All The Way Or Not At All

The almost unknown, yet so great of a rocknroll outfit that any adjective below does no great favor to the almost legendary outfit, Kansas City's Cretin 66. Their blazing high energy kick you between the legs rocknroll personifies their basic philosophy in life, All The Way Or Not At All.

In short, it is my goal to transfer high energy sonic jams into high energy blazing journeys of blazing footwork. My first 5K race tested this very intense proclamation to the point that my leg work would set the pavement afire if it was not for the previously intense thundershowers. My eventual sore feet managed to keep up with many twenty and thirty somethings while my 47 year old body managed to prevail.

Despite the very threatening looking weather [see the above radar photo], I managed to run a 8:24 pace for 3.1 miles, with the total time reading 00:26:06. I was completely gasping for air after my sprint across the finish line.

And the first thing that popped into my frazzled mind? All the way or not at all!

p.s. : Here are the race results!

Splitting Random Thoughts

I am constantly living the life of a circus performer. I wake up in the morning and hoping by a prayer to motivate myself enough to rise before the sun beats me to my running jaunts, doing the tasks of everyday life before it totally overtakes me.

Even though Thursday has hightailed itself to the current position on my sometimes chaotic calender, this has been a week that shall never slip from my brainstem. Even though the buzz of the electronic device ordering competitive swimmers to strat the race in the evening, the day was already on for Shannon as everybody being surrounded by swimming pools was wondering if mother nature's electrical wrath was going to be exhibited via thunderbolts. Earlier in the day, it had rained poolfulls [bad pun intended] to the point of practice being cancelled. Naturally, most parents were wondering whether a full evening of swimming events was going to be allowed to occur. Of course, I had doubts flowing through my mind!

Come 4:45, things appear a bit on the rough side looking upwards into the sky. Rain producing clouds tormented everyone looking northwest. It appears that cancellation is written all over this event as a huge black cloud intimidates everybody poolside. After the traditional organized choas of transferring the list of races from the computer printout to the childs arm using a permament marker, the festivities began.

We all waited, and waited until the heats accumulated to lucky thirteen. Shannon climbed onto the starting blocks with her hair slightly tucked into her bathing cap, feeling the cold wind blow against her bathing suit. Before we knew anything, the starting buzzer at this very efficiently run meeet had sounded off. Into the water went Shannon, as her free-style was gliding her through the mixture of h2o and chlorine. I looked in amazement as she was running towards the front of the pack. In the end, Shannon barely edged herself to second place.

Fast forward to heat number 37. Shannon jumps off the strating block in glee into the very cold water. Shannon immediately grabs the chrome colored starting bar and propels herself into the backstroke upon the electronic prompt. Once again, she resembles a machine on its back moving and moving without stopping until she reaches her destination; the finish line. She has had another great race as she was excited, but in the zone to the point of not knowing the result. When I had informed her of finishing number one, she was very excited to the point of a huge smile. After this meet, we all drove back home, cold, yet happy that Shannon was not only very successful, but that the meet was not trampled upon by the weather.

Cough cough, sneeze, sneeze.... achoooooo! Waking up the next morning ended up being an event in itself with Shannon not only sneezing like crazy, but her ears bothering her to the point of its overly red colors being a painful irritant. After my Tuesday morning run of 4 miles or so, my fingers had to dial my children's doctor and I have since been enduring an uneventful event of putting up with random coughs, sneezes, and medicine dosages while mentally preparing myself for my upcoming 5K run.... my first race ever as I have only participated in the usually very child friendly fun runs.

One more random thought, enjoy the video below. Or as my son Ian says, How random!

Adrynalyn....

Or lack there of....

Last night's musical jaunt into the depths of 1980's Youtube inspired music brought me out to a disaster on the other end of the tunnel. In short, my eyes were transfixed upon the computer to the point of oversleeping with the end result being no run. I am just questioning myself; was it worth it? The reality is that it does not matter anymore.

In a timemachine, I magically press a button to take me back to the good old days, circa 1986. I imagine myself in college on a bitterly cold night in the town of Bennington, VT. I am urgently drawing on a bottle of Moosehead beer, listening to the sweet sounds of Minnesota's punk rock band, Husker Du. Some say these guys are unlistenable.... my opinion regresses.

Fast forward many many years later. My ears are chronologically documenting the sounds; in rock critic terms, I've got to say that this band resembles a very much amplified version of the Beatles. To go a bit further, these alleged Swedish lads [am I wrong to presume since they are from Minnesota?] are not only one of the greatest unknown outfits ever, but according to my snotty opinion, one of the best ever. Period!

Is this the ending? How Lame! Oh well....

A fIRE On The Plain

Yes, this latest rant exiting my wine induced brain may seem to be non-sense to the average running mammal. The fact is that the great tunage by one of the the primo bass extrodiarres in the whole universe, Mike Watt, amps me up to the point that it could potentially turn a possible rail-trail bike ride into an exercise of dementia.

Yes, the bands Watt happens to accompany sounds genious all around. His jazz/punk/rocknroll/Motown tendencies helps transfuse his great talent of make his bass guitar sound like a style of his own. The past couple of days, his sounds have been bouncing off my overly-active neurons to the point that listening to his material translates to a run or a bike on a very dusty plain in a rural portion of the Mid-Western United States.



Some great tunage by fIREHOSE!

Some great rocknroll wisdom by Mike Watt!

Blue Spark

As the legendary punk rock band X exclaims in their shoot-em up tunage on their track entitled "Spark," my biceps were actually invigorated by the thought of the twenty pound dumbells being lifted into the air until my muscles screamed to end these motions. These motions were not felt like a punishment for the first time in a while as I was stupidly placed on the injury squad for lifting.... I was relegated to the skimpy ten pound weights as my tendons were so sore I could not lift a twenty into the sky effectively.

Enjoy the great sounds of X .... I know it will sound much better than this quick electronic etching.

On a Plain

Rotating my feet circularly while my abnoxious yellow mountain bike propelled on the semi-dusty plain of Missouri's semi-famous Katy Trail is what occupied my late morning to early afternoon trot. Fortunently, many current meteorologist's favorite game of creating out hand paranoia ended today when this lame exercise ended up resembling nothing more than a bunch of old fashion turkey jive.

What is all this wordage leading me to? Is it saying that some lame 47 year old rock star critic wanna-bee turned late blooming weekend athlete? I do not know, but let me rewind a bit more than 24 hours. My bike [aka ; Elvis] guided myself and my two children along this jaunt. At least this journey was "an easy" 13 or so miles.... take that back reader gazin' upon this rant. My daughter Shannon at least claimed to have a hard time keeping up the peddling at certain strategic times. What could we do as our bikes/our legs were working in sync with our noggin, concentrating upon putting a check next to the box of our latest goal.

Police And Theives

Just as Junior Murrow exclaimed from the reggae vaults within Jamaica, later to be imported to the isle of Britain and be popularized by the world famous Clash, I encountered an instance of police interaction on my most current extended jaunt.

Before you the reader, thinks my arms are placed behind me while standing against a squad car.... well, think in opposites. My failing eyes witnessed seven police cars with their flashing lights greeting a lonely car. Multiple police officers with their fingers attached to their guns pointed in the direction of the car.

The previous few words stringed together are just a description of what I witnessed during my previous endurance journey adding up to 14 miles on my electronic pedometer. Truthfully speaking, I can not stretch the truth and invent a story in light of the USS Maine explosion in relation to yellow journalism and the start of the Spanish-American War. Simply said, I do not know.

A couple days later while navigating through the world wide web's music video connection, Youtube, I encountered the embed located below this rant. This ditty seems to be the best reminder of the latest journey that my legs carried me to.

Miles Davis, Freedom, Simplicity, and Nothing

Wow.... listening to Miles Davis' trumpet expresses a dangerously similar freedom as I felt today during today's run/bike jaunt. This freedom to let go was produced with my footsteps/bike peddling while Mr. Davis and his almost magical trumpet displays the freedom of his simple, yet drawn out style of trumpeting.

I praise Miles Davis.... in my book, your attitude, style of trumpeting, and almost everything about this epic legend screams the phrase King of Cool. Mr Davis; let me reach into your pocket as I want to steal ten percent of your coolness. Transforming your trumpeting style into my running style seems possible as I slip on my shoes that are destined to hit the pavement. I have nothing else to say as my ears attach it's hearing tubes to your horn. My feet are done moving for the night, but they meekly attemopt to capture Mile's movement, tapping its toes, listening to his musical masterpieces.

A Bike Named Elvis

While I might be a bit slow posting my most current news and stuff.... well, this latest rant rotates around an almost stolen prase from Johnny Cash. Instead of Cash's so epic gem, "A Boy Named Sue," this brain exercise is entitled "A Bike Named Elvis."

I had been toying with the idea of partaking in a grand purchasing scheme to acquire a long coveted mountain bike. I wanted to be able to accompany my children on long trail rides.... at least that is what I hoped. You know, make them pump and pump at the grueling pedals until they not only sweat bullets, but their feet give out.

Cut to the chase.... soon after torturing my kids on my previous trek on Missouri's Katy Trail, I decided my bike needed a name; but lets back up a bit. As my brain was being consumed by evil thoughts, the word Elvis suddenly was stuck upon my neurons....presto : ELVIS!

Anyway, if you happen to gaze upon a father hoisted atop a mountain bike with the most god awful paint job that some would categorize as despicable art,then you might be in for either a treat or disaster. Here is this piece of precious equipment for my legs to rotate on so I can make myself stronger as in Zuess like proportions, while the Greek godess Nike hands to me a few points for reaching myself into the land of cross-training!

A Tribute

With tax day 2011, April 15th, representing the tenth anniversary of Joey Ramone's death, I simply want to segway into a great song by this legendary artist, who was a functioning unit in my all time favorite band, THE RAMONES! Let the music silence my words....

I Have Nothing Witty To Say

All apoligies will be accepted if you dear reader understand the froth being emited from my mouthpiece. The electronic etchings transmitted from my brain to your visual state of being applies to my current, yet part of my sporatic interests.... running and music. I will delve into other areas, such as how much I like biking food and nutrition, maybe even politics, film, or whatever is captured inside my neurons!

Running, cycling, writing and music is a spiritual uplifting to me. You see, all these functions help me almost forget what is going on in my everyday life.... NO, No, No; I am not being irresponsible. Sometimes you have to kiss good-bye the routines of life, the troubles, or whatever troubles penetrate your over busy brain.

Running is a great way to leave myself to forget everything around me and yet at the same time, focus on every breath, every stride, and every observation good enough to break my usual concentration. No, I do not plug myself in via I-pod or any other inescapable electronic devices on these trecks. Reason? It is the pace of my life, the pace of my feet carrying me mile after mile, while the oversized gps afixed to my wrist guides me by didgits. Getting home is stretching time while turning on what ever sort of musical vibrations happens to capture my spirit. Later on, my acoustic guitar might violate my kid's airspace, telling me in a pleaful manner to leave their eardrums alone.

Running and music is what I am. Being witty is not on this page today.