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the last refuge of a scoundrel

garbanzo a gogo

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Well, it's like this. I killed off Facebook and Twitter because of their political implications. I'm wrestling with Instagram, but I don't know how I could rationalize it. I have a blog that has been overtaken by a guy from Estonia. And yet, I need to write. Always, I need to write.

So here I am.

I have entered the third act of life. I'm still working, but out of a small sweatshop being run out of our spare bedroom, so I never have to wear pants, which is a bit distressing for Mr. Pants. I'm growing a Letterman beard and forcing the cat to stay awake for a second hour of the day. But basically I never leave the apartment these days, except to bask in the glory of the SCC track. So that's what I've been doing. I got in an even 20 miles this week, which is the distance I always tell my oncologist I'm running, except now I wouldn't be lying. Except I have no oncologist visits scheduled in the near future, forcing him to bill someone else so he can afford his exotic mountain bike equipment.

Mo has grown suspicious of my track obsession. I just walk, after all. What difference does it make? I don't know. It's just the feeling of the place. Some people love trails, some roads. Me? I'm at home in Lane 9. We've been talking about moving to Flagstaff. Does she pitch the mountains, the trails, the leftist vibe? No. "You know they have a really great track," she says. Mo is wise.

It's been 150 degrees or so here lately, so mostly I have the place to myself. But today there were football guys and burrowing owls. There's been a long snapper working out here forever. He takes a big trash can, counts off 8 yards or so, and smashes a football into it over and over and over and over and over. I have thought a lot about how it would be more efficient to have a second guy. Yes, that's what I think about when I think about running, Mr. Murakami.

Today, HE HAD A SECOND GUY! They took turns, one snapping to the other, then turning around, then going the other way, then back again, until they both pass out. This seems terribly boring to me, but then I'm walking in circles at a 14:50 pace. So ...

The OTHER thing that drives me nuts is wondering who these people are. This track has everyone from Olympic gold medalists to ummm, me, so I'm always curious, but too shy to ask. AND THEN! The second guy today had his backpack on the bench, which gave just enough info for an intrepid journalist to uncover. He's the starting long snapper for the University of Utah. Sophomore, apparently quite good. Now if I can find out who the wide receiver with the white gloves is, I can sleep tonight. Or maybe hard apple cider. Yeah, that second one.

Being a recluse makes the daily outing a huge deal. I'm pretty excited about the future. Miles is miles, yeah? I hope to get up to a decent weekly mileage and hope my body gives in and starts to speed up a bit. If not, that's OK. It's good to be alive on a sunny day. 

And so I will write inaccurate headlines, go out for a daily jaunt, and file here on a daily basis. Yes, you can ignore me. I just need a place to write without fear of Estonian retribution. It's what the late Dave Schultz would have wanted.

It's good to get back on track ...

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my work posse. no, they’re not talking to me. yet. 

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3 hours ago, Dave said:

Going to miss me...😢

hmmm. maybe that was the vacuum cleaner that died.

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1 hour ago, NavEng said:

long snappers are a special breed.

I have a friend whose kid is a long snapper and will start his freshman year in college this season, so I've spent a couple years following his training. Those guys work ridiculously hard to do a job so perfectly that nobody notices. Until, of course, one goes sailing over the kicker's head.  A special breed indeed.

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59 minutes ago, Carissa Liebowitz said:

It is indeed good to be alive on a sunny day. 

maybe without Hotlanta Humidity though.

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24 minutes ago, Gonzo Runner said:

The beard is the secret to it all. 

well, sure. But you have the Rob Krar beard. I've working on Jed Clampett after a three-day bender.

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9 minutes ago, garbanzo a gogo said:

maybe without Hotlanta Humidity though.

Funny how I would be so thrilled to be complaining about how hot it is. The grass is indeed always greener somewhere. 

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46 minutes ago, garbanzo a gogo said:

well, sure. But you have the Rob Krar beard. I've working on Jed Clampett after a three-day bender.

"The journey to an ultra-marathoner's beard begins with a single skipped shave." - Ancient Chinese Proverb (more or less)

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I actually had to log in here to find out more about the Ryan Bingham Post It note....what's it about? Also, why aren't your Post-It Notes DayGlo Orange?

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12 minutes ago, Running Nole Fan said:

I actually had to log in here to find out more about the Ryan Bingham Post It note....what's it about? Also, why aren't your Post-It Notes DayGlo Orange?

"Although 3M's patent expired in 1997, "Post-it" and the original notes' distinctive yellow color remain registered company trademarks, "

Using any color other than yellow could well be a felony. I, for one, am not willing to take that chance. And it's NOT a racing Post-It Note. For exhibition only, not competition.

Ryan Bingham, as it turns out, is not in any way related to John "the Penguin" Bingham, other than being a fellow citizen of the planet. But you never know.

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17 hours ago, Carissa Liebowitz said:

Funny how I would be so thrilled to be complaining about how hot it is. The grass is indeed always greener somewhere. 

I'd like some warmth please...and a little less wind!

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So this is where you're hanging out? I don't enjoy having to come look for you.

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2 hours ago, gdionelli said:

So this is where you're hanging out? I don't enjoy having to come look for you.

 

oh, you know. deep state. 

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There was a scene in the movie, "Conan the Barbarian," where Ahnold started work as a slave boy pushing this bar the size of a beam in circles with 50 other people as part of some sort of machine. Time passed, and the slave boy eventually took the shape of Conan, because pushing that bar in circles added muscles every day for years. He was all by himself at the end, and he had dug a trench in the ground where he had walked all those years, pushing the bar in circles.

I've had so many circles at my local high school track in recent years, I've imaged the possibility of a trench.

Sounds like you're right there, putting in the laps, digging the trench. It did a lot for Conan.

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