...but working at the pub on St. Patrick's Day will undoubtedly leave me in a quivering, exhausted heap. Last year, it was wall to wall patrons for 8 hours straight, and the unending din of the 4 back-to-back Irish bands left the "deedle-dee-deeing" of a bagpipe in my head for days. I seriously went into the walk in cooler to escape it. One of the cooks joined me and asked, "You can still hear it, right? It's not just in my head, RIGHT?"
Happy St. Pat's to you all! I hope to come out of it alive. And without DEEDLE-DEE-DEE DA DEEDLE DA DEE running through my brain for the coming week.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Here we go again
During our 20 mile, hilly run yesterday, Gary and I were expounding on the virtues of hill-training for this September's Pine to Palm 100 miler (Oh, I didn't mention I'm running another 100 on my 40th birthday? Errr, I am.) as we huffed and puffed, climbing and descending. I mean, ya gotta train for what you're gonna run, right? Lookit this profile:
Yup, that's THREE mountains we'll climb up and drop down. Anyhoo, as I blathered on and on (and on), the following words leaped from my drooling, dry, gasping mouth:
"If you aren't hurting during your long run, you aren't training right."
We both guffawed and cackled, and then we stopped. It's SO true! You need to get into that discomfort during your long runs to prepare yourself for the discomfort of the race, because it WILL come - no denying it.
And so I now dive back into my 100 mile training for the fall: The back to back long runs, the you-can't-wake-me-with-a-baseball-bat sleeping, eating like a rabid bear, the wondering where my time has gone (and knowing full well it's been on trails).
BRING IT!
Yup, that's THREE mountains we'll climb up and drop down. Anyhoo, as I blathered on and on (and on), the following words leaped from my drooling, dry, gasping mouth:
"If you aren't hurting during your long run, you aren't training right."
We both guffawed and cackled, and then we stopped. It's SO true! You need to get into that discomfort during your long runs to prepare yourself for the discomfort of the race, because it WILL come - no denying it.
And so I now dive back into my 100 mile training for the fall: The back to back long runs, the you-can't-wake-me-with-a-baseball-bat sleeping, eating like a rabid bear, the wondering where my time has gone (and knowing full well it's been on trails).
BRING IT!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Tunes, jams, and other lame monickers for "music"
If you're a runner of any distance, you probably get faced with this question from time to time:
"Do you listen to music when you run?"
My incredibly simple answer to this simple inquiry:
Yes. And no. But sometimes.
Okay, maybe a not so simple answer.
Yesterday I hit some climbing, winding trails for a nice 7 miler, and I opted to toss on the headphones, as I haven't for quite some time. It completely changes the way I run. And this ancient article raises the question, "Does music give runners an unfair advantage?"
I have to admit, in my case, it does.
If an adrenaline-pumping song pops on, I find my pace quickening. If a more light-hearted song clicks on, my mood lightens. I find I'm more out-of-my-head (as opposed to my usual "out-of-my-mind" state) and pay less attention to mental distractions ("Is this climb EVER gonna top off?!?" and "Dammit, my ass if chafing!"), therefore focusing more on my running. It's kind of an opposite state than you'd think - music doesn't distract me; it merely distracts me from my distractions.
On the flip side, I can only take music for an hour at a time. I can set a watch to it. By the end of my 7 miler, I HAD to remove my earbuds...at precisely the one hour mark.
The secondary question regarding music is, "What do you listen to?" So here, categorized, are a few samples.
Ass-kicking
Hot For Teacher - Van Halen
Baba O'Reilly - The Who
Fire - Jimi Hendrix
Silly/Makes me smile
I Want A New Drug - Huey Lewis and the News
Heat of the Moment - Asia
M-79 - Vampire Weekend
Plain embarassing
Steppin' Out - Joe Jackson
You Better Love Somebody - Rick Springfield
Roll With the Changes - REO Speedwagon
Luckily, I've already deleted the Brittany Spears from ym playlist, so I don't have to admit that.
Whoops.
"Do you listen to music when you run?"
My incredibly simple answer to this simple inquiry:
Yes. And no. But sometimes.
Okay, maybe a not so simple answer.
Yesterday I hit some climbing, winding trails for a nice 7 miler, and I opted to toss on the headphones, as I haven't for quite some time. It completely changes the way I run. And this ancient article raises the question, "Does music give runners an unfair advantage?"
I have to admit, in my case, it does.
If an adrenaline-pumping song pops on, I find my pace quickening. If a more light-hearted song clicks on, my mood lightens. I find I'm more out-of-my-head (as opposed to my usual "out-of-my-mind" state) and pay less attention to mental distractions ("Is this climb EVER gonna top off?!?" and "Dammit, my ass if chafing!"), therefore focusing more on my running. It's kind of an opposite state than you'd think - music doesn't distract me; it merely distracts me from my distractions.
On the flip side, I can only take music for an hour at a time. I can set a watch to it. By the end of my 7 miler, I HAD to remove my earbuds...at precisely the one hour mark.
The secondary question regarding music is, "What do you listen to?" So here, categorized, are a few samples.
Ass-kicking
Hot For Teacher - Van Halen
Baba O'Reilly - The Who
Fire - Jimi Hendrix
Silly/Makes me smile
I Want A New Drug - Huey Lewis and the News
Heat of the Moment - Asia
M-79 - Vampire Weekend
Plain embarassing
Steppin' Out - Joe Jackson
You Better Love Somebody - Rick Springfield
Roll With the Changes - REO Speedwagon
Luckily, I've already deleted the Brittany Spears from ym playlist, so I don't have to admit that.
Whoops.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Review time!
I recently had the joy of purchasing the Brooks Cascadia 5 trail shoe. And by joy, I mean outta sight pleasure!
This shoe was in-part designed by ultra champ and all-around nice fella Scott Jurek, and he and the folks at Brooks did a bang-up job.
The Good: Where to start? The way this shoe naturally conformed to my foot made me feel as though I was running barefoot (a current trend in running that I have a multitude of opinions on - I won't get into it here), yet provided a ton of support. My pal Gary and I hit a rocky trail for a quick 15 on Monday for my first spin in them, and I was impressed: Excellent traction and none of the "constrained" feeling of wearing footwear. My foot moved freely and easily, and the couple of times I dinged my toe on a rock, I felt no pain...only shame.
The Bad: On the inside sole of the shoe, Brooks put the route for the Western States 100 miler. It only served to get me itching for my trip in June down to Auburn for the race (no, I'm not running it - more on that later). AND, they put Jurek's record-breaking time for the race (15 hours, 39 minutes) down there too. As Ann said, "It's to remind you that you'll never be as fast as him!"
I kid about the bad. I can't imagine a better shoe for me.
Save for one that can get me to break 16 hours in a 100.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Back in 199(coughcough), when Ronald Reagan had only been recently dethroned, and our biggest fear as a nation was that some mustached guy in the middle east might just try to take over some small, little piece of sandy real estate and make it his own (it just dawned on me that an entire generation has known where Kuwait is located for their entire lives), I moved from Milwaukee back home to Chicago in pursuit of a burgeoning career in stand up comedy.
Clubs at that time were like present-day Starbucks: Two for every city block. Seriously, almost every bar/disco/nightclub/honkytonk housed at least one comedy night per week (we once almost convinced a comic that another comic's mom okayed hosting an open mike in her basement. Yeah, THAT prevalent), so every wiseass in Chicago had the chance to give stand up at least a single shot.
Located about 6 blocks from Chicago's O'Hare International Airport were two clubs: The Comedy Cottage and Last Laff (note: misspelling a comedy club's name ensured quality comedians).
The Comedy Cottage (above, pictured: comedian Greg Glienna, probably around 1987) was started by Jay Berk and "Big Ed" Hildebrand, sometime prior to the comedy boom of the mid-80s. At the time of it's inception, it was one of the few clubs outside of New York and Los Angeles, so many soon-to-be big names played a week there en route to either coast. Example: In the late 90s, I once heard that Jay Leno ran into Big Ed and hugged him.
Indeed, they were a big deal.
As the boom began, well, BOOMING, the tiny club (which was actually more of a banquet room attached to a restaurant) drew sell out shows every night of the week, and with it's success, Jay and Ed (not the two most easy to get along with fellas) began butting heads, I think, quite literally at one point. Their partnership quickly fell apart, and Big Ed stayed on to run the Cottage, while Jay, in the most passive-aggressive move in the world of comedy - and that's saying something - opened the Last Laff about 1/2 a block away.
Begun, the club war has.
Mysterious happenings, like rocks crashing through club's windows, began to occur, and it was made clear as a half-emptied bottle of gin that if you played at Ed's, you didn't play Jay's, and vice-versa. Eventually, this "understanding" dissipated, and we were "allowed" to perform at both clubs, with minimal grumbling by the respective club's owners.
However...
If Big Ed ever caught a comic talking during a show in the back of the room at the Comedy Cottage, he would inevitably haul his massive self over to you and bark: "IF YOU WANNA TALK, GO TO JAY'S!" in full voice, interrupting the comedian onstage even more so than your whispering and cackling. This became an HUGE inside joke for Chicago comedians, and we'd riff endlessly and mercilessly:
"If you wanna get laughs, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna take a leak, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna fuck my wife, go to Jay's!"
and so forth. To this day, if you meet a comedian who began performing in Chicago in the 1980s, promptly state, "If you wanna talk, go to Jay's!" and you will win a special place in their heart.
As stand up's star began to fade, and the over-saturation of televised comedy began to pull the "art form" further under, Jay was forced to shut down his club, and Big Ed reduced his 5 nights/week to 2, and eventually altogether locked his doors. I don't believe they ever made amends either. Last I heard, Ed passed away in Las Vegas some years ago. Of course, I heard this info from a fellow old-timer comedian, so the riffing - in true 21 gun salute status - picked up right where it left off:
"If you wanna die of a heart attack, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna cremate me, go to Jays!"
"If you want a tombstone, go to Jay's!"
Clubs at that time were like present-day Starbucks: Two for every city block. Seriously, almost every bar/disco/nightclub/honkytonk housed at least one comedy night per week (we once almost convinced a comic that another comic's mom okayed hosting an open mike in her basement. Yeah, THAT prevalent), so every wiseass in Chicago had the chance to give stand up at least a single shot.
Located about 6 blocks from Chicago's O'Hare International Airport were two clubs: The Comedy Cottage and Last Laff (note: misspelling a comedy club's name ensured quality comedians).
The Comedy Cottage (above, pictured: comedian Greg Glienna, probably around 1987) was started by Jay Berk and "Big Ed" Hildebrand, sometime prior to the comedy boom of the mid-80s. At the time of it's inception, it was one of the few clubs outside of New York and Los Angeles, so many soon-to-be big names played a week there en route to either coast. Example: In the late 90s, I once heard that Jay Leno ran into Big Ed and hugged him.
Indeed, they were a big deal.
As the boom began, well, BOOMING, the tiny club (which was actually more of a banquet room attached to a restaurant) drew sell out shows every night of the week, and with it's success, Jay and Ed (not the two most easy to get along with fellas) began butting heads, I think, quite literally at one point. Their partnership quickly fell apart, and Big Ed stayed on to run the Cottage, while Jay, in the most passive-aggressive move in the world of comedy - and that's saying something - opened the Last Laff about 1/2 a block away.
Begun, the club war has.
Mysterious happenings, like rocks crashing through club's windows, began to occur, and it was made clear as a half-emptied bottle of gin that if you played at Ed's, you didn't play Jay's, and vice-versa. Eventually, this "understanding" dissipated, and we were "allowed" to perform at both clubs, with minimal grumbling by the respective club's owners.
However...
If Big Ed ever caught a comic talking during a show in the back of the room at the Comedy Cottage, he would inevitably haul his massive self over to you and bark: "IF YOU WANNA TALK, GO TO JAY'S!" in full voice, interrupting the comedian onstage even more so than your whispering and cackling. This became an HUGE inside joke for Chicago comedians, and we'd riff endlessly and mercilessly:
"If you wanna get laughs, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna take a leak, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna fuck my wife, go to Jay's!"
and so forth. To this day, if you meet a comedian who began performing in Chicago in the 1980s, promptly state, "If you wanna talk, go to Jay's!" and you will win a special place in their heart.
As stand up's star began to fade, and the over-saturation of televised comedy began to pull the "art form" further under, Jay was forced to shut down his club, and Big Ed reduced his 5 nights/week to 2, and eventually altogether locked his doors. I don't believe they ever made amends either. Last I heard, Ed passed away in Las Vegas some years ago. Of course, I heard this info from a fellow old-timer comedian, so the riffing - in true 21 gun salute status - picked up right where it left off:
"If you wanna die of a heart attack, go to Jay's!"
"If you wanna cremate me, go to Jays!"
"If you want a tombstone, go to Jay's!"
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Random neato-ness
Annie was going through boxes in the basement and unearthed a couple of Polaroid of mine from back in the day:
That's me, at the Ford City mall on Chicago's south side, near where my grandmother lived. The man towering above me is Buddy Bell, ex-third baseman for the Texas Rangers. I guess they were in town playing the White Sox, as evidenced by:
Wayne Nordhagen's presence. I distinctly remember that my mom and I were wandering through Sears when we came across them, randomly standing there.
You really don't get this any more: Athletes are treated more like rock stars nowadays, untouchable to the public...unless you wanna fork over some dough for an autograph.
Oh, crap. I just realized I'm that old guy now who says shit like, "Back in MY day..."
That's me, at the Ford City mall on Chicago's south side, near where my grandmother lived. The man towering above me is Buddy Bell, ex-third baseman for the Texas Rangers. I guess they were in town playing the White Sox, as evidenced by:
Wayne Nordhagen's presence. I distinctly remember that my mom and I were wandering through Sears when we came across them, randomly standing there.
You really don't get this any more: Athletes are treated more like rock stars nowadays, untouchable to the public...unless you wanna fork over some dough for an autograph.
Oh, crap. I just realized I'm that old guy now who says shit like, "Back in MY day..."
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