KRAC Blog

I call 'Foul' on this cartoon, from ESPN's Page 2. There are plenty of funny things to say about the Bills Super Bowl difficulties, ("Hey, Kelly. Leave some champagne for everyone else!"), but they got there four times, man. Marino got there once, and the face he makes whenever someone points that out always makes me happy inside.

I like the Colts, and I'm thinking blowout.

The post-run hangover feeling is a delightful reminder of the small pleasures this sport brings: regardless of the length of any particular run, there is a moment that probably amounts to about 10% of the overall time when you feel great. Add to that the pleasure associated with stopping and you're still not at 50-50, and you still haven't gotten to the hangover. I only had the attention span for one football game yesterday (and everyone else in the house wanted to watch the CBC adaptation of Margaret Atwood's "Robber Bride") so I watched Bears/Saints instead of the more entertaining/satisfying Colts/Pats. For a while I'd switch during the commercial breaks, but that was discouraging so I went to bed. When you think about it, that's two, or even three, wrong choices. Bill Simmons commented last week that the Patriots have become the Yankees of the NFL, and attempted a defense. In truth, I have never liked any, New England team, and although I have no particular love for Indy, I do enjoy watching Dan Marino suffer under the yoke of "Best Quarterback Who Never Won the Big One" and hope to continue watching that for a while longer.

Hal had us down for a 12 miler today, really the first time we've faced wintry conditions. 13° when we started, and not much warmer when we were done. Jim stashes his Gatorade behind a tree in the park-- it was nice and slushy when we finished. My own bottle, which rode on the small of my back, was crisp and begining to freeze. It certainly could have been worse. Forest Lawn had substantial stretches that were unplowed and icy, so we couldn't stay in there. As a result we came back into Delaware Park with two options: go a little short, or go an extra lap. This is the danger of running with Jim, of course. Actually, it's the danger of doing anything with Jim. We probably ended up with an extra mile in the bank, no biggie. You see interesting things when you're out doing this on a winter morning: there are a couple of guys hitting fungos out in the middle of the Meadow, for example. The ping of an aluminum bat really carries over the snow. There seem to be a dedicated hard-core of regular runners out there, too. Judging from the pace-- not too different from ours-- they are planning for a Spring marathon as well.

I'm registering tomorrow. I've got a half marathon in the bank, a month and a half out, so I know I can make the distance-- what I'm doing now is not so different from what I did to get ready for Hamilton, with the advantage of having a training partner keeping me honest. I wish the swag for LA was better looking.

Every book that Cousin Artie has read for the last 30 years.

Sydney Wooderson is my new hero. What did the poor bastard have to do to get some respect, you know? Held the world record for the mile for nearly five years (4:06.4, set in 1938), won the national X-C title in 1948 (running for the snappily named Blackheath Harriers). Jazzy nickname-- "The Mighty Atom". Bad eyesight kept him out of the army so he worked as a fireman during the Blitz. "But his last chance at Olympic glory ended in disappointment. Asked to carry the Olympic torch into Wembley Stadium to open the 1948 London Games, he was told upon arriving that the honor would go to someone else. According to the organizer of the torch relay, the organizing committee wanted “a handsome final runner to light the Olympic flame” and that “even the then-Queen remarked to me, ‘Of course we couldn’t have had poor little Sydney.’ ”