sunday: Run/Walk 3 miles (you got this, in about a month, three miles will be a piece of cake)

Tomorrow is bring a retard to work day.  Bring me followers, don't be ashamed.

The temp is too damn high!

No seriously.  Through the month of July you crazy retarded bastards have been walking in 110+ degree weather in some cases.  You are truly retarded.  You may have even tried to do your walks/runs at 10PM that night, only to find it's hotter outside than it is in an oven (that one was for my Jewish followers!).

What is a dedicated retard like yourself to do?

I'll tell you what to do!  You can go in the early mornings for one.  The temps are significantly cooler given the fact it's been dark and temps are consistently dropping throughout the night.  If you're lucky, it's only 85 at 6 in the goddamned morning.

Not a morning person?  Think about it...  You're only going to be gone for a half and hour or so at a time.  Take a cold damp washcloth and put it your skull.  "But my hair will get wet..."  Fucking seriously?  You're not showering afterwards?  No taint teasing for you later.  "But the water will drip down my back and it will be cold..." I will rape you a rake.  Your body should be dripping with sweat.  "But..."  You're making excuses.  DON'T DO THAT!

Today is your midrun.  It's not the lowrun (M, Th, Sat), it's not your bigrun (Sun).  You're going to go a distance comfortably between the two.  Pay attention because this terminology is going to stick.  Memorize it, faggots!  35 minutes in a combination of running and walking.  Remember to push through any feelings of tiredness.  You can rest when your dead!  ...after I tap that ass with my rake.

White Zinfandel

Hey crackers (because no self-respecting person of a non-Caucasian influence wouldn't be caught reading a RUNNING BLOG)!  Did you have too much to drink the night before?  Good job.  Way to introduce toxins into an athletic training regimen...toolbag.

Toss back too many G&Ts or sake bombers (again, all whitey drinks)?  Chug some water and take it easy on your run.  The first day you take off to not run and "recover" is the first day you tell yourself it's OK to skip a run because you did it to yourself (this sentence made NO sense to me, either.  Good luck.).  It's an excuse, and not a very good one.  If you feel you can't do the full run, make that decision AFTER you start, not before.  You're in your third week and you're already setting yourself up for failure by skipping out.  Don't reschedule on your day off.  Your day off is meant to be a day off.  Shameful.

We're officially the whitest blog ever!  Tell your friends!

Kill yourself: Part 1

Hope your weekend was awesome.  I need to restructure my posts.  You assholes stopped coming.

In other news Amy Winehouse is dead...   I'll just let that soak in...

...

We good?

I'm going to tell you what you're doing for the first half of the week.  Right fucking now.  We're going to change gears.  Your feet hurt from walking for so long, right?  Time to kick it up a notch...sort of.  You're now going to run AND walk for your times this week.  Here's the poop:

Monday: FUCKING REST!
Tuesday: fucking run/walk for 25 minutes!
Wednesday: 35 minutes, same fucking thing!
Thursday: 25 fucking minutes!
FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY: kick back with a gin and tonic.

I'll write something more inspiring later, fucktards...