The Ramones Meet The Runner

To start, I must clear something up about a previous posting, "Endurance Junkie." I did not invent the title. My friend did. Actually, it is copywritten, and I used it with kind permission, so don't get any funny ideas. Well, enough of that. Now, back to our regularly-scheduled program.
To most, running a marathon (26.2 miles) may seem like an insane task, and they are right. It is not something I take lightly. There is never any guarantee I will finish it. So the morning of the marathon I need to get myself into a mind-set that will help me turn off that sensible voice in my head that's screaming, "Cruzbomb, go back to sleep, you jerk-off! What are you thinking?" And I do this by listening to the Ramones at a loud volume.
While most other runners are trying to relax on their drive or walk to the starting line, I am blasting the Ramones' blissful and raucous music to my ears. And why, you ask? For two reasons-- one is that it helps stir something up in my sweet little tummy. You know what I'm talking about. I have to unload before the race. I can't just start a marathon with a full stomach. It would be rude, especially to the runners behind me. I mean, I have to maintain some class.
The second reason I listen to the Ramones is that it pumps me up. It makes me believe that I can do anything. And the reason is because the Ramones started out at a time when rock had become a big business full of long, drawn-out songs that were more or less meaningless to me and made me think rock was not for your average person. It was for virtuosos that had no place in rock. They made me think I had to go to some music school to play in a band. Then the Ramones came along with their three chords and leather jackets and adrenaline and just let loose. Their simplicity was a thing of beauty, and it made me, and a million others, feel we could start a band if we learn a few chords. It wasn't about creating an opera. It was about creating rock-- in this case punk rock.
So all that runs through my mind while I'm spiking up my hair and throwing on my sunglasses and getting ready to test my endurance levels. If I can believe I can do it, then there is no reason I can't do it, unless I crap myself because I skipped the above-mentioned ritual. So every morning of a marathon, the Ramones meet this runner and together we get ready to kick ass-- either the race or my own. But damn it, somebody's ass is getting kicked!!!

Fucked-Up Friday/Drunken Rants #1

Maybe this will be a weekly session, and maybe it won't, but this is drunken ramblings from a person who may or may not be drunk! So let's go.

Tonight's topic is on the fucking Brady Bunch and how they were the cruelest TV family ever. I mean, they all tried to claim they were a happy and tightknit "bunch" and all that, but there were divisions that they themselves instilled. And who was the victim of their evil empire? Alice B. Nelson, the maid. Yes, the maid. They always claimed that she was one of the family, but they didn't really mean it. Alice to them was a means to an end!
Now first off, they made Alice wear a fucking uniform! What the hell was that all about? I'll tell you. To define her role and let her know and everyone else that at the end of the day, she was nothing more than the person who cleaned up their shit, literally. Even when they went to the store, Alice could not change into her civvies. Oh, no. Then someone might mistake her for an equal to one of the Bradys. Sure, when they went on one of their family vacations (Hawaii, Grand Canyon, and that amusement park-- you know, the one where where Mike's plans got mixed up with the poster of Yogi Bear-- good times) Alice was allowed to go and didn't have to wear the uniform, but she was still on the clock and not allowed to go off on her own. Oh, no, the Bradys might need someone to carry all their shit. A fucking uniform!
Secondly, the Bradys lived in quite a large two-story house (with an even bigger attic-- Greg's future bedroom) with a number of rooms and huge walk-in closets. I mean, it seems they had rooms aplenty, but where did they put Alice? They made her sleep in the laundry room. That's right, the fucking laundry room! How could they, those bastards! I guess their thinking was let's put her there so she's close to the washer and the kitchen in case we need something washed or cooked in the middle of the night. I bet you there were even times when they probably threw in a load of laundry while Alice was trying to sleep. Those bastards would do that too. I bet they even had a coin toss to see who would get the laundry room-- Tiger or Alice. Lucky for Alice she won that coin toss.
Now don't get me wrong. There were times when they were nice to Alice, but they did this because they wanted something. Case in point was they were always encouraging her to go for Sam-- Sam the butcher. And do you know why? So that the Bradys could get a discount on their fucking chuck steaks! What a bunch of horseshit! Alice was encouraged in this instance to take one for the "team." I could see Mr. and Mrs. Brady up in their room plotting this out.

Mike Brady: Carol, the price of meat is getting outrageous.
Carol Brady: I know, Mike. What can we do?
Mike: Well, we're Bradys, and as Bradys, we'll put our heads together and come up
a solution like us Bradys always do.
Carol: Oh, Mike. How?
Mike: We need to get our meat at a discount from someone.
Carol: Oh, Mike, who?
Mike: We need to talk to Alice.
Carol: Oh, Mike, when?
Mike: Tomorrow. If we get her to start "accepting" Sam the butcher's
deliveries, we could start getting our meat at wholesale.
Carol: Oh, Mike, what?
Mike: You know what! Now let's get it on before that brat Cindy tries to come in
here yammering on about some story about her fucking missing doll!
Carol: Oh, Mike.

So there you have it. I cannot write any more because I'm just getting too pissed off thinking about this. Alice B. Nelson was undeserving of this kind of treatment, especially from the likes of this Aryan "bunch." Sorry about all the currse words, but that's what you get on "Fucked-Up Fridays." Why are those margaritas so damn tasty?

TOP TEN TUESDAYS PRESENTS...

TOP TEN REASONS WHY I'M HAVING A WEEKLY TOP TEN TUESDAY

1. So I won't have to watch "American Idol" on this night.
2. Because Top Ten Tuesday equals three "T's", and that is nothing but nice.
3. One can't masturbate all the time (or can one?).
4. My girlfriend told me to stop bugging her during her viewing of "American Idol." She says I can be a pill sometimes. (Substitute "asshole" for "pill" here)
5. Tuesday is caffeine day, and damn it if I haven't had too much right now. I mean, there is caffeine in crack, isn't there?
6. Because whoever heard of a top six list? Now, top sex list, that is something worth exploring. Care to join me? Okay, all the men can ignore that question.
7. For some odd reason, I love making lists after repeated viewings of "Beaches" and "Ruthless People." Midler, you will rue the day for cursing me with this affliction.
8. We all need goals, and not in that European/Latin American/soccer mom kind of "go-o-o-o-o-o-o-al" way.
9. My desire that some soccer mom will eventually read these top tens and want to make sweet love with me in their family passenger minivan. What? Like you haven't had the same damn desire! And that goes for you women too!
10. Well, I can't do it on the Sabbath. That is the day I rest. I mean from writing and manual labor, minus one activity. (See number 3 for more details)

STAY TUNED NEXT WEEK FOR TOP TEN TUESDAY, TAKE TWO.
(directly followed by fucked-up Friday-- don't ask)

ENDURANCE JUNKIE

Dear Diary, today I am depressed. I have injured my damn leg and I cannot run on it without breaking into tears like a boy without his bubble (cheap Travolta reference). And that is where I realized I am a junkie. I am a troubled, no-good, shiftless junkie, only my drug is endurance, not crack (but there is still time).
How does one become an endurance junkie? What am I really getting out of running and swimming and cycling to train for an event that may or may not take me on a 26.2-mile journey? What the hell am I running from? How did I go from running around the block to running around cities? Well, like all things in my life, it started out of misery and fatness and laziness. Yes, Cruzbomb was not always a mildly in-shape runner. He was once a 25-pounds-overweight, binge-drinking, three-times-a-day-fast-food-consuming, no-water-drinkin’, couch-potato-in-front-of-the-TV-sittin’ chaotic “loser.” Do you think “loser” might be stretching a little bit? Loser may be an understatement. Even as I kept letting out my pants to accommodate my ever-increasing waist size, and the occasional gas expulsion (farting to the layperson), I didn’t try to change one thing. And then it all happened.
Within a matter of a month, my life was turned upside-down. I broke up with a girl who I had been seeing for about three years, I was in a band that was also breaking up, I think I had a nervous breakdown, to name a few things. Then to top it all off I had what some have described as a catharsis. I suddenly started to feel everything that I had never dealt with before along with my newfound “losses” and developed a nice little case of insomnia, and possibly a rash, but that may have come from a dirty toilet at work, but we’ll skip that. I remember looking in the mirror in the bathroom, while crying mind you, and asking myself, “Which way are you gonna go from here?” I believe I had only two choices—to either drown myself in more of the same or reinvent myself, and fast. I chose the latter. Well, I chose the latter the next day. I finished up my 12-pack that night. Waste not, want not.
The next day I got some of my old running shoes out and decided to go for a run. I’m sure the shoes I used were past their prime. Why, if they had been a carton of milk, they would be cottage cheese now with a disturbing sense to the nostril area. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t put off reinventing myself one second more. I only ran around the block, but it felt horrible. After I did it, I laid down for a minute and then ran again. Then something amazing happened. The hangover that was also running in full force suddenly dissipated. I felt like maybe I was doing something right. Something else happened on that run too. I forgot about all the things that were making me depressed as hell. Sure, as soon as I stopped running and my adrenaline backed off, I remembered all those wretched troubles and started crying again. But I knew I had at least started to fight back.
Funny, it is, picking a fight with yourself. How do you declare a winner? It’s not like you can challenge yourself to a “loser-leave-town” kind of match. But I could make no mistake about it. I was in a fight with the Cruzbomb I had become. Later that day I made a list of things I had to change in my life. I figured the only way I could overcome the “loser” that I had become was to make drastic changes and now! I decided to give up eating red meat, not because I thought it was bad for me, but to keep myself from eating at fast-food joints. I loved me fast food burgers. Also, I was going to have to stop sleeping at least 10 hours a day, and sleeping in till 9:00 or 10:00 every day. I decided to start waking up at 6:00 and either going for a morning run or going to the gym. And finally, I decided I needed to cook for myself. By the next day, all these new changes were in place.
It wasn’t easy to implement any of these changes. There were some rough spots in trying to get up that early every morning. The way I did it was once my alarm went off I hopped right out of bed, or else I would never get up. And slowly along the way, I would falter and sleep in, but I would never let one day turn into two or three. The running came along slowly, and the getting to three miles on one run took forever, but once I did it, something miraculous happened. I was able to go from three to four to six to ten to 12 quite rapidly. Something in my body decided to accept what was going on and adapted to it instead of fighting me. I knew at this point I was winning the fight against myself. In fact, I was kicking my ass!
Fortunately for me, my goals were achieved quite rapidly once I put my mind to it. I lost 25 pounds within about three months, my body toned up quite nicely from the weight training at the gym, a new relationship with another woman was on the horizon and I still hadn’t eaten at a fast-food joint. Things were going good, and then my friend called. He said he wanted us to train to run the Chicago Marathon.
My friend was like me—new to distance running and trying to slim down. I thought this would be the ultimate goal. I mean, a few months ago, this was not even remotely possible. In fact, it may have been suicidal. Now it seemed possible. My friend and I went on the Internet and downloaded an 18-week training program. It required us to run a really long run (anywhere from 12 miles to 18) once a week along with other runs during the week. At first we had our doubts, but we stuck to this schedule and did not waver once. We were determined to believe.
After 18 weeks, we were on a flight to Chicago to attempt what we still thought was crazy. I mean, we were both very nervous. I mean, there was the possibility that we could not finish the marathon. I know it is just an achievement to attempt it, but there was a pressure we put on ourselves to complete our goal. Three days before the race, I came down with a fever. I was almost in tears. I knew how hard it was to feel normal again after being sick, and this was going to be the longest run of all. I kept putting an ice-cold towel on my head at night and took in as much medicine as I could. The day before the race came and we had to go to the race expo to pick up our race numbers, and I was still feeling a little feverish. It was here I contemplated not running with my friend. What could I really do?
The next morning our wake-up call rang for us at 5:00 a.m. I woke up and hopped out of bed. The second my feet hit the ground I knew it—I was no longer sick. In fact, I actually felt great! That was it. I was going to run this marathon. We got dressed, had a light breakfast, took our morning constitutionals (crapping to the layperson) and set off for the starting line. Once we arrived at the starting line, with the other 25,000 runners, we were more nervous than expected. We both dashed off to find some port-a-potties (crappers to the layperson). After that, we took our places at the starting line and waited for the gun.
I won’t kid you. The race wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t believe how good I felt for having a fever the day before. There were tons of people on the sides of the road cheering us on every step of the way. When we reached mile 20, the miles got a little harder, but not hard enough to stop us. We carried on, and when we reached mile 25 we knew we were going to finish. Then we saw the finish line in the distance. It approached rapidly. The last 200 yards were run with crowds on both sides screaming and cheering. Then suddenly, all the pain in my legs seemed to disappear as we hit the finish line. I looked at my watch and realized we had run just under four hours. We were both elated! We now felt like we were both legitimate endurance runners.
These days I run about four marathons a year along with numerous shorter races. I average running about five days a week. And last year I recently ran a sub 3:15:00 marathon to qualify for the Boston Marathon, which is the granddaddy of all the marathons. I also have started to venture into the triathlon field. I think ultimately I would like to attempt a full Ironman Triathlon, but we shall see.
It has not been the easiest road to get where I am and it has not been without its bumps and roadblocks. But I am not going to fall back into my old habits or my old self. To go out and test myself with endurance events through running actually gives me peace and happiness. When I am injured and cannot run, I am depressed and hard to live with, so says my girlfriend of five years, but you’re not going to take her word for it, are you? Of course there are those summer days when I am running and I can smell people barbecuing burgers when that craving for a fast-food burger rears its ugly head. Nowadays, though, I just enjoy the smell and then continue on with my endurance test of the day.

The Starting Line (About Damn Time)

Dear Diary,
Today I started a blog on the Internet. I also got a haircut. What a day it's been! I was going to call my blog "clowns on parade," but since I have a fear of both clowns and parades, I decided that might be a bad idea. But usually I'm chock full of bad ideas, so this was really nothing new. I mean, remember the time when I decided to walk home naked from my friend's house? Now that turned out to be a bad idea. Sure, it looked good on paper, but-- Why the hell am I telling you this? Well, Diary, it's getting late, so I'm going to slip into my Captain America Underoos and let nature take its course. So, until next time...