Pat Tibbetts, this entry is for you.
It continues to amaze me the people who stop by and read this thing, nevermind the fact that people still actually stop by and read this thing at all, so in the spirit of giving, well, here you go.
So who is Pat Tibbetts? All you need to know is he's a customer of mine, he runs in the Asics Kayano and he stopped by the store yesterday and asked me how my healing was coming along. His inquiry threw me for a bit of a loop since I only see Pat every 400 miles or so, but it was a nice gesture on his part and served as a reminder that anything you need to know about me - as far as running goes at least - is public knowledge.
Which is fine. That's why I have this blog. And I plan on keeping it going, even if I don't update as regulary as I would like, in hopes that I can keep people informed and more importantly, entertained. Hey, I aim to please.
For now, however, I've got to please the running masses around Westboro and go open the store for what is sure to be a Sunday slamming for the Rich Guy & I. More later.
Maybe.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
People are strange
The gym is strange place, chock full of weird people, and yours truly is apparently no exception. I get a lot of funny looks, anyway.
In the last 8 weeks I've become a bit of a gym rat because, basically, I've had nothing better to do. Seriously. The alternative - sitting on my ass - would be neither advisable nor entertaining. Sitting on the spin bike at the gym, however, now that's advisable, not to mention wildly entertaining.
Take this comical encounter from a couple weeks back, for example. I jump on my usual bike, plug in my headphones and get down to business. After a few minutes of pedaling I started sweating. Can you believe it? Beads of sweat actually forming on my brow and dripping toward the floor. You'd think it was raining in Death Valley the way one worried woman reacted to my workout.
"Are you OK?" was the inquiry aimed my way after I flipped off my headphones in anticipation of exchanging pleasantries with someone I assumed was just another customer trying to get my attention.
"Yeah...I'm fine," I responded before taking a seat and a much-needed breath. "Why?"
"You look like you're in pain," she informed me.
"I am," I said, before flipping my headphones back on and resuming my workout. God forbid you break a sweat and refuse to read US Weekly on the recumbant bike.
Fast forward to today. Same spin bike, a little less intensity on my part, which means more time for me to take in the scenery rather than focus on my own half-assed effort for the day. I look toward the treadmills and what do I see but a guy running. No surprise there, that's what people do on treadmills. Except this guy was running with 2-1/2 pound weights in his hands! He must have been a long-lost alumni of Stonehill cross country, because the only guy I've ever known to condone - even encourage, in fact - this sort of behavior was old Chieftain coach Dana Boardman. I should have asked the guy on the treadmill if he ever practiced visualizing running like a cantelope through an open field at any point of his adult life. (Ed. Note: Unless you ran cross country at Stonehill under ODB and crashed the team van on your first day of practice, partook in Run Like a Kenyan day, tackled Vinny's hill or experienced running on 6 inches of woodchips, you have no idea what I'm talking about.)
And there's more, like the guy wearing work boots on the stair climber, the woman singing to herself on the spin bike and the lady on the elliptical with the permanently-planted smile on her face. And let's not forget the Toby Keith wannabe in the weightroom who insists on wearing a cowboy hat to do his lat pulldowns. One of these days I'll bring a camera. Promise.
In the last 8 weeks I've become a bit of a gym rat because, basically, I've had nothing better to do. Seriously. The alternative - sitting on my ass - would be neither advisable nor entertaining. Sitting on the spin bike at the gym, however, now that's advisable, not to mention wildly entertaining.
Take this comical encounter from a couple weeks back, for example. I jump on my usual bike, plug in my headphones and get down to business. After a few minutes of pedaling I started sweating. Can you believe it? Beads of sweat actually forming on my brow and dripping toward the floor. You'd think it was raining in Death Valley the way one worried woman reacted to my workout.
"Are you OK?" was the inquiry aimed my way after I flipped off my headphones in anticipation of exchanging pleasantries with someone I assumed was just another customer trying to get my attention.
"Yeah...I'm fine," I responded before taking a seat and a much-needed breath. "Why?"
"You look like you're in pain," she informed me.
"I am," I said, before flipping my headphones back on and resuming my workout. God forbid you break a sweat and refuse to read US Weekly on the recumbant bike.
Fast forward to today. Same spin bike, a little less intensity on my part, which means more time for me to take in the scenery rather than focus on my own half-assed effort for the day. I look toward the treadmills and what do I see but a guy running. No surprise there, that's what people do on treadmills. Except this guy was running with 2-1/2 pound weights in his hands! He must have been a long-lost alumni of Stonehill cross country, because the only guy I've ever known to condone - even encourage, in fact - this sort of behavior was old Chieftain coach Dana Boardman. I should have asked the guy on the treadmill if he ever practiced visualizing running like a cantelope through an open field at any point of his adult life. (Ed. Note: Unless you ran cross country at Stonehill under ODB and crashed the team van on your first day of practice, partook in Run Like a Kenyan day, tackled Vinny's hill or experienced running on 6 inches of woodchips, you have no idea what I'm talking about.)
And there's more, like the guy wearing work boots on the stair climber, the woman singing to herself on the spin bike and the lady on the elliptical with the permanently-planted smile on her face. And let's not forget the Toby Keith wannabe in the weightroom who insists on wearing a cowboy hat to do his lat pulldowns. One of these days I'll bring a camera. Promise.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Burying the 'stache
The fella with the messed-up mustache pictured in the post below this one requested -- wait, begged and pleaded -- earlier tonight that I remove him from his perch at the top of my page. For the record, by hitting the PUBLISH POST button on this entry I'm not trying to appease him, not in the least. I'm saving the rest of you from having to stare at his frightening face every time you check in to the daily runaround.
Now that I've done my good deed for the day, let's talk training for a bit. Cross training, to be specific, since it's taken up a good chunk of my time the last seven weeks and looks to be a permanent part of my overall training program moving forward.
First things first. I haven't been killing it in the pool since the boo boo on my backside manifested itself on October 1. I've done one 2-hour pool run and treaded water for a solid 90 minutes this morning, but any other deep-water escapades have been in the range of one hour and have been few and far between. That said, I have been making more frequent use of the shallow end of the pool for 10 minutes worth of drills - high knees, quick feet, butt kicks, backward running - a couple times a week.
My preferred mode of non-impact aerobic activity is the spin bike. Honestly, I'm really starting to like that fucking thing. I've been getting in the saddle 5-6 times a week for 45-75 minutes at a whack, even attending organized classes Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday mornings to get a few organized harder efforts in. I like that I can stand up on the pedals and mimic running to some degree, put my heartrate through the roof and leave a sick puddle of sweat on the floor when all is said and done. My hope is that when I'm back to running regularly again on land I can make use of the Spinner 2-4 days a week in place of recovery runs and/or secondary workouts if necessary.
And, hold the phones, I've been lifting M-W-F for the last two weeks. All I'll say about that is the whole routine takes me about 30 minutes and I'm gonna be jacked before you know it. Justin Lutz better watch out.
Is any of this advancing my fitness? Time will tell, but my early guess is probably not and I'm OK with that. Seriously. I'm not putting in Ian Nurse-like hours in the pool or on the bike, but I am doing more than enough to stay less fat during my layoff and smooth the transition when I am able to return to running, which believe it or not is right around the corner. To say I'm about as excited as a pig in shit would be a gross understatement.
Now that I've done my good deed for the day, let's talk training for a bit. Cross training, to be specific, since it's taken up a good chunk of my time the last seven weeks and looks to be a permanent part of my overall training program moving forward.
First things first. I haven't been killing it in the pool since the boo boo on my backside manifested itself on October 1. I've done one 2-hour pool run and treaded water for a solid 90 minutes this morning, but any other deep-water escapades have been in the range of one hour and have been few and far between. That said, I have been making more frequent use of the shallow end of the pool for 10 minutes worth of drills - high knees, quick feet, butt kicks, backward running - a couple times a week.
My preferred mode of non-impact aerobic activity is the spin bike. Honestly, I'm really starting to like that fucking thing. I've been getting in the saddle 5-6 times a week for 45-75 minutes at a whack, even attending organized classes Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday mornings to get a few organized harder efforts in. I like that I can stand up on the pedals and mimic running to some degree, put my heartrate through the roof and leave a sick puddle of sweat on the floor when all is said and done. My hope is that when I'm back to running regularly again on land I can make use of the Spinner 2-4 days a week in place of recovery runs and/or secondary workouts if necessary.
And, hold the phones, I've been lifting M-W-F for the last two weeks. All I'll say about that is the whole routine takes me about 30 minutes and I'm gonna be jacked before you know it. Justin Lutz better watch out.
Is any of this advancing my fitness? Time will tell, but my early guess is probably not and I'm OK with that. Seriously. I'm not putting in Ian Nurse-like hours in the pool or on the bike, but I am doing more than enough to stay less fat during my layoff and smooth the transition when I am able to return to running, which believe it or not is right around the corner. To say I'm about as excited as a pig in shit would be a gross understatement.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Public Blogging Announcement
As promised to him in person earlier today, I'm calling out Mark Driscoll to man up and join the blogosphere. For the record, this Public Blogging Announcement has the full support of his girlfriend, Katie Gwyther. She does not, however, in any way, shape or form support the mustache pictured below.
To speed this process along, however, I -- we -- need your help. Why? Because peer pressure's a bitch people. All parties involved in the Betterment of the Blogosphere, namely myself and KG, believe Marky Mark and his quick wit would make a great addition to your daily blogroll.
So how can you help? It's easy, my friends. Simply leave a comment or two here or flood MD's inbox at mpdriscoll-at-gmail-dot-com. Thanks!
To speed this process along, however, I -- we -- need your help. Why? Because peer pressure's a bitch people. All parties involved in the Betterment of the Blogosphere, namely myself and KG, believe Marky Mark and his quick wit would make a great addition to your daily blogroll.
So how can you help? It's easy, my friends. Simply leave a comment or two here or flood MD's inbox at mpdriscoll-at-gmail-dot-com. Thanks!
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Sneak peak
It definitely doesn't classify as training - hell, it barely resembled jogging - but I put one leg in front of the other today at a faster-than-walking pace about half a dozen times for 15-30 seconds at a stretch, and that, my friends, has me more amped up than this guy at a Radiohead show.
OK, that's more than a slight exaggeration, but I was pretty fucking excited to do something that looked like running, smelled like running and tasted like running and not have it feel like someone was shredding my left ass cheek with a machete every time my foot struck the ground.
So I know what you're all asking yourselves, because, yep, I'm just that good. Running, jogging or Gallowalking - whatever you want to call it - was I supposed to be doing it? Let me put it this way.
I liken today's foray into faster forward motion to sneaking into my parents' closet a few weeks before Christmas and getting an early look at the unopened presents I wasn't supposed to be looking at until they were put under the tree on Christmas Day. I didn't open anything today, but got just enough of a glimpse to know that if I keep being patient I'll be a happy camper when I finally get to pull the wrapping paper off in a couple weeks.
In the meantime, I'll continue to ride the bike, tread the water, pump the iron and get funny looks while I do my drills in the shallow end of the pool. Maybe I'll even start writing more, or more regularly, anyway. Actually, a former co-worker e-mailed me earlier today asking if I'd like to cover a high school football game on Thanksgiving morning. Not that it required all that much contemplation given my current condition, but leave it to Jim Wilson to let me know that I really didn't have a good excuse not to cover a game this year.
OK, that's more than a slight exaggeration, but I was pretty fucking excited to do something that looked like running, smelled like running and tasted like running and not have it feel like someone was shredding my left ass cheek with a machete every time my foot struck the ground.
So I know what you're all asking yourselves, because, yep, I'm just that good. Running, jogging or Gallowalking - whatever you want to call it - was I supposed to be doing it? Let me put it this way.
I liken today's foray into faster forward motion to sneaking into my parents' closet a few weeks before Christmas and getting an early look at the unopened presents I wasn't supposed to be looking at until they were put under the tree on Christmas Day. I didn't open anything today, but got just enough of a glimpse to know that if I keep being patient I'll be a happy camper when I finally get to pull the wrapping paper off in a couple weeks.
In the meantime, I'll continue to ride the bike, tread the water, pump the iron and get funny looks while I do my drills in the shallow end of the pool. Maybe I'll even start writing more, or more regularly, anyway. Actually, a former co-worker e-mailed me earlier today asking if I'd like to cover a high school football game on Thanksgiving morning. Not that it required all that much contemplation given my current condition, but leave it to Jim Wilson to let me know that I really didn't have a good excuse not to cover a game this year.
Perfect. We were bouncing around ideas today and I figured you might be in the mix, since I didn't see any "Fucked Up Pelvis Turkey Trot 5K" on the running calendar.I can't argue with the man. While I was hoping to try and hold off this guy and his hard-charging younger brother at finish line of the Tri-Gobble for the second year in a row, I guess I'll just have to wait until next November to rob the flying McArdles of another $50. Then again, I'll be making $75 for this little gig, and the work is far less strenuous. Being injured sure does suck, but at least it's good for my wallet and less damaging to my ego.
Friday, November 07, 2008
New sheriffs in town
I don't update this thing nearly as often as I would like - and I make sure to reiterate that fact about every fifth entry or so - for no good reason, honestly. That's about it. I keep this shit up and I might have to start calling this thing the weekly runaround pretty soon.
In all seriousness, this space has two things preventing it from living up to its name. Three, if you also count general lethargy on the part of the author. You see, there's only so much shit I actually want to share with all of you out there in the blogosphere. Yes, that sounds stealthy, but that's by design. Number two, outside of running and the occasional instance of tomfoolery with friends, my life is pretty damn boring.
Hey, I'm having trouble believing it too, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Anyway, seeing how I haven't run in almost six weeks now, what little content I did provide on a somewhat irregularly regular basis is now completely non-existent. Let's face it: no one wants to read about hour-long escapades on the spin bike and swimming in the shallow end with scantily-clad 70-year-olds. If I'm wrong about this please tell me and I'll try to make a better effort to share these stories with the viewing public.
Luckily there's been a couple new sheriffs in town to restore order in my absence. Their running cred far exceeds mine, not to mention their tremendous display of wit is worth a rousing round of applause in and of itself. So without further a due, I give to you the blog of a fitter, happier and more productive Keith Kelly, as well as the return of Tom McArdle to cyberspace. And for those of you unfamiliar with the original internet home of the Dartmouth Dandy, here's a small sampling of what I would waste a solid 10-12 hours a week dissecting my junior and senior years of college. If nothing else, the new version is an incredible grammatical upgrade from the original.
Enjoy.
In all seriousness, this space has two things preventing it from living up to its name. Three, if you also count general lethargy on the part of the author. You see, there's only so much shit I actually want to share with all of you out there in the blogosphere. Yes, that sounds stealthy, but that's by design. Number two, outside of running and the occasional instance of tomfoolery with friends, my life is pretty damn boring.
Hey, I'm having trouble believing it too, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Anyway, seeing how I haven't run in almost six weeks now, what little content I did provide on a somewhat irregularly regular basis is now completely non-existent. Let's face it: no one wants to read about hour-long escapades on the spin bike and swimming in the shallow end with scantily-clad 70-year-olds. If I'm wrong about this please tell me and I'll try to make a better effort to share these stories with the viewing public.
Luckily there's been a couple new sheriffs in town to restore order in my absence. Their running cred far exceeds mine, not to mention their tremendous display of wit is worth a rousing round of applause in and of itself. So without further a due, I give to you the blog of a fitter, happier and more productive Keith Kelly, as well as the return of Tom McArdle to cyberspace. And for those of you unfamiliar with the original internet home of the Dartmouth Dandy, here's a small sampling of what I would waste a solid 10-12 hours a week dissecting my junior and senior years of college. If nothing else, the new version is an incredible grammatical upgrade from the original.
Enjoy.
