Pedal To The Medal

Haha hey! Welcome back to the blog dudes and dudettes, runners and non-runners. We've got some stuff in this one for the athlete, drinker, iPod stealer *See blog entitled This and That below, and those that claim they are inspired from reading my shit.(This last breed of human being doesn't know what they're talking about, they're definitely confused. Seek help inspired person!) 

Let's dive into it shall we! Today marked the official start to my spring racing schedule. With Boston being a terrible let down, and a big fat embarrassing You Suck, Better Luck Next Time lingering in my thoughts, I had to lay off the partying for a few days and jump into a race. What a better way to do this than running a Half-Marathon on home turf! I took one full week off from any type of physical activity after Beantown. That is unless you count walking to the fridge and jogging home from the bars a good method of staying fit. It wasn't though, I've put on 3 pounds since Boston. After the week off of being a glutinous blob, it was time to stop having fun and start pounding the pavement again. I ran 4 times before the race today and my quads were effed for 3 of those runs. Like really effed. Felt like the same agonizing ice pick jabbing pain that the running gremlins of Boston were torturing me with 2 weeks prior. So I went and payed a visit to my buddy Richard Lebert. Richard is an RMT who used to work with the Fanshawe Cross Country team. That dude has some strong hands man, he was friggen' ripping my legs apart! I guess I saw Richard a few nights before at a concert while I was all pissed up and told him I was coming in to get some work done on my legs. When I showed up to his office, he asked me how my night was. I had no idea what he was talking about, I need to stop drinking so much. I have yet to go for a massage that actually feels nice. I can't believe I pay for massages that make me squeal and toss around the bed like a little ferret, what is this shit! The next massage is definitely going to be from a Sweedish Mama, with comforting music, one of those majestic water fountains flowing in the background, pictures of unicorns, and a jar of cocoa butter. 

Holy hell do I ever get off topic. So I decided to sign up for the McFarlan Rowands Half-Marathon here in London for shits and giggs. My teammates Mike and Rick, whom are identical twins, were also running this damn thing so I went out for a run on the route with them a few days ago. The route is weird in my opinion. To many turns up in Old North, the race goes into Gibbons Park twice (I hate running on bike paths for some reason) and is just an overall C- in my eyes. So with these junk filled legs and a C- race course looming, I didn't know what to expect. I got 3 hours of sleep last night, was nervous as hell, and I'm not sure why. Normally I get nervous before a race, everyone does. You have to be a rare breed of Sicko to not get nervous before the gun goes off. I was reaching new levels of anxiety though. I was nervously impaired and was hesitant to get behind the wheel of my car to drive down to the start line. I think it was because I knew at some point in the race, I was going to feel Boston shitty again. That little bastard canary voice in my brain was fluttering around and putting nasty thoughts in my head. He's like the Tweetie Bird, only the demon version. 

So as I toed the line it looked like I was going to be running out front with defending champ Matt Suda from London Runner and what appeared to be a Kenyan looking dude. Kenyan dude was an older guy, fit as hell though. I was more worried about Suda though because his PB is like 90 seconds faster than mine going into the race, he was the favourite, and I had no idea who our other friend was. I found out after the race that Old Fit Kenyan Sir is Nelson Ndereva, who ran 2:10:58 in the marathon back in 2001 (Hopefully its the same guy). So the gun goes off and Suda does the leading for 2 miles with Nelson behind him and myself tucked in back there too. The first two miles were into the wind and Suda was doing more work then he should have been doing, so I decided to give him a hand and lead for a bit. The race goes by Charles St. on Wharncliffe, where my party people live. My party people were out tearing up the Richmond scene last night and told me they would be out in lawn chairs to watch me run by Charles St. this morning. Do you think these clowns were there as I passed by at 8:05am? Not a friggen' chance! These losers were probably drunk, smelly, and knocked out. As we entered UWO at 5k, it was still the 3 of us, Nelson tucked in behind. Matt and I started making a gap on Nelson in Gibbons and the cyclists up front were on their walkie talkies saying "We have a runner dropping off". I was excited to drop a kenyan 7k into the race, but I was concerned that I was going out to fast and he was going to reel my ass in later on. 

Now we get to the mass confusion and fuckery that started happening. I was feeling good and started pulling away from Matt on St. James Street. The two pace bikes up front dragging us along the course had no idea where we were! I realized we were totally going the wrong way and I was getting pretty damn mad! Shouting at these two guys! Where the hell are we! I started realizing that shit was too good to be true. I thought this was their way of saying, "Not so fast kid, we're going to intentionally screw you over". Such bullshit yet again. I was cursing at this point, and the canary in my brain was effing with me big time. Here is a link to Happy Gilmour trying to go to his happy place, then that sly, greasy bastard Shooter McGavin rains on his parade. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWKijJ9n-VQ This is how I felt man.

With about a 50m lead on Suda, I was now concerned that he was going to blow past me as I was taking my anger out on the two lead cyclists, wasting all my energy yelling back and forth with them. I so wanted to find a big rock like Happy Gilmour and his caddie and just huck it into a pond, that would have made me feel better. I came to a jog at the middle of an intersection in Old North to ask Matt what the hell was going on. I think he was just as pissed as I was. What a god damn nightmare, it couldn't have been scripted worse than this. I just had a growing lead and I needed to slow down to see if he was thinking what I was thinking. I've heard of this shit happening before in races, but never thought it would happen to me. Lumani Luck as my buddies like to call it. 

So I started running my balls off again to get back onto my goal pace, but I knew a PB was definitely out of the question now and winning the race was all I cared about. As I turned onto Windemere off of Adelaide I was happy to have some family support watching me grit my teeth and throw down the hammer and start grinding. The gap was getting larger as I headed back into UWO and my buddy Robbie Timmerman followed me on his bike through Gibbons before some race official told him to stop pacing me! Robbie told me I had a 1 minute lead and I started feeling Boston Shitty, real bad. The final 3k was a friggen' roller coaster ride. I had nothing left in my legs and I was letting out some pretty loud moans, HAHA! Canary Bird was back to screw with my head and was pretty much letting me know that either Nelson or Matt were about to creep up on my ass and I would be heartbroken yet again. As I flailed my arms and swam all the way down Central Ave, almost drowning, I didn't even care about winning anymore. I just needed to finish this shit, I was beginning to wobble around like a douche bag. I had to start digging deep. It's amazing how you can feel so good for 18km, then POW, you get smacked in the legs with a crowbar and feel like you've funneled a bottle of Gin. I ended up stopping my watch at 13.1 miles (the actual distance of a half marathon) in a time of 1:12:37. This was only 6 seconds slower than my PB, however with the extra 600m we ran in Old North, I ended up crossing the line in 1:14:44, taking first place. Nelson finished strong coming in 16 seconds later, then Matt taking 3rd. 

I'm happy with the win and surprised with myself that after 2 weeks of drinking and being a stain on the couch, I haven't lost that much fitness. A lot of easy running this week is going to be on the agenda before I start training for an 8k that is on June 22nd. Shout outs to my dude Clint Smith, winning the 10k this morning in 33 low on a tough course. Watch out for Clint ladies and gents, he is going to be so legit come cross season, it's not even gonna be fair! Brandon Graham also from FXC coming second in the 10k, Coach Loney running a fast one and showing how fit he is for an old man, my boy Flush from FXC winning the 5k, and the twins Mike and Rick running huge PBs in the half. Overall a great day for the Fanshawe Cross Country boys! Thanks to everyone down at the race supporting me, the race organizers and officials, Runners Choice, the people at the medical tent, Dill, Spits (Mayonnaise Allergy), and Tferg for coming 30 minutes after I finished (They were hungover as hell and looked worse than I did) and my fam. No hard feelings to the two cyclists either, shit happens, we'll get it right next time! My 3 buddies mentioned above took me out to Jack Astors this afternoon. We ate some grub, shot the shit, downed some pitchers, and Tferg bought me a shot of Gin at 1pm. Who orders a shot of Gin at Jack Astors? Is that even real?

Brandon Graham (Left in green/orange) Clint Smith (Blue Elite Feet singlet, pink compression sleeves and Overall Boss Swag) Coach Loney (White singlet behind Clint) 10km race

Here are the splits from the race:

Mile 

1- 5.29

2- 5.38

3- 5.33

4- 5.27

5- 5.23

6- 5.32

7- 5.34

8- 5.28

9- 5.32

10- 5.30

11- 5.27

12- 5.30

13- 5.52

.1- .43

1:12:37

Link to a video that I am interviewed in for a few seconds....

http://www.lfpress.com/news/london/2012/04/29/19693286.html

I have my iPod back. You suck Cindy, better luck next time. 

This and That

Whatsup bloggers, I'm back. This one does not fall under the topic of running. It's much more interesting than that. I woke up this morning feeling like a bag of hammers, in the same clothes I wore last night, on my buddies bed, with two other buddies (no homo). They also felt like me, looked like me, smelt like me, and sucked like me. We suck so bad some mornings. The product of sucking this much ass comes from the divine poison that is known as Gin. Every time I drink it, I wake up a loser. Today was one of those mornings. Upon wake-up, I noticed that the stench of the once clean Charles Street residence was nothing out of the ordinary, a familiar indication of another night spent being stellar friggen' partiers. If there is one thing my buddies and I excel at, its throwing down the booze. Like any 22 year old guy, we are pretty enthusiastic when it comes to drinking. We are equipped with it all. Alpha's, Drunks, smart friends, not so smart friends, pimps and players, athletes, grocery store employees, golf course employees (80% of our friend circle works at one of those places). Yesterday we had a celebration. No it wasn't to celebrate graduations, work promotions, engagements, the purchase of a new car or home. We celebrated Wednesday. It was time for a Cookout! An assortment of meats and salads and beers and gin were bestowed upon us in what could have been the top 5 smorgasbord's of our time. After eating, laughing, and enjoying a couple casual beverages, it was time for everyone to put their game faces on. I say game faces because these kids are serious about this shit. I want to go to the olympics one day to run the marathon. If professional drinking was an olympic sport, all of these crazy bastards would have hit the Olympic "A" standard by now and would be making a trip to London, England this summer.

Moving on. One of the thousands of amazing ideas that my buddies and I come up with was after the bar last weekend. After a typical night out, we were full of bad choices and great ideas. We weren't cabbing home dude, we were on a mission to 7/11. We had a 4 man crew full of piss and ambition. 4 different dudes meant 4 different bags of Dorito's, and we had a big brewing pot awaiting their arrival. Since this was probably the best creation of chip salad ever established, we started a new trend known as Eating That Chizzurp.

But with all chizzurp asside,the main reason of writing this here blog was to make you aware and knowledgeable of the iPod thief. Like all other thieves, the iPod burglar is a sneaky son-of-a-bitch. These conniving sons of bitches are no match however for the drunk clowns that are full of bad choices and good ideas- me and my friends. To be a successful thief, you must be smart. You must have a plan. You must have secondary plans and even Plan C's. You must have flashlights, pantyhose to cover your face, a cool name like "Spyder" or "The Mechanic", a god damn escape route for the task at hand. Let me tell you how un-smart, unprepared, and how bad this broad's plan of execution was for her unsuccessful iPod robbery last night. 

Fast forward to 9am this morning. 3 dudes in a bed. Feeble, smelly, groaning, and looking like death. Another night of Gin and Jim Bob Ray's had beaten us down, mentally and physically. With an 8 hour shift of work ahead of me, it was time to snap out of it and get my grind on. Normally I'm the king of battling and eliminating the Hangover, but today was a different story. So I finally rolled out of bed, took a good hard look at myself in the mirror (this is always awesome) then proceeded to look for my iPod. The friggen' thing was know where to be found. When I'm a pissed up puddle I usually hide it in funny places thinking it would be a great idea, but this time I checked all those funny places. The oven, condiment shelf, under the sink, bathroom drawers, my buddies rooms. Nothing. So this was already shaping up to be a terrible morning. I am pretty passionate about music and losing personal belongings. There was a lot of F words before I left for work.

Fast forward to 7pm. Text message from Tuftsies saying "that random crackwhore from last night jacked our iPods." I had no idea who this crackwhore might be. 18 armed men could have came into the house and I would have had no idea. I was knocked out cold! So here's what happened. One of our smart friends brought back some troll to the house last night. I know she's a troll because I facebook searched our friend the iPod thief and god damn. Hell, she needs all the iPod earnings she can get so she can fix herself. Thank you once again Social Media! So this classy piece of work must have taken our iPods when she made her exit this morning while we were all asleep. I wish we caught her trying to be all stealth and shit to make her Walk of Shame that much more shameful. You see, if she had a mask or a sword or some badass background music playing she would have pulled this one off I think. Let me expose to you how genious she is. 

#1. Lets call her Cindy. Cindy was in a house full of 10 dudes from the hours of 3am-approximately 7am. Cindy, we are pretty much the 10 best friends that anybody can have (Alan from "The Hangover voice). None of us would steal iPods from eachother, thats just stupid! This leaves you Cindy, smart one. 

#2. Cindy, our buddy that brought you home knows your name. (It's not Cindy, just to re-clarify). He likes us more than you. Therefore, he's going to have our back over yours! Muahahahaha.

#3. Your facebook photos directly indicate you are a troubled soul, so we put two and two together. I'm sorry to our one buddy who brought her home last night. Your beer goggles must have been in full force!

These are only a few indictions of the lack of skills she possesses when it comes to successful stolen property. I have the mind of a thief, therefore you will never trick me Cindy, you whore. So Tufts and I each sent her facebook messages pretty much explaining that iPods don't have legs, you were the only random in the house, you have a deadline to give them back, your stupid enough to put your place of employment on your info page, and we'll see you very soon. Cindy was scared man, she was so flippin scared. Our good pal Spits was just as furious as me and Tufts were. Spits wasn't the one banging the troll, he just loves us to death and wouldn't want a troll listening to our awesome music. Spits had antics. Spits would have ripped this girl to shreds man. He would walk up there all lanky and shit, with his deep voice and just start givin'er! He was ready to go marching into her work, unleash and open up a can of whoop ass, make her cry, yell "She's a thief" and make sure she was fired on the spot. That would have been so friggen' awesome. I love you Spits, but he's allergic to Mayo. He always pukes when he eats it, what a clown! We should still do that anyways. So, Cindy messaged us back, acknowledged that she's a dummy, said she was sorry, and is giving back our iPods. You know what would be classic? If I posted the link to this blog on her facebook wall! That would be harsh, I'm not that mean.

I feel great. Cindy probably feels like poo. When I see Tufts I am going to give him a running chest bump and jam out to some gangster beats. Life is good man. Don't steal from us people, just don't do it!

So today my man John Mason ran a 17 second PB down in Michigan for the 5k. The dude broke 15min, running 14:59 unofficially. It's time for John to come fix up my friend Taylers deck and celebrate that PB over some beers and superior deck building. Hurry up Mr. Mason!

Work Hard Play Hard by Atlantic Records

Work Hard Play Hard by Atlantic Records

Tha Race

Hey again, Josh here. I have a lot to talk about, so saddle up partner. Firstly would like to say thank you to my amazing Aunt Diane. I'm posting this badboy using my new 27" iMac computer, which she passed on to me cause' her and Uncle Richard are moving back to Australia. I want to go to Australia one day. Kangeroos are friggen' cool. They are a day ahead of us. They're toilets flush the opposite way. The place is effin' down under man. I am going to be blogging like crazy now. Blogs are hard work, but doing it on this thing is way to sweet!


Enough about how awesome Australia and my new computer is, let's get rolling on the moment you've all been waiting for. "How did Josh fucc up that bad in Boston?". Well sit back and let me humour you on the debacle that unfolded over the course of 33km last Monday. wanna know how I feel about the  Boston Marathon? Pissed. Every April 16th for the rest of my life (Unless we all die for that hokus pokus 2012 bullshit) I am going to start a rally and do something really bad to commemorate the pain I endured on that stupid Boston day. Global warming is a mother-effer. I got a jist of this phenomenon during race day. It seems to me that Global Warming thought it'd be a funny idea to miraculously jump up to 30 degrees on Monday April 16th, when 28,000 psycho's had to run 42 kilometers for the 116th Boston Marathon. Keep Reading.


Like Global Warming, Karma too is a mother-effer. A week before the race, Boston runners of the twitter world were buzzing over the possibility of a heat wave. I retaliated by tweeting "Attention Boston Runners: The only people who should be concerned about the weather is those who plan on finishing on the podium". That was aggressive, and well fucc man, that one came back to bite me in the ass. The good people of the Boston Athletic Association even encouraged runners to back out and defer they're bib number until 2013 because of the heatwave we were all about to face. I didn't want to do that, because that would be pretty pussy of me. My train of thought was this; in the event that we all die at the end of 2012, like Mr. Nostradamus insists, I wouldn't get the chance to run another Boston Marathon. The other thought was on a more serious note. I had been training for 16 weeks, got in the best running shape I've been in, ready to roll out a 2:32 Marathon, and I wasn't slowing down because it was about to be 30 degrees out. I also wasn't expecting shit to go down like it did. Keep reading.


Race Day


A.K.A the day of humiliation and self torture. 6am wakeup (torture number 1). Leg shave, check. Take a dump, check. Eat breaky, check. Put on my gear, check. Pops and I then proceeded down to Boston Commons where hundreds of busses were taking cartels of other insane people over to Hopkinton, Massachusetts (that word is so hard to pronounce) to get to the starting line. By 10am, the heat was already showing its ugly face. I met up with my boy, Luke Shane who is from New York. I met Luke over twitter last year using the #BostonMarathon hash tag. We met up before the race last year as well and then again this year. Luke is a super nice dude. His story is similar to mine, he hasn't been running long and he's constantly getting faster. He was ready to throw down a sub 2:40 Marathon as well and had the same attitude as I did. Fucc the heat, we're invincible. My plan was to roll out a 1:17 half, and pick it up for a 1:15ish second half, purely on the adrenaline from the cheering spectators. I was fit enough to run this pace, but unfortunately I didn't do any training in desert-like conditions. So I rolled out a bunch of 5:50 miles, hit the half in 1:16:36, and shit got difficult from there. I once I hit the half, I knew there was no way in hell of negative splitting the remainder of that bastard. I wasn't in Boston to run slow or have fun. The faster you run, the less fun it is. By mile 2, I was already drenched in sweat. I made sure to hit every damn water station at every damn mile. I was tossing back gatorade and dumping water on my head, only to be dry again by the next mile. At mile 15 I was friggen' dying man. I probably looked like the biggest loser. My singlet was stuck to me, my shoes weighed a million pounds from all the water I poured on myself, I was yelling, swearing, groaning, moaning, grimacing and then came to a complete stop before the start of the hills in Newton. I pulled over to the side of the road, knelt down, and looked pretty pathetic. People were nervous. Huddling around me and shit. I jumped to my feet and started running again. I hit 30k in 1:50 and shit was really beginning to slow down. I made it up heartbreak hill, where I was officially heartbroken and no longer able to drag my ass any further. The heat was crazy man. My quads were shot. I felt like giving a double middle finger salute to the entire town of Newton. 


33k was the end of a long and crazy journey for me. It happened to be right around Boston College. I officially hate Boston College and will cheer for any NCAA team that plays against them in football/basketball/hockey. Screw you Boston College. I knelt down once again and then was taken to a medical tent. I broke down. Yeah I cried, this marathon meant a lot to me. 3 years ago I was a loser. Did shitty in school, was a lazy blob with no ambition, and then I decided to turn things around. The first two marathons were okay, but I wanted to do something inspiring for this one. Yeah there are dudes that run 2:10 and quicker, but they aren't human. I wanted to run 2:30something so bad, and the heat took it from me! Such bullshit. When they shipped my gomer ass back to the finish line, I was walking around with my head down, feeling sorry for myself, you know, all that good shit. I saw my mom and dad and they were pretty happy to see me alive. I feel like I let a ton of people down. Sorry for the scare to anyone tracking me online. After you didn't see my split from 30-35k I'm sure you were worried sick. That was the most painful shit I've ever done. Yeah women push babies out of their vajeens, but this was probably worse. Theirs a quote I like that goes something like this..."To Describe the agony of a marathon to someone who hasn't run it is like trying to describe the colour blue to someone born blind". You can find out a lot about yourself in a race of that length. I found out that I had a lot of balls to pull off what I did, even though the result was hardly anything to be proud of, I know I have a fast one in me.


So what's next? There's a half marathon in London on April 29th that I might jump into. That will be a gametime decision as I haven't run since Boston, been drinking a lot of Gin, and have some pretty sore toes. I want to run it bad tho and get some anger out, LOL. Thanks to everyone that has been supportive of me and takes interest in my running. It really does mean a lot and I promise I bounce back. It probably happened for a reason anyways. Not sure what that reason is yet, but I'll find out soon.

Take care.

We Outcheeaa.

We made it, frigg yeah! I'm super jacked up on coffee right now. Had about 8 cups today, potentially a new personal best. Speaking of personal bests, I'm gonna get me one of those on Monday. I just wanna run already man! Boston is one wicked place. It's all old and shit, has a lot of history, and marathon runners have taken this damn city over. It's like an alien invasion here for fucc sakes! I bet the anti-runners are plotting attacks of terrorism right now. I don't blame them, runners are weird. My Bruins are playing game 2 against the Caps tomorrow, and Pops and I are gonna score some tickets after I pick up my bib #, yeaaaah buddy. Oh shit, I forgot to mention the Irish sounding accents these bastards all have. Even the Chinese have developed their own variations of this Celtic slang. WTF. Just listen to this shit!!!!

 

P.S. If you haven't watched the movie "The Town", you need to do so immediately. (Boston Bankrobbing movie. One of Josh's favourites)

We got to the Westin Hotel in South Boston around 3pm today. This hotel is sweet as hell, we stayed here last year too. They even have New Balance ads all over the damn place. On the room keys, elevator doors, menu's, printed on the toilet paper. This race is legit. No other city does it this big. Hell this is almost as hype as the Superbowl. I'm getting the chills sitting in the lobby writing this right now.

Took the subway down to the Charles River where I did a 6 mile loop on the bike path. Pretty emotional spot to do it- My home away from home is on Charles St. in London where my donkey friends live.There are a lot of fat people in the states. The fat people of Boston are probably overwhelmed with all the skinny people that just flooded their beloved city. Sorry for that rant overweight people. Here is a pic my dad took of me after my run. It's outside the famous Boston bar 'Cheers'

Tomorrow is a big day. We're gonna hit up the Expo. I'm gonna go searching for Meb (American Olympic Marathoner), and Josh Cox. Gonna meet up with the mother, take the trolly for a tour, take some pics and hit up the B's game.

Sunday I'm gonna go check out the BAA 5k and Invitational Mile, do some more sight seeing, catch the Red Sox/Rays game, then chill out.

Tune into TSN on Monday morning. They will be broadcasting the race at 930am starting with the Elite women followed by the Elite men and wave 1 (me) at 10am. You can check out my 5km splits online at www.baa.org. My bib # is 749, the site will prompt you to the AT&T athlete alert- Type in my bib # and watch me go to work.  I also want to give Rob Watson, reppin' LONDON,ON a shoutout who is racing the Rotterdam Marathon on Sunday. I'm hoping Rob gets that Olympic Standard and will be able to represent Canada in London this summer. He fuccin' deserves the hell out of it. Peep his blog, the dude is hilarious. www.leblogdurob.com

CHEERS.

Lotus Flower Bomb.

Not much has been going on the past few days. I recently got a promotion from the local grocery store I work at. I went from produce stock boy to garden center clerk extraordinaire! I'm really moving up in the ranks, my life is finally piecing itself together. But with all sarcasm aside, it really does beat working inside. My philosophy of this recent promotion is this; I get to expand my horizon's in the horticulture biz. Having knowledge of gardening, flowers, shrubs, trees, soils etc. will separate me from the rest of the pack. Girls like flowers. If I can apply these transferable skills to a relationship, I'm bound to win over some garden digging chick. I will also accumulate a killer tan and well defined muscles. Girls like muscles and tans, I told you my life is falling into place.


Other than finding my inner che at the grocery store, I have also been running some. The last 2 week phase of marathon training is known as the "taper". I hate this phase. Your body is use to pounding out miles and workouts, eating like a glutinous pig, sleeping a lot, and all that fun stuff. Now, the mileage has decreased, I have to watch what I'm eating, and I'm always on edge. Talk about a friggen' nightmare. Let's get this race over with so I can hit up All-You-Can-Eat.


Ran with my boy Clint on Monday and again tonight. He's the man. I think hes more excited about the race than I am! He hooked me up with a pretty legit looking singlet that Elite Feet from Brighton, Michigan has supplied for us. We went over the plan for Monday and I think we're gonna go after a negative split- that's how all the fast dudes have raced Boston. Thanks Ben and Graham for this beautiful get-up!

I picked up my long lost buddy, Andrew Wyton on Tuesday night. Screw the Dos Equis Man, Andy IS the most interesting man in the world. Andy just got back from a trip to India, where he helped out the kids who have flies on their faces. He does great shit like that all the time, we need more people like Andy in the world. He is also a video/photography Wiz. He and his buddy Aistis agreed to take some shots of me running down by the bike path in springbank. We'll have those photos up shortly. Check out Andy's website http://vegheadproductions.com/ He's got a ton of cool shit on there. If you ever need a wedding video, or anything of that sort- he's your man. 

That's all for now. More updates on my journey to Beantown in the coming days. Over and out.

Curtains Up.

Hello there! It`s Josh here, thought I`d give this blog thing a shot. This whole starting up a blog thing is kind of questionable in so many ways. I read the blogs of professional distance runners daily because they have inspiring, interesting, and insightful shit to say. 


Questionable blog creating Reason Number 1 is that I do not portray any of the above traits mentioned. I am no where close to professional (yet), inspiring, interesting, or funny. Maybe i`m to hard on myself? Nah, that`s all pretty accurate!


Reason Number 2 is that I`ve wasted almost 3 hours of my life starting up this confusing bastard, and all I have is a template, a pretty lame "about me" section and 1 blog post. You could have been running more you clever fool!


Reason number 3 is that I missed watching 'Old School' because  of this damn thing. I've even been googling words, spell checking, editing to make this sound legit! If I applied this work ethic in highschool I'd be graduated from a University instead of having a diploma in Golf Course Management. Mind Boggling. This reason is frustrating. This post will be done immediately, because 'Funny People' just came on TV. :D


Enough Reasons, lets look at the positives. I spend a lot of time on twitter. To much bloody time. I think having a blog will refrain me from posting how many miles i ran on twitter and i can just throw that crap up here. If i wasn't a runner, and kept seeing some @jolu26pt2 kid keep posting his damn weekly mileage up for the uninterested world to see, id get pissed. I'd probably even unfollow his mile running ass. Shit, I keep bashing myself, we're getting off topic.


Positive Number 2 is that I now have a place to vent. Running is no joke. I love running and I hate running. Most of the time i'm in the middle though. This blog is for runners and non-runners. Runners: what's up! We share a common interest, you can come check me out anytime, I`ll share running stories with you, how much i ate, and how mad i get after some idiot honks and says `Run Forest Run`. Non-Runners: What`s up! We share a common interest. You like to party, I like to party, I`ll share my partying stories with you. They can get pretty explicit, if you are a younger partier, i didn`t tell you nothin`! 


Positive Number 3. There is no third positive, the con`s definitely outweigh the pro`s here.


Today
I`m gonna make this shit quick. I woke up, had my peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich. Drank my coffee. Ran 13 Miles. Had fellow running buddy John Mason over to fellow drinking buddy Tayler Fergusons house to take a look at his backyard. Not only can John run like the wind, the guy knows how to build a damn deck. He came over looking like he just swam in a bucket of paint. All deck-building, floor laying, general contracting sons of guns always look so badass. He definitely had that look down to the T. Anyways, John Mason had his sketch book out, his tape measure in full form, and his brain fully engaged in the task at hand. Hopefully in a few weeks Tayler will have a great deck built by my buddy- It`s a win-win for everyone!


I am running in the Boston Marathon. It`s one week away. Thats all i`m going to say about that, more about the race later this week. 


Cheers ya`ll. Curtains Closed.