Bye for now, New York City

Hot damn we have a lot to cover! Im just sitting here in my blog laboratory, sipping on a fine blend of berry concoction I blitzed up in my new Magic Bullet.  I'm really starting to suck at staying on top of this blog writing, so I've purchased a journal that will be an important component in the b-lab's daily operations. 

This journal will be my idea bank, where day-to-day misfortunes, experiences, and activities can be noted. Anything super cool should be jotted down, but not limited to: How do ants cary sticks, stones and 18 other injured ants on their shoulders? That is like humans carrying cars. Imagine you were in a situation where the city tore up major roads every summer and made us all late for work; shit, if London, Ontario just rang a bell, then you can relate to this situation. Now put yourself in the ants shoes, or -0.0000475 size feet if you will. Ants are pioneers, they are a tough species and have it pretty hard if you ask me. Pre-pubescent boys find pleasure in burning entire colonies with magnifying glasses, ravage them by the thousands with hockey sticks and cans of Raid, flood their trenches with alcohol and light a match, etc. Well now these little marching bastards are getting very strong and versatile like I witnessed the other day. There was an ant walking sideways up a wall, with a chunk of a bell pepper on his back, and he was bringing it to his brothers and sisters. I was fascinated that a creature the size of a dot could not only walk sideways up a wall, but put the team on his back by possessing powers humans could only dream of- carry something 30x your size. So sitting in traffic one day, admiring the construction workers smoke their cigarettes and give all of us assholes the middle finger, I began to think that we need to become like ants. Instead of feeling miserable, honking, swearing, and remaining in the same spot for 30 minutes, I imagined beasting out of my vehicle and tossing the Honda Civic right there on my shoulder. As the car sit there on my shoulder, I would walk around smiling at these construction workers, saying, "How do ya like me now, ya leatherfaced bastard?" Then I would just weave in and out of these late, miserable people and plop my car down where the coast was clear.  

That is just an example of something you would find in my idea bank journal.  I can also use different techniques such as brainstorming and bouncing ideas off each other to make the blog more interesting and insightful for smart people. If you are a University or College student and find yourself here when you should be studying or wrtiting a "paper", as they call it these days, then the least I can offer you is some insightful reading material about ants and construction workers. If you don't gain any knowledge from the blog, then you should go back to reading formulas and the cut and dry language found in your calculus textbook.

So now that we have most of the the rubbish flushed from my medulla oblongata, Let's reflect on the fireworks that exploded not to long ago.  The last time I was on here I gave a pretty lame race recap on a very sub par 10km race I had ran. The next race on the schedule would be the Springbank Half-Marathon which went down on September 9th. I started to buckle down after that 10k to get ready for the half and I went into the race on a big mileage week, big mileage for me being 90miles with 2 tough workouts on the monday and thursday prior.  On the monday, I ran a 10mile tempo in 54;30 and the thursday was 8x 1km (2;54-3;08) on the track. Long story short, I was going to run this half marathon with legs that could barely climb a flight of stairs.  

I had a lot of family come watch me, and big thanks to Josh Robinson and Clint Smith who were down on the route with my bottle (even though I barely took a drink with my stomach all jacked up). It was also nice to have Coach Loney and his boys out there yelling at me at the 10k mark.  Before the race I put the initials of Ally and Trevor on my hand as well as my race bib. I think it's something I will continue to do in my races this season and dedicate the work I do for them. So the gun went off and there was a pack of about 5 or 6 of us for the first 7ish kilometers.  At that point Adam Stacey and I thought it was necessary to start pulling away from the pack and it was the two of us until 10k. The first 10k was a little slow (34:40) and Adam put a gap on me and I didn't feel like making a move yet. I could see him the entire way but was never able close in on him enough to make it a race.  He ended up winning, I finished second with a 7 second PB of 1:12:24. I was happy with my result because this course was a lot tougher than Burlington, where I ran my previous personal best.  Just wanted to say thanks to my cousin Rob who attempted running me into the finish with 200m to go, he definitely got me sprinting when I saw him.  He tore his ACL like twice or something crazy and he was still out there running around and popping out of bushes to cheer me on with his wife Tracy and their kids!

So I think I nailed this race in terms of where I wanted to be with my training for the New York City Marathon. This is where I started to question what I wanted to do with my running, work, school, etc, however. I started showing up to the Fanshawe cross country workouts because I can't get enough of it. The atmosphere of fall cross country season, the coaches, the team and the culture of it all..I just needed to be there. I had my eyes set on NYC and nothing was going to change my plans to run that marathon.  On the eve of the last day to register for classes at Fanshawe, I was laying in bed thinking of every positive and negative outcome of me coming back to school. The positives definitely outweighed the negatives and I texted Coach, and Clint telling them NYC was irrelevant at this point and we had unfinished business to take care of. Pulling the plug on NYC was a really tough (and expensive) decision but I was relieved at the same time. I don't see any marathons within the next 5 years for this guy, need to have that footspeed and the marathon will come later. So I'm back as a student athlete running for the Falcons, and we're working hard to be 1 spot better than we were last year. Here's a link to last saturday's Fanshawe Invitational and my first race back since Nationals last season. 

http://www.londoncommunitynews.com/2012/09/falcons-soar-at-invitational/


Over and Out

Rock The Road 10k

Damnit I sucked on Sunday.  With Joesphat, Thomas and Terence in the race I knew I had to forget about top 3 and just friggen' run. Even though I sucked, the event certainly did not.  The route was awesome, Brandon Laan and his crew did an outstanding job, the beer tent was glorious and very rewarding, the bands and volunteers were stellar until I drowned them out after 5k, and overall it seemed like a big success for Runnersfeed.  I'll definitely make this a yearly race and I can see it getting very big and competitive in the coming years.

So ya the race.  Like I said in my previous post, I had no idea how well I'd run on Sunday.  I ended my week with 85 miles and then ran the race on some pretty shitty legs.  My legs are so shitty right now, just rubbery shitty appendages that hang from my torso and don't want anything to do with me or with anything remotely fast.  The plan was to train through this race and run it as a solid tempo in prep for the Springbank Half-Marathon on September 9th.  I got out to a slow start and never really got into any type of rhythm- it was such a cock block not being able to catch 4th and 5th (they were about 50m ahead of me from 6k till the finish).  The amount of miles at marathon pace and lack of miles at usain bolt pace is making me one slow bastard right now but thats what you gotta compromise while training for 26.2.  

I rolled through the line in 6th- 33:19 was my time.  Running very mediocre times aren't fun, but they certainly fuel the rest of your training.  I need to get on my horse man, balls to the wall from here on out!  Less than 10 weeks until NYC. 

Let's go!

Late Nights And Early Mornings

And we're back.  I'm live on set with yet another episode of pointless blog material that you poor bastards are about to read. At the age of 22, this marathon grind is just beating the shit out of me.  Let's start off with my recent lifestyle change.  

Few weeks back I was all googly eyed at some lame bar where a bunch of lame bouncers work. Lame bouncer dudes have a lot going for them.  They get all jacked up at the gym and look big and stupid. Then they wear tight shirts and put their chests out super far in hopes of getting some phone numbers while they I.D. the girls falling over in line.  Once they let a bunch of underage skanks into their establishment where they puke, cry, fight, pull hair and ruin everyones night, bouncer-dude-bro-guy then experiences a shift in his attitude and he turns into an asshole!  This guy with the giant ego and tiny dick starts to kick out all of his loyal, yet googly eyed customers (to make more room for the skanks he won't even get to bang).  

About the new lifestyle.  So I ended up losing that shitty Blackberry of mine at the liquor joint during one of those lame nights.  I wasn't pissed or anything, I knew this was the beginning of a new me.  I had plans of growing my hair to my knees, a beard long enough that could be braided, and moving to a remote jungle where I could become a hunter/gatherer and a dedicated woodsmen, where cellphones were unnecessary and the hippy life would be the life for me.  4 hours after this plan was plotted into my journal of ideas, I changed my mind and demanded an iPhone.  Now I have the phone and I suck balls at anything nature related.  I've learned that once you have an iPhone, its standard to feel like you're better than everyone else.  Tim Horton's is now off limits. God forbid you have a flip phone at Starbucks, their prissy, we're-better-than-Tim Horton's-staff will have you removed from the premises accordingly.  Although I do enjoy picking up a new book at Chapters and lounging at Starbuck's for a nice blend, I still refuse to call their cup sizes "tall, venti and grande".  Fuck that, like seriously? They can suck it.  No pimple faced coffee boy bag of douche is going to hear me putter out some Italian words followed by the word 'coffee'.  I understand its a cultural thing, buying organic is now a way of life and those toe shoes are trendy and they have mosaic art and sculptures and hip sofas and metro-sexuals hanging out in there, but for as long as I'm living, its always gonna be a medium black for this guy.  Any man ordering a "latte" with cinnamon, brown sugar, foam, pink sauce, caramel fudge, shot of expresso, sprinkles, whipped cream, cherry blossums, and calling it anything other than a "small, medium, or large" should have their Man-Card revoked affective immediately.  There were two key indicators that proved I wasn't fit for the Tarzan way of living.  

Pathetic Indication Numero Une: I went fishing with Russ, Tay and Asian Bieber: Cheuk Leung.  I knew we weren't going to catch a single fish as soon as I got into Russell's car.  Why was I so pessimistic only a minute upon entering the vehicle? We had no fucking fishing rods, bait, camouflaged hats, nets, bobbers, anything.  They assured me everything would be fine and we'd pick up some of this shit on the way to the river.  I had another gut feeling that we were going to suck that afternoon as Cheuk entered the vehicle.  He was wearing a v-neck, skinny jeans, and some high top Nikes that were bound to scare the fish away.  When you do something that's nature and danger related you can't be wearing shit that came from an H&M magazine, it's just bound to backfire on you.  Long story short, we walked through some bush to get to our designated area, casted the two rods we had, and the best we came up with was some seaweed and some tangled lines.  The dudes across the river were looking at us baffled and in disbelief.  They were hardcore fly fishers who were balls deep in that river and determined to catch something stinky and slimy.

Very Un-Manly Indication Numero Deux: Sitting on my bed one night, twittering, facebooking, instagramming, and any other stupid shit you can do on the iPhone, I was defeated by a bat/sparrow in my bedroom that night.  I had just come back from a late night run, my third one of the day and I hammered the shit out of it.  My brain went all squirrelly and I achieved the glorious "Runners High".  So sitting there on my bed..naked..sweating..cheerful and glee, I was catching up on the social media propaganda that I missed out on for the passed hour.  The next part tore me mentally and physically for the next couple of days.  It was a bat or a bird that came soaring and swooping down over my head like a fighter jet in my own bedroom, with no regard for my exhausted and naked body sitting their on the bed.  I was threatened so I took cover, falling to the ground and screaming the word Fuck as loud as I could like I was being shot and attacked by Adolf and the gang.  It flew passed my head once more but I didn't get a good look at the intruders genetic profile. The loud bang as I barricaded myself to the floor and the loud profanity woke the whole house up.  We never found that son-of-a-bitch and it remains an unsolved mystery.  After two nights of sleeping in a different bedroom I'm back in my own bed with a tennis racket and the flashlight app on my phone (I suggest you get that app its very handy).  

With this recent pussy behaviour I realized my dreams of Costa Rica jungle life just isn't for me.  I see myself mastering a craft like carpentry or entering the porn industry, something tedious like that one day.  I also started listening to all types of music, not just the hip-hop stuff.  I like rock music and old shit now, dressing in red pants and wearing obnoxious shit. I'm reading Fifty Shades of Grey, too.  Just kidding.  If I was then my behaviour would be so pussy that it'd be off the charts and I would be downgraded to that bar skank pussy that we talked about earlier.  I'm actually reading Scar Tissue by Anthony Keidis (lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers), and man it's crazy.  There are actually dudes out there, living in L.A., shooting cocaine into their veins at the age of 11.  Crazy book man, Anthony's clean now but he was not a healthy soul.  I'd like to mention Dane in the blog cause he hasn't made an appearance yet.  Back when that sucker ass broad stole my iPod, me, Daner, and Mark had plans to rival the ongoing motorcycle clubs here in the city.  We were looking at infiltrating these gangs and becoming local hero's like how Batman is to Gotham (Dark Knight Rises was a terrible waste of time by the way).  But as plans fell through we're still doing some soul searching and trying to make it big, take over the world and marry two hot girls and live in one big house together.  We already know who the two girls are, but they don't.  I'm not sure how we're going to drop the news on them, but they're gonna have to adhear to all of our needs.  Dane and I will not have jobs other than taking care of the children and taking the trash out every other week.  Most of the time we will be playing xbox with head sets and drinking beer and gin.  We suck when we're together though, like the time at Fanshawe our first year we sat beside eachother farting always and I failed 4/6 classes, but he wasn't much better.  Or the time I went to his electrical box and cut the power in his house when he had a party and he almost bottled me.  Or that one time someone backed a car into a swamp and instead of searching for help we pulled the keg out of the trunk and started drinking from it anyways.  Danes a pretty cool guy and he's coming to NYC with me for this running event I'm gonna put myself through.  My main focus is to run that Marathon, but after it we're going to shop like ballers and get drunk in Manhattan. 

New York City and the Running thing.  Hats off to Dylan Wykes, Eric Gillis, and Reid Coolsaet who finished the Olympic Marathon in 20th, 22nd, and 27th respectively.  Top 30 in that event as Canadians is pretty fricken huge and the future for Canadian distance running is looking quite nice.  That 38 year old CND record is gonna fall soon and I think all three of these dudes will break it.  I've got a bit less than 11 weeks till the ING New York City Marathon and to be honest I have no idea where I'm at or how fit I am.  I'm getting in some good mileage but the workouts are going as planned about 60% of the time.  I'm blaming it on the unhealthy shit I eat cause' my stomach is always jacked up and full of pain during the longer intervals and tempo stuff.  I guess we'll test some of this work this Sunday in London for the Rock The Road 10k and then again in September at the Springbank Half Marathon. I've been running with Brandon Laan some and he's a really cool dude.  I want to continue working with him running wise and then maybe help him in the future with the business he's got going on there.  I also met up with Chris Balestrini for coffee the other day after I stumbled upon his blog.  That kid is nails and he too wants to work his balls off.  He is a craftsmen on the bike, like a super friggin' beast.  I sent him an email after seeing that he wanted to take his cycling talent, combine it with his running background, and turn himself into one of those freak athletes that compete in Ironman.  So we met and we're going to be working on the running thing together, which should benefit the both of us cause he's got a good set of wheels on him as well.  It's going to be an ongoing project but I'm excited for the grind.  Working 16 hours a week is awesome!  I'm almost mimicking the life of an elite runner right now, running at 7am, eating breakfast, napping until noon, hitting the gym, running in the afternoon, eating dinner, and chillin' out.  I also mix in a dump, shower and toothbrush just to clarify things.  I don't want this lifestyle to ever change, its being too good to me right now.  I also can't wait to re-unite with the Fanshawe XC bro's.  Cross Country season is coming up and I'm sad as hell I won't be participating.  I'm going to try and be there every step of the way though, they're going to be Champs this year.  I guess after this 10k on Sunday we'll have a better understanding on where my fitness is at.  I'm just hoping I don't get dropped by Krista Duchene:-)

Bye for now......      

A New One

Whatsup y'all, I'm back. First and foremost, where the kcuf is my god damn ipod! This is another bloody blog with the full intention of letting the world know that I have another missing electronic device. This time I'm more pissed tho, pisstification has reached a new level, 11.6 on the 10 level pistified scale. I just bought one of those gangster looking 160 gig black suckers, throw a pretty good soirée (sp) at my moms pad, and now the damn thing is missing. Cindy wasn't even at the party, so now i'm really scratching my hungover/semi-drunk still ratchet head. 

Whatever. Doesn't matter at all. Just got my President's Choice Visa card in the mail today, huge TSN turning point in my life right now. Give this kid a piece of friggin' plastic that allows you to buy whatever the hell you want, with money you don't have, and you have yourself a baller on a budget. Also, I'm sorry for leaving blog nation for the past little while, all this Luka Magnotta and bath salt Miami face eating shit has got my effin' head in the clouds. What the hell is this! How hungry must one be to eat a fucking face! Nevermind that, people gotta eat, I fully understand. The gay porn star butcher with 76 facebook accounts buzzed me as well; it's to bad he won't spend the rest of his life in jail. He'll get off somehow, they all do. Why am I talking about this dumb shit anyways, I had a party last night.

Ya so I had a party because it was my 22nd birthday yesterday. 22 years ago Donna pushed me out, God bless that woman. Yesterday was just beautiful. I felt like a pimp the entire day! I woke up drunk, ran on the treadmill for 6 miles and nearly fell a few times, got my hair looking nice thanks to Marvin, drove around in Donna's BMW with the top down, blasting music, young tan and hansome, turning heads. And then boom! It was 5pm and time to celebrate these 22 years of shocking behaviour. We had some cross country dudes and their lady friends, work pals, my crew of gomers, brother, sister, brother and sisters friends, a weiner dog and a lassie looking creature, hamburgers, hot dogs, beers, liquors, lotsa gin (thanks for the bottle Jordan) coolers, cigarettes for the anti-runners, smiles, laughs, hotties, couple uglies, sobers, hammereds, ratchets, wrenches, etc. Hell there were a lot of things and before you know it I was putting on a show. Normally when the purity of gin blesses my lips I put on a show anyhow, but when you are the host of a bender and all eyes are on you, that show is magnified to new extremities. I was having drink offs with 17 year olds, yelling, swearing, ginning (winning and drinking gin at the same time...Charlie Sheen approved) dropping beers, shooting pool, sucking ass at pool actually. I was also the recipient of a lovely ice cream cake thanks to co-worker Maelyn and friend Lora. Lora's parents must have been lazy at the time of making that name. 98% of the time Lora is spelt Laura. They were lazy in the sense that they didn't want the extra letter. I wish my name was one less letter, but then I'd be called Jos. I hate the name Jos, don't ever call me that. Speaking of names, I recall telling my sister yesterday why I hated her for 3 quarters of her existence. You see, her given name is Abigail. Pretty name if you ask me. Then at the age of 6 or so she butchers the shit out of it and renames it Abbie. I would have been 11 at the time and this infuriated me. I was such a little bastard back then. I blame it on Eminem. This only angered me because her shortened name was spelt Abby. When she thought she was all cool trendy and hip and decided to drop that 'y' and add the 'ie' I was insulted, embarrassed, and didn't want to leave the house. Shocking right?

Brother Alex was in prime shape last night too. So was Nick Russell. Russell is a complete gongshow and he made his mark yesterday. I'm glad my mom got to see who he really is, he tends to play the nice guy role in front of the parents but when he's on his liquor game the kid is in complete shambles. Whether its a ripped shirt, beer covered shirt, hair flowing everywhere, googly friggin' eyes, or whatever he gets himself into, Nick is quite the guy. Direct message to ya Nick: go join the circus. Other notable ratchet heads included my brothers friend Andrew S, my mom, me, pretty much all the runners were dinked, Reanna was fairly effed, George...drunk, and everyone else seemed pretty civilized. Andrew S though man, hoooollly shit! This kid was flippin 114 pounds give or take when I saw a Steelers game back in November with him. This clown is now 170lb with huge guns. I kept getting him to flex for the party. I was pumping that kids tires all night and then as he was soaking up all the glory I got him completely pie-eyed! He is corrupted and now a straight gin drinking goblin. Top 5 drunkest kids at the house, hands down. My mom also put together a beautiful video of me, stopped the party, and showed it to everyone. She compiled a shit ton of images of me from my young years to the transformed sexy beast that I am today. What a sweetheart. I also went up and hugged her infront of everyone to make it look like I'm a cute and genuine son. Totally faked it. Just kidding Dons, you know I'm great!

I don't even know what this blog is supposed to be about. Just a clusterfudge of ramblings I guess. Embrace it man. Step into my absolute life right now. Now that most of this party jargon has been exposed, let's talk running. Running is so stupid. I absolutely hate it sometimes, mostly when I'm injured. Hip flexors are flippin' killing me. Just weak and tender and all around a pretty bad setup. I need a new pair of legs. Right now I'm only running like 5-6 miles a day and the pain is kinda effing off at this point. Also putting in a lot of time on the saddle. I was gonna do this crazy ass 24 week marathon build up for NYC but that shit has gone down the drain. Im down to about 17ish weeks out from the big day and its time to start getting fit again. I'm just gonna have fun with it man. No more school, just running and working part time. Speaking of work, I got employee of the Month for May! Crazy shit has happened before but employee of the month for the entire grocery store? People love me there for some weird reason. Nice plaque with my name on it and everything.

I'm getting pretty flustered right now and running out of things to talk about. Andrew S just called me to say that he found my ipod hidden in the love seat! Cloud 9 baby, lifes good! This coming Sunday, July 8th, my sister AbbIE has organized a 5 and 10km footrace in Gibbons Park. The race is to create awareness for clean drinking water in Kenya. Abby went to that place last year and was touched by the entire experience. I liked Abby when she came back, she wasn't such a materialistic valley girl anymore and realized hair straighteners and iphones weren't all that friggin' important after all. I told her she wouldn't last a day, shitting in holes and bathing in goose piss just weren't gonna cut it for her. But hell was I wrong man. She made friends and made a difference that not a lot of people can say they've done. So she directed this race and its called "Quenching Kenya's Thirst". Epic shit man. Go register for it, online at www.http://www.newbalancelondon.com/....time is running out! All proceeds to Free the Children for a clean water project down there in Kenya. I'm gonna run the 10km for fun and probably wear something goofy. Sign up and I'll run it with you:-)

This is it for Blog today. Come back in a week and I'll mix in some more verbs and material for ya. Cheers.

Rest In Peace TBarts. You've touched the lives of hundreds of people. I love you man and I think about you every day. Angel in the outfield. May 23, 1991-May 12, 2012

Shots from Sunday

My boy Clint Smith winning the 10k

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!