The inspiration for this post comes from Momma Ivie over at mommaivie.blogspot.com. This bitch is a mom, and a recent post got me thinking...can you have your cake and eat it too?
The simple answer, yes. HOWEVER, be prepared for an uphill battle. Myself? I'm a social smoker. I'm the douchecanoe you'll see at a party smoking something hip like a clove or a cheap cigar. The day after I smoke, I find it hard to breathe after a simple mile of half-assed jogging. I have no clever story to go with this, I just can't breathe.
But, maybe it's different for you who smoke regularly. Is it easier to get past the shortness of breath? Tell me! I'm dying to know!
SCHEDULE FOR THIS WEEK!
Monday: Happy Labor Day - you working stiffs enjoy your day off!
Tuesday - 3 miles, get ready to gear up!
Wednesday - 4 miles
Thursday - 3 miles
Friday - A reminder today is a day off.
NEW ADDITION! HALF-MARATHON TRAINING SCHEDULE & SHORTENED MARATHON TRAINING SCHEDULE!
HALF-MARATHON:
Monday - You're resting like the rest of us. Heh, homonym...
Tuesday - Walk 20 minutes
Wednesday - Walk 30 minutes
Thursday - Walk 20 minutes
Friday - Rest!
MARATHON SHORTENED TRAINING: (maybe you weren't ready, but are now!)
Same as the half marathon above!
Remember, above all else, have fun. Get retarded about running!
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Monday, September 5, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Loss
There are often situations in one's life that can detract from one's goals. I recently had a...slight misfortune, we'll call it...during the course of this last week. I'm still suffering from it to be quite frank. It's not fucking fair. Life took a dump on me and now I'm covered in more shit than the bitches in that two-girls-one-cup video.
I didn't want to do anything. I still don't. I want to curl up in a ball while wearing my Scooby Doo pajamas and tell the world to get fucked. But, I cant. I've got too many people depending on me to get shit done. Work, school, wife, fuck-trophy. So, I must persevere.
So, what does one do when that shit is stacked against them like the Great Wall of China...without the dead bodies and angry Mongorrians on the other side.
You do it for the cause. You can run for the kids in Africa, or lupus - it's always lupus, or DIABEETUS. You can run for yourself. You can run for those you lost. You can run to forget.
Take your time to mourn. You got this. You're retards after all.
Weekend schedule:
Saturday - 3 miles
Sunday - 3 miles
Monday - REMEMBER TO REST!
I didn't want to do anything. I still don't. I want to curl up in a ball while wearing my Scooby Doo pajamas and tell the world to get fucked. But, I cant. I've got too many people depending on me to get shit done. Work, school, wife, fuck-trophy. So, I must persevere.
So, what does one do when that shit is stacked against them like the Great Wall of China...without the dead bodies and angry Mongorrians on the other side.
You do it for the cause. You can run for the kids in Africa, or lupus - it's always lupus, or DIABEETUS. You can run for yourself. You can run for those you lost. You can run to forget.
Take your time to mourn. You got this. You're retards after all.
Weekend schedule:
Saturday - 3 miles
Sunday - 3 miles
Monday - REMEMBER TO REST!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, August 26, 2011
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!
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.
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.
Monday, August 22, 2011
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
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
Friday, August 19, 2011
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!
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!
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