Personal goals: Running 5 miles at an 8:30-pace

Well, I think I have a new running goal. I completed the Medtronic 10-mile in early October running a 9:32 pace (i.e. 9:32-minutes per mile). I hadn't slept much nor eaten breakfast nor eaten much at all the entire day before, and I ran 6 miles the night before the race just to make sure I was up to it, so I basically was as far off my peak performance as you can get, haha.

That said, assuming that a 9:30 is a "comfortable" pace for me, I think my new goal should be running 5 miles at 8:30.

That would be a wonderful birthday present to myself in January, though achieving that pace by January might be a little ambitious.

Here's where I'm at: I hit the treadmill for about 45 - 50 painful minutes tonight (5+ miles) averaging a 9:05 pace, with mucho variation between 10 minute miles and 8 minute miles. Those 8-minute miles are killer. I had to take a minute break from the treadmill twice and I almost threw up once, I guess from swallowing my own spit and counting down the minutes outloud to encourage myself. I was dry heaving and running for the bathroom, where I coughed up some saliva while making puke noises. Haha.

I think my next workout will be a fartlek, doing 30 minutes in 90-second intervals of 11, 9:00 and 7:00 pace. If I do 7 rounds of those, I'd be averaging 9-minute miles for 30 minutes. (i.e. running 3 1/3 miles).

For the workout after that, I'd like to run 5 miles without stopping at a pace of 8:57 - 9:10. That'd be a 45-minute workout, even. Not sure if my lungs are up to yet. The backs of my legs (hamstrings?) are tight tonight but otherwise I'm fine after my workout. It's the lungs that always fail me. The cramping feeling in the abs and the muscle aches in my back or neck -- neither of which hit me tonight -- go away, but the lungs always do me in; sometimes even for hours after a run I feel tightness in my chest.

Speaking of pain, I put my training with the personal trainer on hold. I kinda wish I'd never signed up for it. It's $300 I can't afford and the workouts are too intense. I don't want to be a muscle man or a top athlete; I just want to be faster and drop 16 lbs. Sigh. I was like hyperventilating at the end of my first workout, but I went back for another. Silly me.

Well, I stopped going entirely after about four or five workouts because I've been working late but mostly because I've been getting these terrible headaches. They tend to start when I'm doing anything more strenuous than running, especially when I'm changing levels as in a sit-up or push-up. One lasted more than 12 hours and woke me up at night from the pain, so I stayed home from work because I hadn't slept at all. I called my doctor and got referred to a nurse who told me to take more Ibuprofen. Sheesh, thanks. Jerk-ette.

It might have to do with my outdated glasses prescription. I'm wearing an old pair because my existing ones broke months ago, and even those were ready to be replaced.

It could also be my couch-sleeping. I don't sleep on my bed because I prefer the openess of my livingroom and the easy access to my computer, the television and the kitchen. As a result, I've worn down my couch and the cushions don't really give me head and back support. I suspect that my torso weighs more than my legs so I'm basically at an angle when I sleep, with the tips of my toes a centimeter higher than my head. That's not good for blood circulation, I betcha!

Or, I could just have a popped blood vessel in my head. Or all three. Dunno.

Anyway, I resume with the personal trainer on Nov. 30, the Monday after Thanksgiving.

The good news is I'm 168 lbs. tonight, down from 172 whenever my last entry was. But I never trust one weighing, as your weight changes day to day and moment to moment. I ate very lightly today, just a yogurt and granola bar for breakfast and a grilled chicken salad from Wendy's with a cup of coffee for dinner, though I drank a rum drink at SAUCE and later drank some O.J. just before weighing myself. It probably cancels out.

My goal continues to be 153 lbs., but I think focusing on speed and frequency of workouts, rather than weight, is smarter, healthier and more sustainable in the long-term.

Okay, this must be the most boring blog post ever. I sure hope no one is reading this!

Weight loss = weight gain

Listening to "Modest Mouse" and their album "Good News for People Who Like Bad News"... they rock. I heart music.

So, two different scales tell me I'm at 172 lbs. I guess I've actually gained weight over the summer. Oh, man, that was the opposite of what I've intended. I'm kind of amazed. I was sure I was below 167. I don't feel 172.

I do feel a little more solid than I have been before, even though I haven't been doing virtually any upper body work. I kind of think this 172 lbs. suits me in this cold, hearty Minnesotan environment. That said, what I see when I look in the mirror is so different from what I see when I look at myself in pictures. I'm sometimes pretty round-faced in pics, which I dislike.

Plus, people tease me about my weight (including my recent ex-girlfriend, who really pissed me off bringing it up a lot one weekend in particular) and that's just annoying.

I've tried to eat healthier lunches but night time is tough. I catch up on missing calories, and when I'm having a late-night beer, I automatically reach for pizza or quesadillas, and a fair amount of them.

Sigh. I know the answer: run 5 miles every other day. Nobody who runs 5 miles every other day is overweight, I don't think.

I'm just disappointed because I've been running a bit, though to be fair, not much more than once a week. I guess no one loses weight working out once a week. I did a 10-mile road race and a little hiking this summer, and I think my lower body looks more muscular as a result, but my tummy is sizable when I slouch or touch my toes. Sigh.

Things that shouldn't be done but are done

Everyone is entitled to at least one strange fetish but it has to be consensual, folks! And when it goes so far as to involve children and poop, makes me wanna call the cops!

I just got back from climbing in the White Mountains, so I'm especially sensitive to this little bit of fecal tom-foolery. Sigh.

From the Associated Press:
Man admits crawling into outhouse pit _ again
(AP) – 23 minutes ago
PORTLAND, Maine — A Maine man caught peering up at a girl from below an outhouse toilet seat four years ago stands accused of crawling into another pit toilet on White Mountain National Forest property in New Hampshire. A federal affidavit indicates a 49-year-old man confessed to repeating his previous act on Memorial Day.
Federal agents sought the man out after a 9-year-old boy saw him climbing out of a toilet at the Hastings Campground. Two witnesses saw him walk away from the outhouse.
Forest Service special agent William Fors wrote that the man initially said he climbed into the waste-filled pit to retrieve a T-shirt. Four years ago, he said he was retrieving his wedding ring.
Fors wrote the man eventually confessed climbing into outhouse pits on more than two occasions.

MGMT, "KIDS"

Damn, this video is so wrong to this poor little baby! And I think that's his mother in the video. But the song plays on 89.3 FM, and it's a great song!

For some reason, I can't copy and paste the code (only half of it pastes), so here's the link. The band is called Management and the song is called "KIDS":

Video of MGMT with "KIDS"



If you can make any sense of the lyrics, you're a better man (or woman) than me...

Lyrics courtesy of MetroLyrics.com

You were a child,
crawlin' on your knees toward it.
Makin' mama so proud,
but your voice was too loud.

We like to watch you laughing.
You pick the insects off plants.
No time to think of consequences.

Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.

Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.

The water is warm,
but its sending me shivers.
A baby is born,
crying out for attention.
Memories fade,
like looking through a fogged mirror
Decisions to decisions are made and not fought
But I thought,
this wouldn't hurt a lot.
I guess not.

Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.

Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.


Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.


Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.


Control yourself.
Take only what you need from it.
A family of trees wantin',
To be haunted.

Boy did I get round!

Well, I've officially tipped the scale at 170 lbs... that's what not running and not exercising will do to you!

My new goal is to drop 15 lbs. in 15 weeks ... and get to 155 lbs. by the end of November. Hmmmm....

Matt and Kim

I love the group Matt and Kim. They're real-life sweethearts, met in art school, and live in Brooklyn, which adds to their other-worldly appeal. Kim's face when she drums is like this other-worldly ecstasy. I wish I had a hobby that drove me to such orgasmic heights. They look like they really enjoy performing .... oh, and they take their shirts off in every video I've seen!



MATT AND KIM - YEA YEAH

POEM ABOUT GOD AND DROWNING

POEM ABOUT ALL OF HUMANITY AND EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE, ALL AT ONCE

It's said that God provides
but then how do you explain
drowning

I hear the battle hymn of the Christian faithful
in the moments before the explosion
of that doomed flight over New York
the one where the body parts of Latin travelers
landed in the back yards of their loved ones
or the harbor

Maybe you can draw some parallel to Job
but Job woke from his nightmare, tested
and I know some never rise
They land in Chernobyl, Auschwitz, ovens

The Hebrews debate the old word, Timshel
Thou shalt triumph over sin (predestination; some of us are effed)
Do thou triumph over sin (obedience; go flog yourself)
Though mayest triumph (hope)

I believe in God, I'll stick with hope
knowing, as I do, that sometimes
it just don't float.

-- END --

So I was in the bathroom today at work, feeling groggy... when I was overcome by a story, sumpthin' fierce, I tell ya. It's pretty brutal, but it doesn't start out that way. I've been reading McSweeny's fantastical stories or something of the like, and this one jumped out at me...



Considering how awful my niece has behaved recently, I think the motivation here is clear: kids can act like animals! Here goes:



A little girl is sitting in her third grade classroom, and she sees a guy dressed in a monkey suit poking his head in the door. No one else sees him at first. The monkey suit is obviously a suit, brownish, but the eyes and hands are freaky. They don't look suit-like. They look real.



He keeps popping his head in, catching her attention, disappearing. She sits near the back of the close, sideways, so she has a good view of him. But other kids start noticing too.



The story switches to little vignettes -- her uncle once wore a monkey mask like this, to scare her at the zoo; her father told her a monkey had once bit him, and he'd been sick for days, nearly died; there is a bratty girl in her class who has big bags under her eyes but who is popular just by being so aggressive and mean in her personality, that girl has a little tag-along follower, and the bratty girl implies to the other girls she may have been molested, though she does so as a boast, like "I've kissed boys twice my age!" (she's nine); the protagonist of the story doesn't get along with the bratty girl, though the protagonist is also quietly popular with two other girls always competing to sit next to her on the school bus. She's just as happy to sit alone, though, and stare out the window, plotting what she's going to draw next. she's an artist. Also, in first grade, the teacher loved her so much, she brought her an apple (she read it in a book), and on the last day the teacher hugged her hard and kissed her on the cheek. You're wonderful, she thought to herself, or something like that. But she had the same teacher for second and third grade, and this one doesn't seem to care much for her, and has her sit at the back of the class.



The mean girl with the bags under her eyes eventually sees the monkey (by this time, a little nervous ripple is going through the class; only the teacher is busy preparing her lesson at the chalk board while the girls work in teams on projects). She and her tag-along friend look scared. The monkey motions to her, and the girl walks to the back of the room, near the exit, turns to the class, curtsies sadly, head bowed, eyes downcast, and walks out in the direction of the monkey.



Insert a vignette here.



Now, back to the classroom. The monkey, who has stooped, monkey like movements, is suddenly back in the doorway, howling. Even the teacher turns around. THe girl recognizes him. Of course! So familiar, he is! He raises himself up to his full height. Then he swivels so his upper body is out of eyesight. He's reaching for something .... it's the bratty girl's body! She's all broken up and stuff, with her head facing the wrong way, looking lifelessly at the classroom (I forgot to mention it's an all-girls academy). The monkey tosses the body into the classroom, where it knocks the teacher's desk. Everyone screams and goes running, most kids jumping out the window. One girl lands and her ankle goes pop. Another girl helps her.



Hey, I did say it's a brutal story, and I've been reading fantasy / horror type stories!



The monkey jumps into the classroom and rips up the teacher, gnashing at her eyes and throat with his hands (he's wearing a monkey mask, so no mouth).



The fat girl in the classroom is frozen. The protagonist is frozen. The tag-along to the bratty girl is hiding in the corner.



The monkey looks at the fat girl, who pees herself. He bows and motions for her to leave. She can't. He does a mighty kick, like a spinning drop kick and slaps her in the ass with his monkey foot. She goes half-running, half-hurtling for the door, safe and unharmed. SHe escapes. he turns to the tag-along in the corner, grabs her, and breaks her neck. Then he turns to the protagonist, who has done nothing all this time but stare.



He kinda takes a seat on the floor next to her, so he's looking up at her. After a long moment, she says, "You've really made a mess here." The monkey looks sad, downcast, stares at the floor. "Please try to be neater next time, okay?" The monkey looks up, and she kinda strokes his head and scratches him under the chin. His eyes are fascinated and familiar. They begin to giggle together. The end.



Wow. I dunno if I could ever write this one, and if I had the talent to do it justice, who would publish it!



The intro quote, beneath the title, would say: "Little girls and ferocious men in monkey suits are not always so distinct."



Man, I think I could be a horror writer, if only I'd practice the craft. My mind works in such a way that I can see odd moments, some beautiful, some awful, some just bizarre. I just need a little stimulus and it comes -- scenes, vignettes. I combine something I heard, with something I've read, with something I've experienced, and poof! The scene is in my head. But I never write it down in time. And by the time I do, it's crap. Maybe it was always crap.



I really want to slow down the moment of recognition so that when she sees the monkey and recognizes who it is in the doorway, she thinks to herself:

The monkey!

Stella gasped in recognition as the monkey raised himself to his full height, suddenly occupying every inch of the doorway, arms outstretched and anger bellowing. For the first time, he was making noise, and it was a terrible noise. His howls sounded like monkeys screaming before some tribal animal war; but not just one monkey, so many of them, a dozen at least, all of them furious and committed to clawing and biting whatever enemy, real or perceived, had the misfortune of standing before them.

The monkey! The monkey! The monkey!

Every girl saw and heard the monkey now. How could they not? Even Mrs. Rosen saw and heard. There was so much screaming. Fat Lucy was crying and so was tag-along Susie. So were the others. The monkey suddenly swiveled his upper body down to the side, his legs planted in the doorway but his torso obscured. He was reaching for something out of eyesight.

And then it was in his arms, offered to the classroom like a gift. It was bitchy bratty Cassie, or what was left of her. Her head hung crazily, facing the girls with wide, lifeless eyes, a red ribbon of blood threading her nose to her chin. Her body faced the wrong direction, a broken doll. He'd snapped her neck.

The girls were all screaming, all crying, even Mrs. Rosen was crying. The monkey was in the room now, lifting bitchy bratty Cassie above his head. And then he threw her.

She cut through the air like a flopping sack, legs and arms a jumble, and hit the hard front of Mrs. Rosen's table with a ka-thump. A second whump as she bounced to the floor. Chest to the ground, Cassie's doll head stared up toward the desks to the right of Mrs. Rosen, her eyes still open. Tag-along Susie met her lifeless gaze and instantly became silent. She could no longer scream or cry. They stared at each other, the living girl and the dead.

The monkey was upon everyone now, chasing the wannabe-twins and the tall girl and the shortest of the short. Girls were pushing open the window, crawling over the sill. It was a half-story drop. They dropped. Stella saw dark-haired Annie land awkwardly, her left foot splayed on its side. She moaned. Jenny Liu was helping her up, pulling her to her feet. They were running off now, Annie limping. They would be safe.

The monkey pressed his face close to one of the new girls and growled, his monkey paws in the air; an awful noise. She screamed, then ran around him to the window, another found the door. He chased after another, then another. But they all made it away. Well, almost all.

The monkey locked stares with Mrs. Rosen.

"Please," she whispered, clutching at her own face.

But it was too late. The monkey was sailing through the air, ripping at her eyes and at her throat. Stella hadn't noticed anything like claws on the monkey before, but they must have been there now. It was short work; a disaster. The monkey was relentless.

Mrs. Rosen's ruined body sank in shreds to the floor, a scrap of her falling from the monkey's paws a moment later, a bloodied afterthought. Only three girls remained. The monkey turned for a moment to tag-along Susie, who still had not made a new sound. He turned to Fat Lucy. She was crying quietly, her chin bubbling, standing in the middle of the room. The monkey looked Lucy up and down, up and down, then dropped to his haunches. A large wet stain formed across her pants.

He raised himself up a bit. And then the monkey bowed.

With a little flourish of his bloodied monkey paw, he motioned from his bow toward the door. Fat Lucy stood still as the earth itself, a lake of tears slipping off her face. The monkey righted himself and bowed again. Again, with the flourish of his hand. She was free to go.

Fat Lucy did not move. The monkey raised himself, reared back, rocked, and Lucy's chubby face became amazingly taut. This would be the end for her.

The monkey moved to the left quickly, then back to the right, snapping his legs around him in one 360-degree rotation. A roundhouse kick. His monkey paw hit Fat Lucy square in the seat of her pants; her body, lifted, swam toward the exit a centimeter ahead of her feet. She was out the classroom exit and tumbling down the hallway. She caught her balance by the landing. She was down the steps and off through the schoolhouse doors. She was almost home.

Other than the impression of his monkey toes in her ass, she was safe.

Then the monkey turned toward Tag-along Susie, who had finally taken refuge in the corner. She was curled in a ball, arms clasped around her head, still in silence. The monkey stepped forward. Grabbed her up in his arms. Stella couldn't see what was happening, with the monkey's brown body blocking her view. She heard a snap. Susie fell to the ground. Her eyes caught Stella straight-on from the corner, her body was crumpled toward the wall.

Susie was dead.

The monkey wasn't finished.

He turned toward Stella. He looked down at her from his full height. Stella looked up from her chair. She hadn't moved, screamed or cried. She had just watched.

He took one step, then another. He was right there before her now.

He dropped slowly to the ground, beside and beneath her. She stared into his wild, human eyes.

They remained there for a long moment, an eternity. The room was no longer a room but a ruins of desks and chairs, three bodies, broken glass, papers and books, pens and pencils, art projects that would never be finished. It was a disaster.

"Oh monkey," Stella said finally, "you've really made a mess here."

The monkey dropped his gaze toward the floor, and a sag went into his shoulders.

Stella shook her head.

"It's okay," she said, taking his cheek in one hand and lifting his face, scratching the top of his fuzzy head with the other. "Just try to be neater next time, you promise?"

The monkey looked at her, his joyful, familiar eyes fascinated and shining. He snorted. Stella giggled. They would be good together, this team, she seemed to be saying. And they both laughed until they fell down dizzy, happy to be so alive.

THE END

Pioneer Press, STRIB in snip snip mode

The Pioneer Press and the Star Tribune are both dumping water out of the canoe like nobody's business.

It appears the PiPress needs to cut $2 - $3 million out of the company budget this year, and most of it from the already stark-thin newsroom. What gives?

The Star Tribune may be a bigger ship, but it has been losing so much money, it's arguably in worse shape. (That paper declared bankruptcy not long ago).

Here's more:
http://www.minnpost.com/braublog/2009/05/20/8978/pioneer_press_newsroom_slammed_with_24_million_cut_demand

My two cents is this: You may think newspapers are irrelevant, but so much of what you read on the 'net from the AP, or see blogged about, or hear on television or on the radio, began with the paper. Mass media "retweets" what the newspapers go out and collect, see? It has to start somewhere....

Trent Reznor -- engaged!

Why am I always the last to know this stuff?

And who the heck is this Mariqueen woman? She's in the band West Indian Girl. Sounds familiar. I think I heard them on the radio. Hrmmmm..... Can't place them, though. Does she sing for them? Dance? She looks a bit like a stripper. Kinda strange-faced. But still (oddly) pretty.

Reznor used to be super-private. Now, any thought he thinks goes straight to Twitter. It's funny, a lot of rockers are like that, I think, because they can bypass the media and tell their thoughts straight to their fans...

Here's a hot picture of Mariqueen, but her band mate needs to practice the whole alluring sex bomb thing. The blondie looks a tad Minnesota nice here:

http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=239582939&albumID=745633&imageID=4406229

Here's her Myspace:
http://www.myspace.com/mariqueenmaandig

Ok OK she's officially a super hot gorgeous sex bomb here:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=239582939&albumId=210605&page=2