I fucking hate bicyclists now

For the last few months, mythical gf has been training for a half marathon.  Being the long-time runner that I am, I’ve decided to join along for lots of her runs, as it’s never going to hurt me to get out there and run and burn some extra calories here and there.  As part of the training, we’ve been going out to trails and extending her distance little by little, in preparation for the eventual 13.1 mile course.

We’ve found a trail that we’ve decided is the ideal place to train and stretch out distances, and over the last few months, we’ve been routinely spending a day every weekend out there to log some miles, burn some calories and in my case, sweat out buckets.  With the weather finally changing from summer into fall and cooling off, the runs have been rather pleasant lately.

Except, for the existence of all these fucking bicycles.  Look, it’s a multi-use trail, and I understand that bicycles have just as much right as the two of us and every other walker/jogger in Georgia does.  But given the fact that the vast majority of bicyclists on the trail are all these mega-douchebag-tryhard bike riders, by the time our runs end, I always make some sort of proclamation about how much I’ve grown to hate bicyclists now.

I’m talking about these shitheads who roll into the parking lot in Audis, Lexuses and Porsches, are wearing these onesies that would raise the eyebrows of even the most dedicated Queer Eye viewer, and from what little I do know about bicycles, are unleashing these bicycles with blade wheels, carbon fiber bodies, and other ludicrously priced hardware meant to make them as fast as possible. 

And naturally, they capitalize on the expensive toys’ capabilities, and scream down the path as humanly possible, despite the fact that the trail’s width is maybe 10 feet wide, very well-populated, with a variety of runners, walkers, people with baby strollers, or dog walkers.

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Korean Stories: Shopping in the Motherland

Prior to visiting Korea, I did a lot of cursory research on sights to see and things to do.  I found plenty of sights to see throughout Seoul and some of the other places I visited, but the things to do spectrum proved to be a very shallow well to dip into, with the most frequent suggestions revolving around drinking, eating or shopping.

I didn’t really want to drink too much around my mother, and the human stomach does have a finite amount of space in which meals and extra meals can go into at any one time, so that really meant that if I really wanted to do what the Romans Koreans did, there was a whole lot of shopping (and browsing) that was going to happen.

If anything at all, because I don’t really know how to buy things for myself that aren’t food, occasional clothing or other consumable goods, I was going to be wandering around a whole lot of shopping centers.  I had a moderate list of things that I wanted to purchase for others, but my money was about as finite as room for food in the gullet.

To cut to the chase, shopping in Korea is unlike shopping anywhere else in the world, in my opinion.  Shopping isn’t just a recreational activity done in Korea, it’s pretty much a completely essential thing done by anyone who lives and visits the Motherland.

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I will be nobody’s measuring stick

Every now and then, when watching The Price Is Right, you’ll come across an episode where during the bidding part of the game, where someone bets something like $500, and then the last bidder bids $501.  And if and when $501 wins, you can just see the look of disdain and hate from the person who bid $500.

Well, not really, but it’s fun to imagine that the person who lost by a dollar is infuriated and driven homicidal by the troll who bets a dollar more than they did, and wins.

Anyway, the $1 more person, is an asshole.  Sure, they sometimes win, but they’re still an asshole.

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How cute

See what I did there??  Edit: I just ran 1.5 miles, and it’s 38F degrees outside.

Mark Zuckerberg wants to run 365 miles in 2016.

I’m pretty sure I’ve got sneakers that have seen more miles in shorter spans of time.

Granted, I’m not a father of a yellow fever baby, I didn’t invent theFacebook and I’m not a go-zillionaire, but it’s nice to see that Zuck has put himself in a position where pleebs like myself can feel superior.

Seriously, 365 miles in the span of 365 days?  That’s booty, son.

On average, I run like, nine miles a week.  Cold, or hot weather.  Rain inhibits my desire to run outdoors, but weather permitting, I’m usually hitting at the very least, six miles every single week.

Extrapolate this range, and I’m hitting nearly 465 miles a year, 100 better than Zuck’s pedestrian mark.

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Training for life

I was running at the gym this past weekend, and thinking about how much it sucked to be at the gym.  Especially the weekend right after Thanksgiving, where I had just spent the three prior nights eating large amounts of savory and indulgent food.  Running on a treadmill and then hitting the weights was about the last thing I really wanted to do, when I could be trying to sleep more, loaf more, or ostensibly be eating more savory and indulgent leftovers.

But it wasn’t a really a question to why I was at the gym, because it’s simply what I do.  I exercise regularly, and I have been exercising regularly for quite literally ten years now.  Giving that fact some additional thought, I can say that the longest gap I’ve ever had between at least running, has been two weeks, and that was just a few weeks ago when I was on an extended vacation.  Save for that instance, I’ve been running regularly for an entire decade, and been hitting weights slightly less regularly within that span.

Honestly?  It sucks sometimes, too.  There are plenty of times in which I really don’t want to go to the gym, or go running, or do pull-ups, squats or shrugs.  But I do them anyways, because I’m OCD like that, and I don’t want to break my chain of regularly working out.  And that if I completely stop working out, then I will without question, balloon up to 427 lbs., and be on my way towards ending up on My 600 lb. Life on TLC.

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Independence Day musings

I don’t know what it’s been recently, but I just haven’t really had the drive to do much writing lately.  My schedule is all sorts of rearranged lately, and I guess I just haven’t really taken the time to sit down, look at the happenings around the world, and try and find some motivation to write.  This definitely deviates from my desire to remain a somewhat consistent brogger, and as everyone who has ever written (and failed) to maintain a blog, the onus is on us to keep on writing.

With July 4th now in the rear view, I saw a few things that caught my attention that might warrant a few words, or at least serve as somewhat of an impetus to write something.

Firstly, we have this story from the Peachtree Road Race, a 10K run that I’ve done myself 4-5 times in the past.  Frankly, I’m glad that I didn’t do it this year, because for starters, I have nothing left to prove, since I’ve done it 4-5 times, and secondly, this particular year apparently broke the tradition of where the weather somehow maintains something decent, and instead was a torrential downpour and had some delays, something that I didn’t even know they ever did.

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Why I kick my own ass sometimes

My entire body is stiff and achy, my knees are raw, hurt to touch and look like hamburger, and I just completed the most pathetic workout of my entire life because I’m a creature of habit that would rather go have the most pathetic workout of my entire life than not go to the gym at all.

All of these things, again.  Because this past weekend was the Spartan Sprint that I’ve now done three years in a row.

During this year’s race, I found myself walking an inordinate amount of the course, which made me feel a little panicked at the state of my physical preparation.  It was no secret that there were several new obstacles integrated into the course this year, none more arduous and physically taxing as the five-gallon bucket that runners had to fill entirely with gravel, and walk about the distance of a quarter of a mile up and down a hill, but the point remains, walking to me is supposed to be for the weak competitors, and running was supposed my greatest strength, my biggest asset, and my trump card to pass and overtake lesser competitors.

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