I Like Bobbies, But Not Today

Note: This blog was written on Sunday, June 1, 2008.

Sleep... It is one precious little thing that I can't seem to get enough of. Generally, it is the holy grail to which I seek on a daily basis. And when weekends come, I seek refuge from the tiredness of the workweek and steal some sought-after Z's by sleeping in. Like the shitty economy we're in, I try to gain ground on this whole sleep deficit on the weekends by sleeping in as much as possible.

But on this Sunday morning, I got woken up at freaking 0730 in the morning! No, it wasn't because I had forgotten to turn off the alarm clock. And no, it wasn't because I had a nightmare. And definitely no, I didn't have a hung over woman wake up next to me and hurriedly get dressed to bail out. What woke me up from my deep slumber were loud motorcycles revving up their engines. And cars honking. And lots of women cheering and hooting.

Repeatedly.

I looked out the window, and saw a bunch of women wearing pink walking by my building on the sidewalk. Thinking it would end soon, I tried to go back to sleep. But more motorcycles and more honking and more hollering continued. It was so loud that I simply couldn't go back to sleep.

I decided to get online, and guess what? Apparently the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer was happening. Great! I typically support events like this, especially when it is for a great cause, for because I love boobies too. I don't want anybody being forced into cutting such mammary wonders off to save their lives. So yeah, I support such causes.

But dammit! Not today! The damn booby walk woke me up. And it made me cranky. So for 2008, I'll claim to enjoy boobies for 364 days, with June 1st as the exception for the year...

Damn boobies...

A Cheerleading Injury You Rarely See...

Alternate Title: How To Bang A Cheerleader!

Ran Like a Girl!

Okay, that title up there is not supposed to be self-deprecating, but more of an exclamation in excitement.

Damn right, I'm bragging that I ran like a girl! You see, this past weekend I have been (and still am) in San Francisco. I came here as a mini vacation so that I could run in the Nike Women's Half Marathon to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Sure, it is just a women's race, but after a small handful of boys crashing last year's race, I decided that I would crash it this year myself. And there were about 500 men registered this year, amongst the 23,000 capped runners.

As I'm sitting in my hotel room almost butt naked (as a germaphobe, do you think I would let my bare ass touch the seat in a hotel room, shared by thousands of past questionable guests), I'm just updating my blog, short and sweet, just to let you know I'm still alive and well.

I did the half marathon in 2:20:19. My new personal record! This year seems to be the year for me to break two personal records in half marathons. Earlier on August 12, I posted a personal record of 2:10:05 at the Chicago Distance Classic Half Marathon. Yes, my personal worst! And now, I broke my own worst record yet again, by more than 10 minutes!!!

Well, to my credit, this was my first hilly race, considering the fact that I'm really accustomed to the Chicago flats. Furthermore, this was just two weeks after my Chicago Marathon, which I'm supposed to be in recovery mode. And finally, I did not stop and walk throughout the entire race, other than to get hydration or use the porta-pots! I'm very pleased with my new personal worst record! =)

More to follow, hopefully with pictures. =)

A Marathon Not To Be Forgotten

It was Sunday evening, around 18:45, when my friend Sabine called. She wanted to check in with me and see how I did in the Chicago Marathon, and ask if I'd be willing to go help her move a couple boxes into her new condo. That silly girl! Here I was, barely able to walk with an unmistaken limp with pains shooting out of my knees and sore muscles all over my legs and shoulders, and my friend asked me to help her move some small items. Being French that she was, I text messaged her husband to let them know that a marathon is 46.195 kilometers long, in case if she didn't understand exactly what 26.2 miles entailed.

Instead of going out to dinner with them, I opted to stay in, for I was dying with exhaustion and had a 07:10 flight to catch Monday morning. I wanted at least six hours of sleep. I tried to watch the Bears-Packers game, but I was too busy cooking, showering and packing for my business trip to Seattle. Besides, we were doing horribly against the 4-0 team. Of course, it turned out that I should've stayed up to watch the game because we had won...

Anyway, I went over to Myke's place on Saturday night because he lived smack in the middle of downtown, a few blocks away from the Start of the Chicago Marathon. The idea was to get as much sleep as possible, and not worry about waking up early enough to deal with public transportation or parking. Unfortunately, my day's activity on Saturday ran longer than expected, and I didn't get to sleep till 23:30.

Before I left for Seattle the Sunday of September 30, I briefly looked up the weather forecast throughout the week in Chicago. It was going to be a scorcher for much of the weekdays due to a troublesome high pressure system that kept the jet stream north of Chicago. But at that time, the forecast called for cooler temperatures come Sunday. And of course, by the time I returned home from Seattle this past Friday, the forecast for that heat had been wrong, and the high pressure was going to stay longer. Change of plans as far as clothing goes.

I packed two running outfits with me, one for the hot and muggy type of weather, and another for more of a regular warm weather. Obviously I ended up picking out the tank top that was touted by Nike to be cling-free and best for moisture management. Unfortunately though, that exact tank top would be black. So that was my first tough decision for the marathon, which turned out to be one of several critical decisions I faced throughout the day.

The next decision was if I should bring my hydration belt or not. A hydration belt with four eight ounce bottles certainly can weigh a runner down during a race as opposed to a training run which is typically slower. Since the race organizers had already planned out and finalized the route for months, I knew that with the heat, I might not be able to last between the 15 aid stations about one to two miles apart. So I decided to wear my hydration belt to the race, as well as making extra Accelerade in a bottle for Myke to carry for refill later on the middle of the race where we had planned to meet.

When I was ready on Sunday morning, Myke and I did a brisk jog to the start of the race so that my muscles could warm up enough to stretch. Even my 16 minute mile jog, which was quite slow, at 07:00 made me glisten a lot. I knew right then and there that it wasn't going to be a good day, especially when I had planned to do well in this marathon after the disaster that was the 2006 Arizona Rock 'n Roll Marathon. This was going to be my first marathon which I had trained for, with plans of not getting any injury, unlike my last attempt.

As I stood in the corral for the 4:15 finish time group, I waited patiently while taking pictures and eavesdropping on other runners' conversation. After all, I was running by myself, whereas the others who I had been training with all summer long were in a slower pace group. I stood by an old Japanese couple who had flown in from Japan, and I was quite inspired and awed that these two were lined up in the 4:15 group. On the back of the old Japanese man's shirt was the route of the Tokyo Marathon, which he had run in. That was freaking inspiring.

When the line moved forward for the top 10 competitors after the national anthem was sung, emotions began running high. People were wooting and cheering. Runners were pumped, and everybody got closer together. It was so close that I could feel the warmth and energy emenating from my fellow runners. Adrenaline pumped throughout my body. I wanted to just break out and run, were it not for the massive crowd. The moment sank in when we all walked under the start sign, while the repetitive beeps of the electronic timing chip computer logged each passing runner. Yup, this is definitely the point of no return.

I started out slowly, running a brisk 11 minute mile. I wanted to start out with a sound mindset and not get carried with the crowd, because if you get caught up in the excitement, you may accidentally run faster than you have trained for, which may cause you to be tired sooner easily. Surprisingly, the first mile came faster than I thought, even though in the reality of time, it was just perfect. Our first mile took us by the famed Millennium Park and under the BP Bridge.

My second mile was kind of interesting, because we had to run on the bridge over the Chicago river on State Street. When you're driving over the grated bridge, you'd never think anything more than the loud noise your tires make when going over them. But when on foot, it became weird. I had to run like a duck with my feet pointed outwards, because I didn't want to twist my ankles over the long and wide gaps of the metal grates. Unfortunately, I saw a woman trip and fall face forward on the bridge about 25 yards to my right. Fortunately, other runners around her helped her up and ensured that she was okay. And around that time, a couple really cute girls yelled out my name and cheered, "Go John!" The night prior, I spent lots of quality time with Myke and Sharyl's cutting board, kitchen knives, and duct tape, whereby I created perfectly shaped block letters that spelled out my name for the front and back of my top. These girls were running faster than me, and they introduced themselves as Team Fish.

Right after the bridge, I saw two portable toilets, but there was a long line of runners. Just then, I saw a couple runners run to the alley before the toilets and disappeared into the loading dock of a really nice, black marbled office building. I ran back to the alley, and made peace with the pee gods along with four other runners. I certainly hoped the building janitors and engineers didn't mind the impromptu conversion of their loading dock into a temporary stink zone. This would be the first and last time I would pee throughout the entire race.

Myke and I rendezvoused at Mile 3, on the LaSalle Street bridge over the Chicago River. Our friend Jeff was there too, and they both snapped pictures of me. At that point in time, my spirits were still high. I even had a smile from ear to ear and posed for the camera. And then I went into a zone right away. I think I was keeping a pretty steady pace for the next four miles, and I don't even remember passing the major streets of Fullerton (Mile 6) and Belmont (Mile 7) except for the constant cheers from the crowd calling the names of a Katie and Erin, with a sprinkle of John here and there. I assumed that those two girls must be good looking, and running my pace, because their names got called for miles and miles and miles.

The only thing I remembered next was when I reached the northern tip of the race course where I had to turn on Addison. I recognized it because that is where my friend Erin lived, and I was in the lookout for her in the crowd. But I didn't hear or see her. The course on Addison was short before turning south on Broadway for Mile 8. This is where my other friends Maria and Matt live, and I was hoping to see them too. But I didn't remember passing their apartment, nor did I see them. But I think I was temporarily distracted by a cute spectator holding up a sign that read "I FARTED" and a stage full of men in drag and pretty ponytails and skirts doing the cheer. Instantaneously I recognized that I was entering Boystown, a neighborhood so nicknamed because of the prolific gay community there.

I was back in the zone for the next couple miles, until I passed Mile 10 where we turned onto North Avenue. I recognized the road, and was beginning to feel excited because I knew it was getting close to being halfway there. And I was holding up a steady 11 minute mile pace still. So far, I had run continuously without stopping, and I was proud of that. But when I got near the Fleet Feet station on North Avenue, I thought my worst fear had come through. Instead of paying attention to the ground below me, I was looking at the Fleet Feet station and all their cheers, and I accidentally stepped into a giant pothole slightly wider than my foot and significantly longer. My entire right foot sank in and landed at the bottom at an angle, twisting my ankle on the way. I yelled out a quick Shit! and limped out of the pothole. I slowed down a bit to make sure that no race-killing damage had occurred. Thankfully, I soldiered on.

The one and a half miles between Mile 10.5 and 12 along Wells street back into downtown Chicago was the toughest stretch during the first half of the marathon. The many signs that spectators were holding up reading "Back to Downtown!" were an encouragement, yet I couldn't see the loop. All I could see was the long stretch of runners' head bobbing up and down into the horizon, and a rather tiny Sears Tower. That was certainly a psych out point for me.

By the time I reached downtown, I was just a mile away from the half way point. I finally looked up and marveled at the beauty of concrete, steel and glass that surrounded me. I felt as if I was running in a huge valley of concrete cliff walls. And my GPS watch concurred, because it couldn't get a fix from the satellites above. When I finally turned west onto Adams Street for Mile 13, I was pleased to see Myke and Jeff again. By this time, I had already consumed two of the three Accel energy gels and two of the four bottles of Accelerade. I stopped on the Adams Street bridge over the Chicago River and chatted with them for a few seconds. After getting three more packets of the Accel energy gels and giving Myke my two empty bottles so that he could refill and pass them back to me at Mile 17 (our next rendezvous point), I took off and crossed the half marathon split. I was quite elated that I did that in 2:14:14.

The long stretch west on Adams Street was a little bit brutal, because the sun was right behind us beating down on our necks and backs. But I ran towards Mile 15 with determination and a hint of stubbornness. After passing Mile 15 and heading back east on Jackson Street, I decided to take in another Accel energy gel. This was when trouble began for me that forced me to walk. And I was rather disappointed too, because I wasn't tired or anything. Of all possible things, I suddenly developed a piercing itch somewhere in my right tonsil and began coughing uncontrollably. Just when I thought I would push harder in the second half, I ended up walking between mile 15.5 and 16.6. As thick, clear mucous continued to build up in my throat, I was brainstorming why that was happening to me. If anything, I was quite perplexed, because before leaving Myke's place that morning, I had taken Zyrtec to prevent from being attacked by allergies. Yet I was experiencing the very classic symptom of something like pollen stuck in my throat on a day when I forgot my allergy pills!

After walking for a mile into Mile 16.5, I decided to start running again. The next designated rendezvous with Myke and Jeff was going to be at Mile 17, and to hell if I was going to let him catch me walking. This is a guy who has been running lots of marathons and been attempting to qualify for the Boston continuously. I couldn't possibly display a poor show of athleticism, especially when it was not tiredness or fatigue that made me walk, but a freaking allergy attack. The run towards Mile 17 south on Halsted was probably the stretch where my eyes watered the most and I hocked loogies continuously to get rid of whatever it was lodged in my tonsil. I'm sure the runners around me were getting really disgusted with me, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.

My first disappointment occurred during the Halsted stretch at Mile 17. Myke wasn't present, and I only had half a bottle of Accelerade left, and I needed my refills. Furthermore, it was on this stretch where I saw a runner take off his shoe on the sidewalk in disgust and angrily threw it against the wall. I assumed that he must have gotten injured or somehow disabled and he knew he had to stop despite still having it left in him to finish. Then he picked up his shoe again from where it bounced off the wall and threw it against the wall again before yelling F**k! It was demoralizing, because for the most of us, we have trained almost half a year for this day, and for something unexpected cutting your race short was simply disappointing at best. And finally, the last disappointing thing about this stretch was that I totally forgot the course went west on Taylor for a mile, then south on Ashland, then east on 18th, before turning south again on Halsted. As a result, this was my second psych out point, because as someone who lives here in Chicago, the whole time I was thinking I wasn't far from Chinatown, which was at Mile 21. But I was actually quite far away.

When I turned west on Taylor towards Mile 18, I ran by Little Italy. I could smell the wonderful Italian aroma in the air, and it was certainly pleasant. That alone got me past my psych out shocker. But before I reached the lone PowerBar Power Gel station right before Mile 18, I saw my first runner down on the sidewalk, being cradled by fellow runners and spectators. I felt sorry and wanted to help along with the others, but I knew more hands would make matters worse. So I kept on running.

By the time I turned south on Ashland past Mile 18, I decided that the little bit of sprinkles on my torso and head wasn't going to cut it, so I took my proactive measures to the next level. Whenever I see an aid station or a water hose thanks to the generosity of my fellow Chicagoans, I would just dump it slowly all over me from head to toe. I had reservations about this initially, but after seeing another runner down and unconscious along Ashland,* I decided that the risk of soggy socks and blisters on my feet far outweighed the potential fatal harms of heat stroke.

When I turned east on 18th at Mile 19, it finally dawned on me that I needed to reevaluate my desire of reaching my 4:15 goal time. I figured with the allergy attack previously that resulted in almost a mile of continuous walking, I would reset my expectation to finishing at 4:30, given the fact that I would make up some of the lost time by pushing harder later on. But alas, I got another dose of fright when I saw more runners down. Instead of just one here and there, now I was seeing downed runners more frequently.

And worst of all, the field was now a clusterf**k. Instead of the usual sight of runners who also had similar goal times as myself with +/- 15 minutes, I was seeing a field of runners in the 3:30 pace group all the way to the elite competitors carrying bib numbers with preferred starts of B, C and D! And here I was, a general runner who couldn't even qualify for a preferred corral start, and I was catching up to some of the seasoned runners!

This was a turning point for me, because I decided to yet lower my 4:30 goal to anything sub-5:00, and kicked in my strategy thinking hat. I decided that from then on, I would walk in the full blast of the sun, and run only when the shades of tall buildings and scattered clouds could afford me. Not to be a total wuss or anything, as I thought about the Valley of Death Marathon in the dead of summer where temperatures could reach 130 degrees, I understood my limits and what I've been training for. Those Valley of Death marathoners dedicated themselves through months of training in the heat, and the course was probably planned towards that, unlike the Chicago Marathon, which has been traditionally cooler.

Finally, I reached Mile 20 and began heading south on Halsted again. This is where they passed out huge sponges drenched in ice cold water. I took a sponge, and instead of wasting it by squeezing the all the water onto my head, I took the smart route and placed it under my collar behind my neck. I figured that I could give myself an exemption from the no-running-in-direct-sunlight rule when I have a constant trickle of water coming down from the sponge. And boy, did it help ever!

Unfortunately, not all my strategy has been stellar so far, because as I started running again, I could feel my heart pounding hard with pain. I instantly recognized that when I got really spooked during the last couple miles after witnessing so many downed runners, I accidentally over-hydrated myself. And my mistake was not without warrant, because my being spooked was also exacerbated by the fact that Myke wasn't there at Mile 17 as planned, and by then I only had half a bottle of Accelerade on me so I was drinking a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water at each and every aid station instead of just one cup of either. Oh, and I should add here that there was a banana station along with the sponge, and even on asphalt, water, Gatorade and banana peels just provided for a very dangerous running condition, which I had to wait till the ground was no longer yellowish for some yards before I could run again.

Although my chest was pounding in pain and I felt like puking, I pressed on. I focused myself and slowly returned into the zone that I did not even realize that I had passed Mile 21. Then I was suddenly greeted with the loud clanging and banging of Chinese drums and cymbals, and I instantly recognized that I had entered Chinatown. I whipped out my Canon SD20 camera from my back pocket, and was ready to take pictures of the Chinese lions dancing in the corner of Cermak and Wentworth, as well as the gate adorned in American and Taiwanese flags that I will be running underneath. Sadly, either my battery died prematurely, or the excessive sweat and constant dousing of water rendered the camera unresponsive. I really wanted a picture of the beautiful crowds at that corner under the gate, because it has large Taiwanese flags, which I used to be a citizen of.

Despite the lost Kodak Moment opportunity, running through Chinatown was a big morale boost. Strangely, there weren't proportionally more Asian spectators in the crowd than anywhere else along the course on average, yet I got cheered on the most, unlike the first part of the course heading north when more people were cheering on a Katie and Erin. I was ecstatic, and I ran harder with a smile. Although the cheering and hearing my name yelled out in encouragement is always welcome, there is a side effect which I really don't like. I am not one of those runners who will not acknowledge spectators when cheered on, so I will always smile, say thanks, raise my hands with thumbs up, or point my finger at the spectator. And I was getting really tired with raising my arms through Chinatown, especially I hardly said thanks when I was breathing hard while running harder. It was all appreciated, nonetheless.

Then my first major blow to the race came at the 35 km mark, when I could see the clock atop the Mile 22 post some yards ahead. There was a loud announcement from race organization volunteers and paramedics telling us that the race has been cancelled due to excessive dangerous heat. Runners all around me got dejected, and some even got pissed! I thought it was a cruel joke, until I saw the clock read "C" on the 35 km split timer. As I ran over the timing mat, I didn't hear a beep from the computer. Then I heard one runner scream, "They can't cancel the race when we have reached 22 miles!!! It's just not fair!" I kept my mouth shut, but ran anyway, until I saw yet another runner down. I decided to walk. The blaring message over the loudspeaker said to the effect of the race being canceled and we are to walk until buses could pick us up. After hearing that, I decided to walk and grab another banana at the aid station past Mile 22. After all, with so many runners out there, I was certain that I would have to wait to get on a bus, and wait some more while on the bus, and the last thing I wanted was to be hungry while standing or sitting still for hours. So the banana was to be a snack for the eventual and impending bus ride.

I walked and walked and walked, and before long, I turned east onto 33rd Street, a cool half mile later. No sight of any buses. I saw a couple runners in front of me pull out a sweat-drenched map, and I glanced at it quickly to memorize the remainder of the course, because by then I decided to run as far as I can until I was forced out of the race. I would then time myself up to the distance where I would be forced off the course for my own personal keeping. So I began running again. With a banana in my hand. And every time I passed a major intersection, I memorized the cross streets and the time on my watch.

But as I kept on running, I saw no buses. I saw no course marshals roping off the course. I then hit Mile 23, which was designated as the International Mile. There was a huge banner under an overpass with large Korean letters. To the side of it was an English translation, which read, "Running For Dream." That poor grammar was probably the biggest pick-me-up in an otherwise dejected race after being told it was canceled.

As I ran past Mile 24, along with the recent pick-me-up humor fresh in my head, I decided to run to the finish, no matter what. So I threw away my "snack for the bus" banana onto the sidewalk where there were a few kids sitting there, and I found some renewed energy. I thought that if I didn't finish this, I would be really pissed. And the funny part was that my motivation was for the wrong reasons! Instead of wanting to finish a race without injury and under 5:00:00, I now question my sanity for my reasoning back then. If I didn't finish the race, I would have wasted a lot of money for buying two finishers' plaques, one for me and one for my parents, as they were non-refundable. Furthermore, I have invested heavily in this race: a commemorative jacket, several technical clothing articles highlighting the popular annual Chicago sporting event, and more. It would all mean nothing to me if I didn't finish the race. I know, that was somewhat morbid, but it did the job, considering I don't make that much money to begin with.

Starting with Mile 23, the announcement by the race volunteers that the race was over came more frequently and loudly. To pour more salt on fresh wound, a police helicopter kept on flying in laps following the course with a loud bullhorn that we all should walk, because the race was over. I heard conflicting stories from volunteers along the course between Mile 23 and 25. "The race is officially closed, you will not get your chip timed!" "The race is closed, but you can still walk to the finish and get your chip timed!" "You can stop now; there will be buses available to take you back to the finish!"

Well, which is it?!? The Chicago Fire Department is saying one thing, the race volunteers are saying another, and the Chicago Police Department is saying something different. And to add to the confusion, the spectators continued to cheer on us. "You can do it! You're almost there!"

'Nuff said!

That was the last thing that came into my head before I started running harder. Sadly though, that newfound burst of energy and determination didn't last long. After getting doused in lots of water and running in soggy socks for more than an hour, it was apparent that three more blisters had began to form, besides the other three that felt like I was born with (one on the left big toe, one on the right big toe and one on the ball of my right feet). In particular, one of the new blisters was on the bottom of my foot between the big and second toes. I have never had that before, and if I walked, it felt like a burning itch, but if I ran and put pressure on it, it stung like acid was being dripped into an open wound. Not only did the new blisters discourage me, but Myke was right in that after passing Mile 23, the next three miles north on Michigan Avenue would be tough. After all, it was only two miles, but each block seemed to take longer to pass than if I was taking a leisurely walk while shopping downtown. On top of all that, you could see the glory that is downtown from there. Yeah, that was yet another psych out point. Well, not really a point, but a three mile long psych out.

As I walked and took refuge in the shades of tall buildings of Prairie District, I started feeling down. With all the announcements and the constant reminder of the police helicopter hovering over my head, I was sure I would be forced off the course. As I approached Mile 25, I saw several CTA buses drive down the course in the opposite direction of the race. BUSES ON THE COURSE! As I got closer to the buses, I noticed that there was a personnel in bright orange event uniform with the huge letters: MD. I thought for a second, before realizing that it probably stood for Medical Director. Shit, he is shutting down the course! I thought that was finally it, and I quickly looked at my watch. 4:45.

4:45?

Yes, 4:45!

Instantly, instinct from many past races took over my mind and body. Pain none withstanding, I just took off running. I realized that if I started running at a pace of at least 11 minute mile, there was a good chance that I could still finish the race with the remaining 1.2 miles under 5:00! Suddenly I had a clear and focused goal in my mind. I knew it was going to be a challenge, because I had been running 11 minute mile pace for the most part of the race, and I knew I was wiped out quickly. Not only was I running against time while looking at my watch every few seconds to monitor my pace, I was hoping against hope that the police and race organizers wouldn't block off the turn into Roosevelt right before the 26 mile mark.

Suddenly, I was in a whole new zone, this time with more concentration and focus then anywhere else on the course.

I can do it!

Push harder!

C'mon, you walked for almost four, if not five miles of the course. You have taken all the rest you need. Just do it!

Among a sea of walkers, I began zigzagging through the crowd. There were times that I had go so far as to avoid groups of walkers that I would go from the east sidewalk of the street to the west sidewalk of the street, and I did that two more times! If you're familiar with Chicago, in that side of town, Michigan Avenue is a four lane road with an extra turning lane in the middle, essentially making it a total of five lanes! I couldn't believe I had to go to that extremes to avoid the throngs of walkers, but if there was ever any other moment in my life where I had to pull through so much adversity, it certainly wasn't ingrained in my memory.

With just 25 yards to go before turning east onto the Roosevelt overpass over Lake Shore Drive, I saw police cruisers driving south against the flow of the race course, with their bullhorns screaming, pleading the few remaining runners to stop. I didn't look behind me, as I had my eyes on the cruisers, but I could tell there were only four other runners ahead of me in a pool of walkers. One by himself, and a group of three to my right. As the cop in the passenger side of the lead cruiser pointed his finger at me while holding the radio microphone on his other hand, I heard a loud siren followed by, "This race is over! Don't run! Walk to the finish line!" Fortunately, I ran by him, and the cops in both cruisers did not jump out and tackle me as I had imagined.

Just as I turned the corner onto the Roosevelt overpass, I witnessed with my own naked eyes the famed "insurmountable hill." Sure, I have driven over this portion of Roosevelt many times before, but when on foot, it is more than just an insurmountable hill. The sight was so magnificently discouraging as if you were facing Mount Everest that the middle guy in the pack of three stumbled and nearly fainted. His friends to his sides quickly caught him by the arms, and helped him up.

I quickly ran past the group of three, and set my eyes on the other jogger in front of me. I rolled my eyes as I saw him against the backdrop of the "hill," and said loudly, "Here we go!" Just then, people on the left side of the course started cheering on me. There were what seemed like hundreds of walkers all over the overpass, so I was forced to run along the left edge of the course, inches away from the spectators. People were giving me high-fives, and yelling words of encouragement. I simply let it all sink in slowly, and kicked it up a notch. I concentrated so I could regulate my breathing while I tackled the hill.

I looked at my watch, and to my surprise, I was charging up at 10:45 minute mile pace. I'm sure that is slow for a lot of runners, but for someone like me after spending over four and a half hours in the grueling sun running almost 26 miles, that is freaking amazing on a steep hill nonetheless! And it didn't take me long before passing the lone runner in front of me.

As I moved closer and closer to the peak of the overpass, I almost got knocked in the head by some bored girl holding up a huge sign when she turned around with just a foot or two in front of me. Either I was just ugly that I disgusted her, or (hopefully) she just had to go pee. I thought to myself, "This is how I'm getting out of the race, with a freaking concussion thanks to a 13 year old girl."

When you're tired and your mind is in disarray, things seem exaggerated than reality. I thought my six foot body was sure to slam into the girl's sign, but luckily, I ran underneath her sign with inches to spare. I quickly refocused on the "hill." I must have blacked out or lost touch with the world momentarily, because I cannot remember for the life of me the moment between the girl with the sign and my actual reaching the peak of the overpass.

In fact, I only realized what had happened maybe 10 yards into the other side of the peak. From then on, I had a smile as wide as the world as I gently cruised down the hill. I looked at my watch, and it was 4:55:40. I knew right away that barring from a sudden attack of a heat cramp or twisting my ankle on the crack of the road, I was going to make it under five hours. Under five hours!!!

When I turned the final corner and started heading back north at Mile 26 on Columbus Drive towards the Finish Line, either the world fell silent or my ear drums temporarily lost blood circulation. With just 0.2 mile left, the end was further than it appears. I began drifting towards the center of the course, but I saw five little hands reach out to my left right by the 300 meter mark. These kids didn't even know me, yet they were more excited than I was and had the eager eyes for me to high-five them as I ran by. And I'm not one to not respond to people who encourages me, so I drifted back to the left side of the course and high-fived them. Before the fourth hand was slapped, a fifth kid threw out an impromptu hand.

At that point in time, my emotion was, well, I don't think I can put a finger on it. With just 300 meters left, I felt excited. I also felt like I needed to release the built-up tension in me and cry because I had witnessed so many of my fellow brethren runners collapse along the way. I certainly have never, ever ran a race seeing even one single runner collapse, other than a slight trip and fall, where they picked themselves right back up. And best of all, I felt strong without any serious pain or injury that I could feel at the time.

Again I concentrated on my breathing, focusing deep breaths entirely through my mouth instead of in by nose and out by mouth, and began sprinting at 9:00 minute mile pace. I didn't know it at the time, and I couldn't hear anything just like in the movies when all you could hear was your own breathing, but my friends Myke, Erin and Aarthi were lined up on the left right by the 300 meter sign, next to the kids I had high-fived cheering on me.

While other runners were jogging slowly, relieved to see the Finish Line, I was passing everyone. Next came 200 meters. I pushed harder still. A little ahead of me was a guy who began limping after a short distance of light jogging. His two hot friends jumped the fence onto the course and carried him towards the Finish Line. Then I passed 100 meters. And I saw some course marshals motioning me to slow down, as if I was a maniacal driver speeding through a construction zone.

With just five steps left till the Finish Line, I caught a course marshal in the corner of my eye grabbing one of the two girls carrying their friend. "Miss, you can't come in here!" I wanted to defend the girls for their big-hearted support of their friend in the spirit of the human perseverance, but I decided that crowd management and public safety was of higher priority.

Within a second or two, the distinctive beep could be heard chiming to my right. The crowds' cheers finally became audible. I kept on running in disbelief, and had to force myself to stop before running into tired runners in the final staging area. I wanted to cry. I wanted to just fall to the ground and close my eyes and relax.

Of course, what did I do? As soon as I saw the crane platform in the air with cameras pointing at my general vicinity, I told myself that this isn't the moment for any tears, but a smile and a fist up in the air! I hoped that one of the three cameramen had caught that shining moment, before turning my focus to reuniting with Myke and Erin.

My excitement and satisfaction soon dissipated, because I realized that I still had lots of energy left. I decided that it was not the time to mope, but celebrate and think of all the bad decisions I made during the race at a later time. And I found the perfect distraction from being self-analytical: the official finisher's photo shots! I was so silly that I struck different poses with different photographers. Yup! I had the insanity to wait in three different lines to take three different poses!

I couldn't be any happier for finishing my first Chicago Marathon in what I now call my hometown! Especially so when my watch read 4:57:19, but my chip time recorded 4:56:59. It wasn't anywhere near my goal of 4:15, but after running a marathon in one of the most grueling environments ever, I think I'm more than happy that I even finished!

HISTORIC RECORDS

Men's Finish: Patrick Ivuti of Kenya beat Jaouad Gharib from Morocco by five-hundredths of a second, the closest finish in the Chicago Marathon's 30 year run... Both seemed to have crossed the finish line together, and officials had to rely on photo finish before announcing the winner a few minutes later.

Women's Finish: The women's race featured one of marathon's greatest comebacks in history with Ethiopian Berhane Adere sprinting past Romanian Adriana Pirtea, closing the 30 seconds gap between the two at the final 50 yards of the race. (You absolutely must watch this YouTube video of how it played out in order to appreciate the very sport of the marathon; crank up the volume to hear the audio.)

Hottest Race: 2007 saw the hottest race temperature at 88 degrees (without humidity factor) in the Chicago Marathon's 30 year history. The previous record of 84 degrees was last recorded in 1979, a year before I was born.

Hottest Day in Chicago: 2007 saw the hottest October 7 ever recorded in the Chicago Weather Almanac, surpassing the previous record of 86 degrees in 1982.

No-Shows: According to race officials, approximately 10,000 of the capped 45,000 runners in the sold-out event did not even bother lining up for the race.

The Pee Dilemma: After peeing just once early in the race, I never peed again, despite drinking so much fluids. Yes, it was that hot! In fact, after the race, I drank fluids all day, and I never peed! That goes to show how hot it was, as I was sweating all of the liquids in me!


REFERENCE

Course Map of the 2007 Chicago Marathon

Video of the Chicago Marathon Course in 10 Minutes



* When I first saw the motion-less runner passed out with two fellow runners and a spectator cradling him, I thought it was just heat exhaustion. But when reports of a fatality came through, the initial pictures posted by the news struck a striking similarity in the facial features. Later on, I became sure that who I saw on the ground was probably not Chad Schieber, because A) according to news reports, Chad collapsed just a quarter mile further from where I saw the fallen runner, and B) more pictures of Chad on news websites showed a longer face despite similar looks. My heart goes out to his family, especially his wife who they started out together but ended up splitting at the 10 km mark. His wife never learned of his death till after she had returned to the hotel. What a sad way to learn of the news.

Checking My Sanity

I just updated my status on my Facebook, letting my friends know that I am excited and a little bit nervous because it was nine hours and 59 minutes till the gun goes off for the 30th Anniversary Chicago Marathon. To celebrate this, I decided to run it. My very first home marathon. And technically, my first marathon ever, considering I didn’t train for the 2006 Arizona Rock ‘n Roll Marathon which resulted in injury at mile 17.

To my credit, I did finish the marathon in Arizona, but instead of the 4:30 goal, I ended up with a 6:00 finish time. Well, this time I have been diligent as well as sacrificed myself in the quest of completing the marathon with a goal. After months of training and going to bed early every Friday (almost), I hope to reap the fruit from the seeds I sowed. Uhm, I didn’t mean I’ve been wanking it every Saturday morning for the last several months. It was a metaphor. Uhm, forget it.

Well, this is a short entry to let you know that tomorrow, I’ll be asking myself constantly for the entire length of 26.2 miles this million dollar question: “What was I thinking for signing up to run 26.2 miles? Why did I pay $100 to run 26.2 miles when I’ll end up exactly where I started after the fact? I should have looked into whether my I B M insurance will pay for sanity checkups.”

Stay tuned! =)

Quote of the Day

The moment I touched down at Seattle-Tacoma International, I text messaged two of my friends who I knew with 100 percent certainty to be watching NFL games. The questions were 1) What was the final score for the Chiefs/Vikings game, and 2) What is the score on the Bears/Cowboys game?

Although one of them was actually traveling to New York, both replied promptly. KC 13-10 and Bears 3-0. Certainly, these are good news on a Sunday which I had to spend packing and traveling. I couldn't wait to get to Chinatown to pick up my dinner and some grocery shopping before heading to the hotel so I could watch the Bears game.

By the time I had checked in and visited the Executive Lounge with food ready on my lap, the game was tied 3-3. Okay, not too shabby...

By then, little by little, things started picking up. Excitement was building up like steam in a boiler. The Cowboys picked up a touch down, putting them up 10-3. Then Grossman made a crazy rush that earned him a first down, resulting in a touchdown during that drive that got me to cheer loudly. 10-10. I was definitely on the edge of my seat. Or hotel bed.

I was looking forward to this game, because offensively, the Cowboys is a team that is explosive and great to watch this season, especially with Tony Romo. I think he is the most electrifying quarterback this season. It's not that I don't think there are any other great quarterbacks, but Favre and Manning performing well is something to be expected as the norm. On top of that, the Romo-Owens pair today reminded me of the Montana-Rice pair of the 80's. That goes to show how excited I am of the Cowboys. And there is the Bears defense led by Urlacher on the flipside. With Grossman doing relatively well last week winning over the Chiefs, this was definitely a match-up guaranteed to excite.

Then excitement turned into disappointment. The Cowboys led with 17-10 after a touchdown. Immediately after that, we fumbled, giving the ball right back to the Cowboys. We began looking bad, as Romo did amazing things play after play. This led to John Madden commentating on how good Romo was, dissecting into his talents.

While in the midst of praising Romo, Urlacher sacked Romo. This totally caught the commentators off guard, which made Madden say, "Urlacher's seen enough of Romo's God-given talent."

This was so funny because of the way Madden said it. And of course, this totally ignited a little dash of hope for the Bears. But alas, it was not meant to be. Everything unraveled faster than an easy girl's undergarments on a hot date. We fumbled and threw a couple interceptions. It was so bad that the crowd at home started chanting for Griese.

Well, what started out as a blog about the funny comment that I thought would put us back in the game ended up with a humiliating loss. Sigh...

A New Record!

Although I have run a marathon before, technically I only ran 17 miles during the Arizona Marathon in 2006 before walking the rest of the way due to injury. Then on September 1st of this year, I set a new distance record for running 18 miles without stopping, meaning excluding water and potty breaks.

Then today, I broke that record! I ran a whole 20 miles straight, excluding hydration break. And this one is a little bit special, because the Chicago Area Runners Association turned this regular weekend training long run into a 20 miler event. Granted, the event wasn't ChampionChip timed, and rightfully so because this was a training run, not a race.

My average pace for races half marathon and less has been about 10 min/mile. And for the past few months, I've been training for the marathon with the 12 min/mile group when it comes to the long runs. And for today's special 20 mile training event, I ran with the 11 min/mile group, which is what I plan to run for the Chicago Marathon come October 7.

So I ran the 20 miler in 3:51:19 (hr:min:sec), which averaged out to 11:34 min/mile. Not too shabby, considering that the time included all the hydration and potty stops. Why would I include those break times? The way I see it is that in a timed marathon race, they're not going to deduct the time you spend waiting in line for the potty or bush, so why should I include it myself? So realistically, while running with a huge group, the extra 34 sec/mile pace is pretty good. As in assuming taking water breaks every couple of miles that last a minute and eight seconds.

I won't lie to you. When I hit mile 16, I started to wane a little. And I started struggling at mile 18. And the final mile after hitting 19 was probably the hardest mentally. I was thinking, By golly, if I'm already fighting with all my might to ignore the pain signals that were bombarding my brain, I don't want to know what it'll be like when I have 6.2 more miles! (A marathon is 26.2 miles, by the way.)

But you know what? I'll have exactly three weeks to prepare mentally. Physically, I'm good to go like that burrito in the Taco Bell commercials over the radio airwaves. I think the mental preparation will be the hardest part.

Nonetheless, I patted myself in the back and thought I earned the right to pig out on eight square slices of Panino's thin crust Deluxe Pizza and six spicy buffalo wings over the Bears v Chiefs game. After all, based on my profile, it was estimated by Garmin that I burned 3106 calories. Of course, not all of that expended calories were spent on running, because it doesn't take basal metabolic rate into account. But that only covered just the near four hours I ran, so technically I burned more calories for today overall.

[Side note: I've been arguing that those calorie calculators on gym equipments should display real calories burned based on the exercise alone, not including the basal metabolic rate. Of course, people with lacking scientific knowledge would much rather see a significantly larger number in the calories burned box to boost their ego.]

Now I just have to look forward to the shorter runs for the next three weeks as we taper off the distance. We'll see how I fare on October 7 at the 30th Anniversary Chicago Marathon. =)

Germaphobe And Prairie Dogs

Being a runner is no easy task. Running is not exactly an easy sport, unless you run for just a couple blocks. For me, when my weekly mileage can easy hit 30 miles or more, running becomes somewhat difficult. Unless, of course, you're a crazy marathoner who during non-training cycles simply enjoy running over 50 miles a week.

One may venture to think that running is a piece of cake; just lace up your trainers and go. But it's not all that simple. A smart runner will have to warm-up first, stretch properly before a run, run the grueling miles, be cognizant to remain hydrated, cool down, and stretch one last time. And on top of that, avoid bumps on the path or getting run over by unruly cyclists and automobiles. Sounds pretty hard, right?

And if you're like Danny Tanner* or me, then you will have at least one factor simply making a typical run harder.

You see, yours truly is a germaphobe. As a germaphobe, I do a lot of things differently. Whenever I need to wipe off the sweat from my face, especially around the eyes, nose or mouth, I get wary, because I know that I had touched the soles of my shoes during stretching. I can just imagine what other interesting things my soles have touched along the path. Remnants of dog poo is the least of my worries, especially when I have a very active and imaginative mind.

To this day, I have never, ever taken a dump in one of those porta-pots. The only way I have ever used one of them plastic porta-pots is when I have to pee. For some odd reason, fecal matter simply gives me the shivers. [Side note: This is why I am behooved to wonder why the practice of scat in the bedroom is even pleasurable at all.] And with almost 30 years of my life passed, I don't intend on ever dropping the kids off at the porta-pot pool in the next 30 years. Or the 30 years after that. The only exception, of course, is if the porta-pot was just delivered freshly cleaned, and I am graced as the first person to soil it. Then yes, I wouldn't mind one bit.

Sometimes, no matter how much preparation you have ensured to take, it is quite possible that shit just happens. Literally. It is my common practice that before each and every run lasting more than five miles, I will spend a lot of time on the porcelain throne to empty myself, all in the hopes of never having to sit in the porta-pots. And I've always sympathized with the girls, because big or small, or number one or two, they have to sit when using the porta-pot.

It's a vicious cycle, you see, because some girl afflicted with the same phobia as me will hover and pee all over the seat, causing the next girl to feel compelled to do the same, and before long, some girl needing to take a dump will be forced to hover and carpet bomb the entire seat. Now, I'm not saying girls are to blame here, but it is quite possible that boys may accidentally pee on the seat instead of using the wall urinal to the side, thus causing a very similar snowball effect.

Because of this very disturbing fact, I will at all cost not use the porta-pot for taking a dump. I have vowed since adopting my OCD complex at a young age that my smooth-skinned butt will never touch such nastiness. And to hell if I have to hover, because unlike girls, I have two little boys hanging out there, and the last thing I want to do is to soil my boys.

Unfortunately for me, no matter how much preparation I had spent before my past Monday 10 mile run, my large colon began complaining at mile 7.4. I knew there were at least several porta-pots around the 2.4 mile Green Lake loop, but I was so stubborn that I thought I could tough it out.

I thought things were going well, until of course my final mile. Instead of expending all my energy in maintaining a 10:30 minute mile pace, I was struggling to keep my shit in. Instead of motivating myself in the mind, One more mile; just one more mile, I was suddenly forced into motivating myself differently: Only another half hour before returning to the hotel; just another half hour! Surprisingly, I ran a faster pace during that final mile despite the fact that I was getting sore.

Maybe I should look into carrying several packets of alcohol swabs whenever I go run in public, because as an adamant germaphobe, there is absolutely nothing worse in the world than prairie dogging it while running.

* Tell me why I named Danny Tanner along with me, and I'll give you a nickel. =)

Training and Dedication

[Note: This entry was written on the plane from Seattle to Chicago on Friday, September 7. I intention was to post it online as soon as I got home, but that never happened. Even though this is technically posted on Sunday, September 9, 01:32, I've backdated it. Just in case it causes any confusion. =) ]

This past Saturday morning, I ran 18 miles. I was really ecstatic, but I couldn't write about it sooner because I had a busy weekend, and suffered sporadic Carpal tunnel syndrome in my left hand all week. I flew home late last Friday from Rhode Island, and had my first taste of local favorite Rezza's for dinner. Although someone believed that the greasy Mediterranean food was healthy, I was secretly worrying that all that hearty food would drag me down the next morning. Especially the fact that I had a glass of crappy wine that was on "special."

With barely five hours of sleep under me, I cabbed my way down to the Montrose harbor and met up with the rest of the marathon training group. I was kind of nervous while I stretched, because despite the fact that I had completed a marathon before, I have never ran more than 17 miles in my life. That's exactly the distance where I got injured while running the 2006 Arizona Marathon, which forced me to walk the rest of the way. It was a horrible experience, for sure.

As we ran, I kept my eye on the distance, and as we got closer to 16 miles, I was getting curious as to whether my knees and feet will be able to handle the next two miles. Surprisingly, I finished all 18 miles with absolutely no problem whatsoever. But then again, my training so far has been to run 2 min/mile slower than my regular pace for the first half of the weekend long runs, and kicked it up to 10:45 min/mile the remainder of the distance. So far, it has been working pretty well.

So well that after the 18 mile run, I was able to go home, get ready for Garth and Lucy's wedding, and party on the rest of the day! Whereas before, I could barely hold myself up immediately after a half marathon! And I was glad that I finally got to meet Lucy's family. They were a fun and rowdy bunch. And I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't have a hidden agenda. I've heard from Lucy that her favorite uncle is in the mafia, and I so wanted to meet the fella! And I finally fulfilled one of my life-long dreams! Meeting Lucy's uncle is right up there as scaling the Himalayas for me! Now I have one less thing to scratch off on my goals-in-life checklist.

Of course, being surrounded by a bunch of people who are habitual drinkers will naturally lead to heading to a bar after the wedding reception concluded. And again, I drank even more. And I didn't even want to drink that much, especially I had just completed a personal running milestone. My training was right on pace, and I couldn't jeopardize it, since I have a 20 mile run left before the big two six point two come October 7. But of course, as if the rowdy bunch wasn't enough peer pressure, I got titty-twisted by Rosa to join in the festivities. So what's for me to do? Go drink too at Friar Tuck's.

So yeah, there goes my dedication to training. And to make matters even worse, I had Dim Sum for brunch on Sunday. More greasy fuel for this fat running machine. But it was so worth it, because it was the only payback I could think of for Rosa, who put a gun to my head for Friar Tuck's the night before. I don't know what it is that she has against Dim Sum, but she clearly doesn't know how to have good Dim Sum. I felt obliged to show her the right way.

After that and hanging out with Cesar and Sabine the rest of Sunday, I finally got a little break before having to catch a rather early flight to Seattle on Monday. Yeah, it had been a stressful weekend. But I am so glad to finally witness the joining of my two good friends in matrimony though. So it is all good.

Now that it is the weekend again, what am I to do? Good thing I've got a shorter run this Saturday--14 miles. This past week in Seattle was such a joke that it felt like I was partly vacationing. Hopefully it stays like this for as long as possible. I don't mind it one bit at all!

Marathon Pseudo Training Week 11 (minus 5)

Well, I have to say I am sort of proud of myself. Having started my marathon training two weeks late (due to basketball league) and a three week absence in the midst of the training schedule (due to stupid injuries), I was extremely excited and pleased with myself that I ran 16 miles nonstop (except for hydration and human waste excretion breaks) this past Saturday!

You may wonder, You have already ran a full marathon before, so what is so special about running not even two thirds of a full marathon, especially when you ran at a slow 12 minute/mile pace? Well, you have every right to ask that question, and I have every right to answer it with glee. There are two significant points here.

First of all, I ran the 16 miles on Saturday only six days after my half marathon. Not only that, but during those six days, I ran a five miler and an eight miler in between. In the past, after every half marathon, people who saw me walk in public would always think I had some severe case of hemorrhoids, or an extra large heavy duty tampon stuck up my ass. I was usually so wiped out and sore for two weeks after half marathons that I needed a deserved exercise break. But not this time.

Second and lastly, the longest I have ever run in my life was technically 17 miles, at the Arizona Rock 'n Roll Marathon. I ran for approximately that much distance before getting injured due to stupidity, or more commonly referred to by smart athletes as lack of training. After that injury, I simply walked the remainder of the marathon, which dashed all my hopes and dreams of finishing the race in my 4:30 goal. So with running a 13.1 miler followed by a 16 miler in two weekends in a row without any pain, soreness or tampons up my ass, I feel pretty damn good!

Wouldn't you agree? Of course, the thing that sucks about taking marathon training seriously this time around meant that I had to give up basketball and football for a long time. Friends are already bugging me about my absence. And worse yet, I have to give up drinking for just as long. But seeing how I ran the recent half marathon without any alcohol consumption resulted in a poorer performance than how I set my better half marathons without training or cutting back alcohol, I think I may just have a couple beers and wine once in a while. After all, at least I deserve it after my recent accomplishments.

Posting my personal worst included. =)

A New Record!

Unlike previous attempts, I have been diligent this time around. Instead of just running three miles regularly and rarely running five miles as my long runs, I have been loosely running five milers during the week and long runs of 10 or more on Saturdays this year. I say loosely because there was a period of four weeks where I could not run after getting injured from playing football. And my doctor threatened if I didn't stop running for three weeks, he would not treat me for the additional injury. I thought he was kidding, but I didn't want to test it like how I did with my mom when she would yell, "Do that one more time and I'll spank you!" Somehow, my mom always ended up following through with her threats. My well-scarred ass can attest to that.

Anyway... While all my CARA (Chicago Area Runners Association) friends began training on June 9 for the marathon, I didn't even start my long run till a couple weeks later, which was only 6 miles on June 23. Not much of a "long" run, I'd say. The following Saturday on June 30, I ran 8 miles, which preceded the Race to Taste 5K the next day. This is where I was not thinking straight, because right after the 5K race, I went and played over three hours of intense football, which ended me up with a twisted ankle.

Even though I was supposed to rest for three weeks, I couldn't resist going to the Nike Rock & Run on July 14 after just two weeks of rest. I simply wanted to test out the healing progress of my ankle. My injured ankle felt tingly and numb during the race. I thought, Yup, it isn't completely healed yet! so I forced myself to slow down. After that race, I took a couple weeks off until July 28 (for a total of four weeks), when I ran 11 miles, followed by 12 miles on August 4.

All in all, I felt pretty confident for the LaSalle Bank Chicago Distance Classic Half Marathon this past Sunday. Even with a four week running break, I actually had some distance training under my belt overall. I couldn't say nearly the same for any of my previous half marathons, which preparation typically involved running no more than 5 miles and drinking and staying up the night before a race. My goal this time around was to simply beat the flat two hour completion time. It wasn't entirely impossible, since my average slow pace has been 10 minute miles.

Knowing what I know, I went to bed on Saturday night pretty early. The plan was to wake up super early on Sunday, eat some breakfast, sit on the toilet for a long time so I could empty out my colon, and spend time putting on Body Glide at strategic areas around my body such as my nipples, waistline, and jock lines. After all, forecast for Sunday August 12 was going to be super hot and humid, and I didn't want what happened to me previously to recur.*

But alas! I woke up a full hour later than planned, ate too much cereal, and although I did relieve myself in the wash room at home, I still ran into problems at the race. Apparently, I did not empty myself all out, because right into mile 4, I began spending a lot of my energy holding it in! In all my experiences in many races, I have always prepared myself fairly well as far as avoiding the need to drop the kids off at the pool. And this was my very first race where this has ever happened to me!

The feeling sucked! Remember when you were a kid, and your parents' idea of an excellent family QT (quality time) was to strap you to the back of the station wagon and drive all day across the country to some promised land where you will definitely love and enjoy, which ultimately always ended up being a disappointment? Yeah, remember those times, when you were at the mercy of your parents' restroom schedule, not your's? Yeah, that's how I felt during the race.

I had the opportunity to relief myself at mile 6 while running under McCormick Place Convention Center, where they had huge restrooms instead of portapots, I stupidly ran on. My thinking was that if I held it in long enough, my body will simply forget about it. But it didn't. Besides, we had been running pretty slowly, and my target was simply getting out of reach. We couldn't waste any more time, and needed to catch up, thus we soldiered on.

Somewhere in the middle of mile 8, I saw a park restroom. Having had a torturous run the last four miles, where all I could think about for the better part of the last half hour was using a restroom just like in those silly incontinence medication adverts you see on television, I decided that it was time to just take the Browns to the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, the park restroom only had two toilets, and I certainly was not the only runner with a similar problem. So I had to wait. After wasting almost 7 minutes, I was out of there.

Oh! My! Gosh! I felt nearly a hundred times better. My mind suddenly became clear, thus allowing me to run better. I didn't have to spend the extra energy on the muscles in the lower abdomen and posterior for anything. Now all I had to do was use less of my abdominal muscles, just enough so as to control my breathing and balance. I suddenly could run faster!

And faster I did run! Consider this: It took me 1:16:43 (hr:min:sec)to get to the halfway point of the race. And the rest room I used was located in the second half of the race. Including the near 7 minutes I spent dropping the kids off at the pool, I ran the second half of the race in 0:53:22! My previous personal best split for a half marathon was 0:57:12! Cool, huh?

Unfortunately, that isn't my new personal record that I am writing about. My first half marathon result at the 2005 Chicago Distance Classic on August 7, 2005 was 2:04:25, with an average pace of 9:30 minute mile. My second half marathon result at the 2005 Chicago Half Marathon on September 25, 2005 was 1:55:33, with an average pace of 8:50 minute mile, my personal best.

My new personal record was definitely established this year! If you did the math based on my split this year, you would have known that I completed the 2007 Chicago Distance Classic half marathon in 2:10:05 at an average pace of 9:56 minute mile.

YES! A new personal record! My slowest half marathon ever!!!

I know with the heat and humidity I couldn't possibly beat my personal best record, but I didn't think with some training I could possibly run worse than my previously worst record, which was the result of zero training whatsoever! Even if I was to shave off 7 minutes to account for the restroom time, I would have matched my personal worst record!

I guess to be fair to myself, I did gain weight last year, and 2005 was probably my fittest year, weighing in at around 155 lbs. Excluding my fat years in college, the heaviest I had gotten was 189 lbs this past winter, while I have recently brought it down to 177 lbs. But still, accounting for the extra 22 lbs and the heat, I should have run better, considering the training I actually had! Sigh...

We'll just have to see what happens on October 7 (Chicago Marathon) and October 21 (San Francisco Half Marathon) later this year... Because honestly, I had a shitty race on Sunday. [Pun intended.]


* Read more about this in a future blog entry coming soon! It will be titled "Hey, Nice Tits!"

Say It Ain't So!

I suppose I have to face the music sooner or later that my little love affair with a mistress would end abruptly. And it has been a good two years affair. It is just so sad that the inevitable had to happen. Two years is such a short, short time, in my opinion.

It all started on July 14, 2005. My love for running that day got extended to include Fun Runs hosted by Momentum. Yes, the guilty mistress is Momentum. Ever since that day, my running fix has never been the same. She has taken good care of me from time to time. Ridiculously early morning pancake runs, where we were always rewarded with home-made pancakes and mimosas; wickedly fun evening runs capped with beer, pizza, or other foods that match the themed runs. It was also that day that I got to meet the people who have later became my friends: Erin M, Myke K, Amy R, Chris R, Liz H and Amy H.

I suppose I may have burned a bridge with my mistress at the last visit. Instead of showing up on time for the Mardi Gras Fun Run, I waltzed right into Momentum a day later, all decked out in winter tights and Mardi Gras beads. (Full story here.) As if the embarrassment itself wasn't enough, I swear I could've heard the crickets chirping loudly throughout the rather empty store, save for the owner and an employee.

And I'm sure I didn't make matters better with the mistress when I continually get bogged down with work, thus unable to attend other fun runs. And before long, it has been five months since I last saw Momentum. Like any neglected mistresses, she finally decided to break the sad news by email. And it came untimely today with "Over and Out" as the main title.

Sadly, the final Fun Run will be this Thursday, which I think the proper thing to do is go. After all, the mistress has been good to me many times before. Besides the beer and mimosas, she has routinely put me on the local running crowds' radar by using my picture in several magazines and newsletters year after year. Granted, I may not have won any raffle prize in the many times that I have gone to see her, she still treated me well, despite my lack of patronizing her. After all, she did sponsor my team for the Hustle up the Hancock climb this year.

Better yet, many of my friends and I were featured in her Fun Run promotional video that was posted on the Momentum website. You may recall my mentioning about it a year ago. And before she shuts her doors, I decided to copy the video so that it will live on forever. Why don't you try and find out how many times I popped up in the video?

I guess this is my way of saying goodbye to a great love affair. I'll continue to run, of course, but after this Thursday, probably without my mistress ever again. Sniff, sniff.

It Burns Whenever I Use The Bathroom!

That was a tough weekend! I woke up this morning feeling all miserable, as if I had just been run over by a semi trailer truck. Or something like it.

Unfortunately I had to work late Friday evening, despite having plans to leave work by 16:30 so that I could head on down to McGee’s to celebrate a friend’s birthday. By the time I left work and got to the bar, the first three hours of Happy Hour that constituted free domestic beers had ended. And my initial plan of just sticking around for a drink or two was well short lived. When a friend celebrates her birthday, you gotta go all out, right?

I didn’t get back home till 03:30 on Saturday. I thought this would be a great opportunity to sleep in, but my darn neighbor upstairs decided to do some power drilling on his floor at nine in the freaking morning! It was so loud that I thought I was jolted by construction crews who had just gotten done with their lunch and went back to their jackhammers. Any attempt to fall back asleep was thwarted by my neighbor’s ill-conceived breaks. Just when I thought he was done after a good five minutes of silence, the drill came back to life as I started to dream of a beautiful girl laying on the beach. Sigh... It was simply not meant to be for me to sleep in that day.

Then I just decided to putz around online while hung-over. Hmm... Some six people in a house in Wisconsin may have committed some murder suicide, with a toddler barely holding onto life. Ahh! What a great way to greet a beautiful Saturday morning. Perhaps I should not read the news whenever I had just wakened up, I surmised. Then one of my friends called me: “You still planning on coming?” I replied, “I’m in a world of pain, but yeah, I’ll go.” Thus the continuation of a long weekend I would have.

I rode my bike about five miles to North Avenue Beach, and played sand volleyball from eleven till about two in the afternoon. I did quite well, considering I have not touched a volleyball ball since the younger part of my college years. [Believe me or not, but apparently the word volleyball can only be used as a sport, not the actual ball, hence the volleyball ball as reported by the Microsoft dictionary!] Then I rode my bike back up to my condo, got my gym bag, jumped in the car, and headed down to the DePaul Ray Meyer Center. This was going to be our last regular season game before next week’s playoffs.

We lost...

Then I made a mad dash in my car after the game towards Myke and Sharyl’s new home for their housewarming pot luck. I grabbed a quick dinner of sorts, a margarita, a light Polish vodka drink, and then headed out to Schaumburg. What for, you wonder? Work, of course! Having not showered after playing beach volleyball and basketball all day, I am sure Myke, Sharyl, their guests, my coworker and my client enjoyed the steaming stench I carried. And to make matters worse, the air conditioning at my client’s office was turned off for the weekend. I was feeling fine being in a sauna, but my client begged to differ.

Of course, luck would have it, I didn’t get out of work and back home till 04:00. Grrr... I took a quick shower, hopped into bed before setting my three different alarm clocks at 08:30, 08:35 and 08:40. Why, you ask? Because I wanted to drive up to Highland Park and at least be there for my friend Rosa’s first half marathon. I figured that if this was her first half marathon, I was sure that she might not be able to keep her target pace of 11 minute mile, thus I had plenty of time to get there to snap that picture when she crosses the finish line.

Well, apparently this woman, who outran and dragged me around like dog not too long ago, had to run faster than her target pace. In fact, it threw off my timed precision of being there at the finish line just a little bit: she had crossed the finish line a few minutes before I arrived. Damn! I guess you can say that I’m not exactly the world’s best friend supporter, huh? Not wanting to make a waste of my 45 minute drive to Highland Park, we both decided to get breakfast. Yum!

When I got home, I promptly switched out the contents of my gym bag: out with the basketball shoes and gear, and in with the football shoes and gear. Then I headed down to a park by the West Loop to play a pickup game of “touch” football.

After a little over three hours in the field kicking ass left and right, I walked away feeling really happy because I caught three touchdowns, and ran for one. I’m telling you... A good receiver is only good if you have a good quarterback. And this time, since we were playing without Maria’s Matt, we were lucky my other friend had a pretty good arm and an accurate eye despite his tiny size. Seriously. What other forms of high do you need when you know you outran or lost your coverage with hard work and deep cuts pretty much play after play? It sucked to be double-teamed, but in a way it was kind of flattering. I think I’m slowly getting back to my college years’ strength and stamina. Nice!

Despite having constant lack of sleep each and every night, I thought the weekend was overall quite fun and exciting. I also finally got to meet a booleyhooed 17 year cicada while I was at Highland Park, even though I initially mistook its orange wings while flying close to my feet as the fattest bumble bee I have ever seen! All was great, until I went to use the bathroom. Apparently all that being out in the sun without sunscreen finally got to me. When the shower hit my face and shoulders, they burned like hell!

What? Did you think I was going to write about a symptom of having contracted a sexually transmitted disease based on the title? Sorry to disappoint, but last I checked, I was clean! ;-) But please do enjoy my raccoon eyes and wife-beater body print!

Spoilers...

For the longest time, I have been fascinated with the sport of automotive racing. It started out with my first short-lived toy that my dad got me, which was a tiny little battery-operated car, no bigger than an oversized packing box. I think it was short-lived because either my mom asked my dad to return the expensive toy, or it was a loaner my dad was able to get his hands on, considering that we were not exactly wealthy by any standards back in the day.

Then when I moved to Indonesia, speed was something I fell in love with after getting a hold of my first bicycle. As Indonesia is a country where one of the WRC circuits are held, and its proximity to Australia, another WRC circuit, news of WRC racing was all the more frequent everywhere. The Jakarta Post will always have pictures of races on its Monday prints, not only of the WRC races, but Formula One and Sports car racing such as the Le Mans. Add to that the constant televised coverage of these races during the morning of weekends; I was hooked at an early age. Instead of growing up on cartoons on weekends, I was simply glued to automotive racing.

Unfortunately, racing is a sport that involves lots of money and investment, not to mention risk. As my family wasn’t exactly wealthy, my mom never had to play her risk card arguing that racing is a dangerous sport. So here I am, stuck in a career that keeps my hands smoother than the average girl’s. Of course, I have accepted my fate, and am content with not going on to become a racer, or a president, or a basketball player, or you get what I mean... But that has not stopped me from spending my own personal free time and resources to take up lessons on racing and understanding racing dynamics as an adult.

Although I may not be a professional racer, I consider myself knowledgeable in this sport. I’m not talking about trivia, but actual skills behind automotive racing. And this past Saturday, a certain highlight on the Milwaukee Mile race (IndyCar series) caught my attention, and suddenly brought back a very particular memory in my life. It was a memory that I have never had to recall, as it wasn’t pleasant. It was a heated argument between a girl I really cared about (then) and I had.

One night, while leaving a bar, we saw this car stereotypically associated with prepubescent Asian or Mexican drivers parked on the side of the street. Meaning: it had fancy and colorful decals all over the sheet metal, stickers of manufacturers all over the windows, gauges installed all over the interior (checking the pressure on the turbocharger, engine temperature, and size of ego inversely proportional to confidence in bed or with women), and last but not least, wings that looked like they were bought from the Boeing parts department. Seeing such gigantic wing, we both cracked jokes about such sad affair. Then I simply commented, “Isn’t this idiot stupid? He’s got a huge spoiler in the back, but he’s got a front-wheel drive car!”

That’s when the jovial mood was promptly replaced with an argument. She stopped laughing, and turned to me, “John, you know what the purpose of a spoiler is for, right?” I replied, “Of course I do!” She quickly shot back, “Then you should know that spoilers make cars go faster, right?” By now, I had to correct her. “Actually, spoilers will marginally increase the drag co efficiency of a car, thus slowing it down in high speeds. But the benefit of a spoiler greatly outweighs the drag on the car.”

Not wanting to be wrong, she argued, “That’s not right. Spoilers make cars go faster.” I simply gave her a dry response, “Then explain how a spoiler will make a car go faster.” “I don’t know, but I know that it just does.” So I explained that in high speeds, a spoiler will create down force on its point. So a rear spoiler will create extreme down force on the rear wheels, thus increasing traction on those wheels. The benefit of increased control of a car from greater traction far outweighs the benefit of a few seconds’ gain in speed.

And thus our fight that evening when she didn’t believe me and I tried to convince her otherwise. What blew my mind was the fact that I gave her a real, scientific reason as old and common-knowledge in the world of automotive racing that she simply wouldn’t agree with me. Of course, after I dropped her off and bided good night, I just thought, “Just forget about it, she knows little about cars. Besides, she doesn’t even own a car.” Both of us, or at least I, have since forgotten about that fight.

That is, of course, until this past Saturday when I was out celebrating my other friend’s graduation at a bar. A video clip ran by ESPN dug up a memory long-forgotten, and transplanted the experience over a year ago as if it just occurred a few days ago. Anyway, here is a video highlight of the Milwaukee Mile race, and if you watch carefully at the 1:02 time marker on Helio Castroneves’ number three Team Penske car (video timeline is in reverse, starting with 2:18), you will see clearly the purpose of spoilers and their effects (or there lack of) on cars that are powered through their rear wheels:


Basically, no spoiler equates to no traction, and no traction in high speeds results in little control of your car. Now you too know the purpose of spoilers! =) So next time you see some kid putz around in his souped up sports car, and it happens to be a front wheel drive, feel free to laugh at him!

By the way, spoilers just breaking off or folding away is an extremely rare occurrence, unless it was sabotaged. So don’t worry about it if you have a spoiler on your rear wheel driven car that can go fast. This is so rare that this is honestly the first footage of an actual race where you can see the effects of a spoiler.

Go get some Midol™!

Friday... What a day! I was at work till 23:30. By choice? No freaking way! You can thank the Evil Project Manager for that! Let's see... EPM had scheduled a downtime of a server migration for April 27 at 18:00 Central. EPM notified me of this downtime on Wednesday April 25, which gave me just a two-day notice. At first I thought it was no big deal, as I wasn't particularly in the mood of doing whatever it was that I had planned that Friday evening. What was infuriating was that I later found out that the EPM had known of the April 27 downtime since April 19! Bastard!!!

But even with the EPM cramping my style, it did little to deter me from having an awesome weekend. After a brief nap upon returning home on Friday night, I woke up at 07:15 and ran eight miles with my friend who was training for a half marathon. At first I thought I would only run four miles of it, and then hop on a CTA bus, because I have not run in a long time. Before I knew it, the whole eight miles were completed. I even asked, "Was that it? I could go for more!"

On the way home, we stopped for some real breakfast at a real American diner, complete with a center counter and fixed stools. I whined like a little kid when they sat us at a regular booth, because where else can you experience a true diner a la Americana in its purest form? Obviously I don't count Johnny Rockets a true diner, because they are modern establishments dressed specifically for the old feel. No, no, no. The diner we went to had old style electric plugs under the counter, and regular coffee pot warmers attached to it. Hell, even the pepper shaker was so old and yellow that I thought it was mustard! Ah... That's the way I like it! {With a little dash of hope that I wouldn't get some gastrointestinal problems afterwards.}

I started out with a large glass of orange juice, with a scrambled egg with spinach sandwich, while my friend had two eggs, hash brown, and a hunky slice of ham. I was starving so much that I couldn't help but stare at her plate of food when I was done in just a couple minutes flat. So I ordered another breakfast. Yesireebob! I felt it was justified, seeing how I ran eight miles just within the hour. So I got myself a pancake special: two pancakes, chopped ham, and two eggs sunny side up. Yum yum yum!!!

After I got home, I relaxed for a little bit before another friend and his wife swung by and picked me up. Destination? DePaul Ray Meyer Sports Center. I know this sounds really crazy, but I had a basketball game to play, because about a month ago I joined a basketball league. As our game wasn't starting till 14:00, some of my teammates and I practiced and played two on two because most of us have not played basketball in a long time. After screwing around for an hour plus the first half of our actual competition, I went and got water and started to just putz around on the court during half time.

After shooting around from the top of the paint, I went in for an easy lay up. But as soon as I jumped up on my left foot, a sharp pain struck me out of nowhere. Before long, I found myself crashing to the floor and rolled over like a piece of log someone had just tossed up. I let out a loud scream and looked at my left leg. Holy molly! My left calf was huge and well-defined, just as you would find in a body builder while flexing his muscle. But the problem was that I wasn't flexing my calf muscle at all. I had a cramp! Really, really bad!

My teammates rushed over and asked what was wrong. In between my grimacing, I mustered out, "Cramp!" Then I asked my teammate who arrived on the scene first to push, thinking that calf cramp is a common basketball injury that he would know what to do. As I laid on my back wailing my arms around with phantom tears rolling down my cheeks, he bent my knee and lifted my left leg. "No, no! Push! Push my foot!" Then he straightened my leg, lifted it up, and started pushing my leg past 90 degrees! What the hell is he doing? He better not be trying to catch a glimpse of my underwear, that perv! By this time, my other teammates came and realized what to do. Hold my heel with one hand, and push my foot by the toes towards me to stretch out the calf muscle. Ah... The pain went down, but not by much.

Damn, it hurt so bad that I actually still felt some residual pain long after the cramp attack. Walking on my left leg was painful, as my left calf was still sore and tender. So I sat out of the game for the first sixteen minutes of the second half. We were up by almost fourteen points at the half, but by the time I got back into the game, the other team had cut down our lead by just four points! Talk about pressure. But in the end, we still won the game. By a single point! Of course, I'm not saying that my absence on the court made all the difference, but it does make you think, huh? ;-)

After I showered and started to towel dry myself in the bathtub, I noticed that both my ankles were somewhat puffy from all the running and jumping. Oh my God! I have pregnancy ankles!!! As if running eight miles and playing a basketball game weren't enough, I then went out to Sluggers and danced the night away after enjoying Cupid Has a Heart On. Miller Lites consumed? I think I lost count. Number of songs I danced to? Probably around thirty. Number of times I went down? Too many damn times for my legs' own good. Good thing alcohol was a good substitute for pain killers.

Unfortunately, getting home all buzzed at 03:25 in the morning was not exactly conducive to helping a friend move at 09:20. I did try to wake up though. But both my entire legs and my back hurt! Holly molly! So naturally, back to bed I went, before waking up again at 11:45. Then my other friend called, asking if I was still up to enjoying the beautiful Sunday out playing a pickup football game with his friends. Sure, why not? That was a decision that I would later come to regret. Instead of just taking it easy and having a relaxing game, I went all out and hustled up and down the field. After a couple hours of self torture, I finally did it.

After I caught the ball and shook lose my defender, I ran a good eleven yards towards the right side of the field to avoid another defender. Somehow my mind still believed that I was still young and fit like as when I was in high school, so the competitive side of me decided to plant my right foot down, spin a 360 and cut left to shake off the second defender. Of course, my sore body failed to oblige. Instead of spinning around, my tired and sore right leg just flopped, and while my body was trying to spin, the entire momentum continued going to the right of the field, which my body ended up tumbling to the ground like a freshly chopped tree. Along the way, with the aid of my full 188.5 pounds of lard and stupidity, I ended up spraining my right ankle.

GREAT!!!

Then I continued playing the rest of the day as a quarterback. One who could not throw with any accuracy more than twenty-five yards out. That sucks! And being injured was just like rubbing salt in my wound.

So now, it is Monday. I can barely walk or sit. My right shoulder hurts. I have pain in parts of my lower ass that I never thought muscles existed. My whole back aches. Both my legs are burning, and I still have that residual pain in my left calf. Not to mention a very painful sprained right ankle. And I also noticed that my second toe is bruised from all the running. If the weather wasn't so damn nice this past weekend, I would never have overextended myself! Maybe someone can provide me with Midol™ to take care of both the cramp and all the aches and pain I'm experiencing now. =)

Are You White?

Sunday morning, March 25th. The forecast called for rain, but it turned out to be a beautiful and sunny day. Temperatures on marquee signs at different banks read somewhere between 75 and 80 degrees. Given the inaccuracies of bank temperatures, it was a good day nonetheless. At least a good day for the Shamrock Shuffle 8K race.

This year's Shuffle was a little bit more organized as far as human traffic goes. As a result of this advanced, brilliant organization, the lot of us got stuck quite far back in the crowd amongst the open division. We were staged in the area with the 12 minute mile pacers! Ugh.

As a result, it took about 12 minutes for us to cross the starting line. GPS unit ready on my wrist, we started running. My bad. We started jogging slower than we can walk. But it was fun nonetheless. The company of friends, and the energy of the crowd. It all made for a pleasant run. Running a slower pace was a combination of my recent weight gain, the lack of sleep the night prior, and the result of a friend's evil plan to get me drunk late into the night at some restaurant that just so happened to be reviewed on the show Check Please! that very evening!

I can't really hold her at fault entirely, because what's that saying? That's right, I remember now. You can't rape the willing. But that's beside the point.

After about half of mile into running the Shuffle, our little group broke up into two. A slow group, and an even slower one. I fell into the former. And for the first time ever, I ran a steady pace without any effort, and I chatted almost the entire four plus miles! What a great way to catch up with a friend on each others' otherwise uninteresting lives. And best of all, my sides didn't hurt, as they usually do when I talk and run at the same time, a result of unsynchronized breathing methodology.

After the brisk five mile run, I was not the least bit tired, and was ready to run another lap around the exact same course. But of course hunger would take precedence. Instead of waiting in long lines lasting almost an hour to get our petty free beer, a few of us opted to go to Duffy's on Diversey for an all-you-can-eat brunch, with unlimited mimosas inclusive. All for just $15.95. What's not to love, besides the half hour we had to wait, which wasn't so bad as we were not unaccompanied with our favorite breakfast alcoholic drink. Mine was a Bloody Mary.

Two additional servings past the point when I said I was full, a song broke out in this rather loud bar that caters to pathetic fraternity boys and sorority girls. Undoubtedly it was one of my favorite songs, if not the best: O.A.R.'s Crazy Game of Poker. By this point in time, I may have had four or eight mimosas, but hey! Who's counting anyway? So I sang along at the top of my lungs in an attempt to drown out the song blasting over the speakers, but I must also add that I failed miserably.

My companion had never heard of this song, to which I reacted in shock. How can she not know the greatest song ever?!? A quick glance around the bar told her what she needed to know. All these pretty frat boys and ridiculously annoying sorority girls know the song, as they too were singing along to it. A smile came upon a face before looking at me with all seriousness: "Are you white?"

Fast forward to tonight. Time had passed, and I had a few moments to think about this. Briefly, of course, as I interrupted myself with a undeserved giant chocolate shake from Häagen-Dazs. Incidentally, the shake itself, as mightily tasty as it was, was definitely unworthy of the six dollars they commanded. Unless they believed wholeheartedly that they should find it ethical to charge a dollar for each hundred calories they produced.

Anyway, so I thought about the question that was imposed upon me. I don't listen to gangster rap. I may not listen to most of the top 40 pop music that are constantly shoved down our ear canals, but I surely do enjoy the popular alternative rock music. It may be considered well known and internationally recognized if you judge music by its quick recognition throughout the world. Tool? Yes. Nine Inch Nails? Yes. The Killers? Yes. Muse? Yes.

But there was a point in time when the world didn't know who the Dave Matthews Band was. Yes, I love them for a long time, since before they made it big on the world scene of music before Everyday. Statistically speaking, the majority of DMB fans are mostly white kids who mostly happen to enjoy some doobie doby doo on the side. You might refer to it as Mary Jane. But so what? Phish? Yes.

But what about Guster? Or O.A.R.? Damn! She totally got me! I realized that such music typically catered to fans that are statistically not me. Or the black guy next door. Or my Hispanic buddies. Or my French, or German, or Italian, or Japanese, or Filipino friends. Damn! O.A.R.? Totally white hippie crowd's kind of music, despite the fact that one of the O.A.R. band members is Asian.

Now I'm left with bewilderment as to how I have become this person that I am today. Of all the worldly influences while growing up, I now claim most music best enjoyed with alcohol, happy-go-lucky girls, and Mary Jane as my kind of music! Sigh... I can only imagine the disappointment in my parents' eyes. But you know what? I may not be a whitey, but I sure as hell love O.A.R.!

From this day forth, let it be known that I am in love with strange tunes that are typically loved by the hippie college frat boys and sorority girls! Ain't no shame in that! =)