End of the Year Slobberfests

I've been reading a lot of year end lists for movies promoting No Country For Old Men as the best movie of the year. And I must admit I was looking forward to seeing it. But then I actually saw it, and it made my list for the worst movie of the past 10 years. I'd rather endure Mr. Holland's Opus again before subjecting myself to this craptacular bit of film making from the Coen Brothers. Hey, if you enjoy a bleak, post modern, nihilistic view of life then this film is right up your alley. There is no good, no bad, things just are. Film students are probably writing papers on this movie now in hopes of impressing their instructors about what a statement this film makes. If the goal of films is to elicit reactions from the audience, then mission accomplished. The Coen Bros did a masterful job in making me feel angry for wasting 2 hours on their pointless movie. So that should guarantee it an Oscar nomination, no doubt.

Do turkeys really trot?

So I ran my first 10k since the fiasco last February on Thanksgiving this past week. It was the inaugural Folsom Turkey Trot, on a course that I loathe: a hilly, tight bike path that cannot accommodate the massive amount of people that show up to these things. And thanks to clear as mud starting line directions, I started the race 15 minutes after the 10k participants left. I never heard the start for the 10k, hence having to weave my way through an insane amount of strollers, dogs, and little kids. But once I hit the 10k turn off that separates the race from the 5k, things picked up.
Normally I abstain from wearing headphones at races, but I'd figure I would try it out and see what happens. I made an unusually long playlist of songs specifically picked to keep me going, and man did it work. I waited until the 10k turn to put the headphones on, and cranked the music. And because I had screwed up the start, I was running by myself. For 4 miles I saw maybe 15 people. It was great. And the music kept me energized, and I never hit that wall I usually do around 4 miles in. So when I crossed the 10k finish line I looked at the start clock for the 5k race which showed 1:10. I thought that seemed like a pretty bad time considering how good I felt running, when the guy at the finish line told me that the course was 7.4 miles long instead of the customary 6.2 miles. Which means I could have finished the 10k in less than 60 minutes, but was foiled again.
Still, what went from a potentially terrible experience turned out great, and having run the extra 1.2 miles gave me a reason to have another piece of pie. The only downside is I have absolutely no proof of my time as the cutoff for posting 10k times was 1:10, and that clock showed me at 1:20. Ah well, maybe next time.

Random Celebrity Sighting

Yesterday one of the people I've always wanted to meet stopped by my office. The Edge, the guitarist from U2 popped in to say hello. What are the odds it would be on Halloween?

Click here to see him at work.

Stress Relief

This picture cracks me up. It's very helpful to look at when feeling stressed out.

No Posts Explained!

Is your life boring? Looking for something to do every minute of every day? You should get one of these bad boys. This particular model is now 2 months old. It's amazing you don't need a license for a baby. And the next couple I hear about trying to "save" a relationship by having a child, I will hunt them down and beat them.

Going to be a dad

Wow, it's going on three months since my last post. Not too much has happened other than I become a dad sometime in June. I suppose I could read books about what to expect, but even then I'd be woefully under-prepared. All my friends who have become parents just laugh manically when I ask them about becoming a parent. So far I've embraced the fact that I'll be perpetually tired, and in a zombie like state. I'd ask my own dad for advice, but they'd be sarcastic questions like, "How old should my daughter be before I split?" So it's probably better if I don't ask him.

Well, crap

So I ran a 10k this past weekend with a couple of friends on Super Bowl Sunday. I am not a fast runner (I even hesitate to use "runner"), so my goal has always been pretty modest: finish a 10k in under 60 minutes. That's 6.2 miles. Any ordinary weekend warrior can do this with no problem. You need to average about 9:39 per mile. My problem is that I average about 10:07 a mile, which equates to a finish of about 1 hour, 3 minutes, which is what I finished this race in last year. This year, however, I enlisted my friends to help me out by setting a pace that would guarantee we'd finish in under 60 minutes, as they are both avid runners, and both having completed marathons. It's a lot to ask of someone who is quicker to slow their pace down to meet your goals, but they were willing to help. You'd think that 3 minutes isn't a big deal, but you'd be wrong. To this point, the highlight for doing 10k's has been crossing the finish line: people are cheering, and I've always had a nice feeling of accomplishment. This year however, not so much. I was within 15 yards of the finish line and I started retching uncontrollably. I was bent at the waist trying to get across the finish line when I saw the finishing clock posted at the finish line: 59 minutes 32 seconds! So I quickly (for me) got across the finish line under 60 minutes accomplishing my goal, and continued to try and toss my non-existent cookies, thankfully owing to the fact I had not eaten anything that morning. And it was all thanks to my friends who would not let me fall back to my normal pace.
So this past Sunday I watched the Super Bowl and ate with impunity knowing that I had accomplished my personal goal that very morning. My sense of self-satisfaction came to a screeching halt when I checked the results of the race online later that night: expecting to find my name and a sub 1 hour time posting, I instead found my name next to a time reading 1 hour, 46 seconds. What happened? Well, this race which took place in Davis (a city I loathe) did not use the requisite chip timers that most races use these days. Chip timers are placed on the runners shoes and are activated by mats at the start and finish line, recording to the exact second a runner's time. Instead, they just take a perforation from your race bib and record the time manually. So either the clock at the finish was inaccurate, or the race officials antiquated methods were wrong. So yeah, I could take satisfaction in knowing what the clock said when I crossed the line, but that leaves a hollow feeling, as somebody could say "Prove it," and all I have is a time saying I fell 46 seconds short. So I'm still in search of this goal, hopefully which I'll break sometime this spring. I did take one thing from my near puking in front of a 100 or so people: I will never make fun of Julie Moss again.