Can I Be Frank?: Running is Stupid

With the Marathon approaching I am dusting off this one for your reading pleasure. The subject of the Marathon has become a very touchy subject due to the tragedies of 2013, but let’s try to bring a little levity and some laughs to the whole subject of running.
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March running martial art23, 2012

With The Boston Marathon just around the corner I wanted to offer a comprehensive review of the “sport” of running.

I can sum it up in 3 words: Running is stupid.

Whew. I feel better just writing those words down.

Let me backtrack a little bit. Running, for the purpose of exercise and general health is, I suppose, a positive and productive activity. Of course, running improves your cardio-vascular health, relieves anxiety, and certainly keeps the pounds off. But guess what, I don’t care. Running – just for the sake of running – is stupid.
Think back to when you were a kid. You ran for reasons. You were playing tag. You were running in a race against your friends. You were playing (real) sports. You were running from your Dad because you opened your big, sarcastic mouth one too many times (maybe that was just me?).
But, to run just…’because’. I’m all set.

Well, I can already hear the “BOOs” from all of you running rebels that live and breathe this horrific hobby. Several of my closest friends and family members love running and a few have even completed marathons. My Dad, my cousin, my college roommate to name a few. Listen, good for you guys! Congratulations! WOO HOO! Job well done! Yippie!

Running is stupid.

Which brings me to a more specific aspect of running; marathon running. Are you freaking kidding me? Why on God’s green earth would ANYONE want to run a marathon? Anyone? Bueller? Come on! Forget the actual act of running a marathon. I can almost understand the satisfaction of having thousands of fans cheer for you as you trudge through 26.2 grueling miles. I get that. But, how about the incredible amount of training and preparation that goes into it all? No thanks. Months of work. Millions of miles (maybe not millions, but it’s called alliteration, folks). Hundreds of hours of your time.

Really, people? Sore muscles. Achy joints. Bloody nipples. Odd bowel movements.

Wow, that sounds fantastic…where do I sign up?

OK, bring on the counterpoint, Bill Rogers and Uta Pippig. I’m waiting.

“Running alleviates my stress.”

“I don’t feel right unless I get a run in.”

“If you have never experienced a runner’s high, then you should not give your opinion.”

Too late and here it is: Running is stupid.

Well, I think I have clearly relayed my standpoint on the subject, but I am going to offer you a chance to get back at me. Perhaps there is a more personal reason for out-of-the-blue attack on all of you jogging jackasses?

I started running this week.

Yes, yes…I know. Laugh all you like. Not sure what inspired me to start this week. Possibly because of the 87 pounds of corned beef and cabbage and 105 pints Guinness I have ingested over the past few weeks. Could be that I have been lacking any exercise program in my life for a while. Entirely feasible that I was feeling guilty that my wife has recently decided to taking up jogging with the rest of you imbosiles. Could be all of the above? Doesn’t really matter, but I woke up earlier this week and took to the street.

Mrs. C.I.B.F. leaves for work at 6:00AM and, with a busy day ahead; I knew I should just get this out of the way early. So, at 5:32, I laced up the Asics and hit the road.

I began my first jog in a very long time at a slow and steady pace. I am not looking to break any records. I have no goal or end game in mind. I am simply out here to feel a little better about my health and possibly drop my blood pressure down to a normal range. What I soon learned was that it would not be the actual act of running that would cause me issue; but rather…panic.

As I made my first turn down a side street I realized how damn dark it is at that time of day strictly reserved for the newspaper kid and insomniacs. Suddenly, I felt an overcoming sense of fear. A dog (90% positive it was Cujo) barked from its yard and I nearly jumped up a tree like a Tom & Jerry episode. I smelled something? Oh God, it’s a skunk. Where is it? Christ, he is going to spray me right in the face! Who‘s that coming at me? Crap! I bet it’s a serial kill….nope; it’s another one of you stupid joggers.

“Hey man” I huffed at him like a 80 year old, chain-smoking asthmatic as I am trying to play the role of neighborhood Kenyon. I was completely thrown off my game. All of these distractions and empty fears were actually adding stress to this supposed stress-reducing activity. My pulse was not racing from the intense aerobic workout. It was because clearly there was a madman (or a blood thirsty, rabid animal) tracking me through the neighborhood. A Boogey Man (quite possibly Boogey Men?) was surely on my tail. That I know for a certainty.

Before I knew it, I was actually sprinting – not jogging – in one direction; back towards home. I am not going to risk my life over this silly pastime. I will not be maimed by some psycho or wildebeest for the love of this game. Just not worth it. I have a family to think about for crying out loud.

And there ends another chapter of my storied athletic career. Sneakers are retired. Wind pants are doing just that; blowing in the wind. I am hitting the proverbial showers for good.

Running is stupid.

Best of luck to all you marathoners!

How does the Lowell Police Academy let guys graduate with such awful game?

Super Troopers_Vinok2.007Lowell Sun

LOWELL — A 2013 Lowell Police Academy graduate who was still on probation resigned last week, just days after an investigation determined he violated numerous policies in an effort to contact a woman he met responding to a call.

Police Superintendent William Taylor and Solicitor Christine O’Connor both declined comment, but The Sun has determined that Augustine Manyo-Washington is no longer employed as a Lowell police officer.

Manyo-Washington was among 59 graduates of the Lowell Police Academy last Nov. 15.

In late January, Manyo-Washington, and another police officer, Joseph Comtois, responded to an unidentified Lowell bar to investigate alleged drug activity.

During that call, Manyo-Washington met an employee “he liked,” states an Internal Affairs Report, a copy of which was acquired by The Sun. As a result of that encounter, Manyo-Washington ran the license plates of several cars in the parking lot, looking for the car that belonged to the employee he’d just met.

“Officer Manyo-Washington ran the plates ‘trying to find out who she was,’” states the 5-page report, completed by the Professional Standards Division and dated April 7. “Which he did.”

Manyo-Washington accessed the license plate data base on several dates in February, including on one of his days off. Police Department policy states that only “authorized persons in the performance of their official duties may access, use or disseminate this information for official and lawful criminal justice purposes.”

I love this Augustine Manyo-Washington guy. He’s a throwback’s, throwback. He’s not one of those new-age glory hounds that are chasing legends. He graduated from the academy, was outfitted with a sharp uniform, a car with cool lights, lethal weapons, hand cuffs, and access to all the personal information you can handle…and he did what any man in his situation would do. He immediately started wrangling poon.  Should a few criminals get between him and his demanded dinners from women that he’s stalking…all the better.

Is his game flawed? Certainly. This story had all the makings of a made for TV romance and then veered sharply into a creepy guardrail. But is that Augustine Manyo-Washington’s fault?

Seems to be more of a player development issue to me. The academy these days seems to be all about catching bad guys and bureaucracy and nothing else. Lost in the shuffle are the basic fundamentals: effective shift napping, finding ways to unnecessarily speed/discharge weapon, and obviously getting women to buy you dinner…voluntarily.  The tenets of strong policing.

Seems to me Chief Taylor is passing up a real opportunity to coach these guys up.

Tis’ the season. #BIKECITY

Here’s Martha’s Vineyard native Lucas Brunelle’s “Line of Site” film featuring the best of the best in Global Alley Cat racers. These guys are amazing.

Why am I posting this? Because my hog is just about ready for the season. It’s going to be me, @marianika, and all of Mill City’s finest DUI convicts roll’n heavy in the bike lanes. Make sure you beep or give me one of those truck driver fist pumps out the window…it makes me pedal faster. Boom…#BIKECITY

And if you’re thinking about joining the pedal posse, but need gear or tune-ups, consider paying a visit to the lads down at City Bike

citybike

or if your a tinkerer/DIY’er…Lowell Makes has the rig you need to get the job done.

 

Langster, aka Commuting NIRVANA, aka Sexual Chocolate, aka bike – $629 (Winchester)

Sexual Chocolate

Craigslist

Traffic sucks, half the people on the bus are escaped lunatics, and the T is less reliable than the Italian postal service. How the hell does a sane person get anywhere in this city, anyhow?

Answer: they bike.

Bike? Is that really any faster?
Shitchyea, bitches. The results of years’ worth of time trials between Berklee (Back Bay) and Porter square reveal the minutes between point A and point I’ll-B-damned!
Driving=40 min.
MBTA=45 min.
Bike=18 min.

That’s over 3 hours a week you can use doing something else besides complaining about your commute. You could read, watch TV, make passionate love, complete your masterpiece, get a workout…oh wait, you already GOT your workout biking! So now you have even more time for masterpieces and lovemakin’.

Note: there’s no guarantee biking to work will increase your sex life, but a harder, fitter body with improved cardiovascular function can’t hurt.

Ok, SOLD, you say. I’ll bike to work. But how much is a good commuter bike?

The commuter bike by which all others are judged is the Langster, by Specialized. The cheapest you’ll find a new Langster for is upwards of $700, stock.

“But what about all the extras I’ll need?” you ask.
Yes. What about them.

The city is full of broken glass, nails, screws, syringes, and other pointy things to flatten your tires. FUCK THEM. This bike is equipped with a set of Armadillo tire liners that’ll roll right over the pointiest of pointies with nary a puncture. Yes, Virginia, I’m talkin’ BULLETPROOF TIRES.

And what about your gonads? Don’t they get squished? Not with a carbon-fiber-posted split seat, they don’t. This saddle will cradle your jewels from home to work and back again, so they’re in primo shape for all that lovemakin’.

Is it fast? I mean really fast? How do I know? Because I’m throwing in a Cat’s Eye bike computer that tells you time, distance, speed, average everything. For FREE.

That’s great, you say, I can go fast on a light, puncture-proof, ball-loving bike, but I still need to carry my stuff.
Don’t worry, baby, I know all about that, which is why you get a bike rack & pannier set to keep your manuscript/laptop/kilo of Columbian primo safe and dry.

And–AND–I’m including a tensioner that ensures your bike puts all your power to the tires, instead of sucking it up with a saggy chain. This marvelous item also doubles as a bottle-opener. But don’t get a BWI, that’s douchey.

Sounds great. But what if somebody steals it?
Fear not, sugarface, a Kryptonite shackle lock is included gratis. Ain’t nobody stealing your hunka burnin’ love.

So, if you’re man or woman enough to commute by bike, and by bike, I mean the finest piece of single-speed machinery, with computer, carbon post, split seat, pannier rack, Armadillos, and lock, then what are you waiting for? Slip this sturdy brown love machine between your legs and grind them pedals.

For $629, you can change your life. Don’t be the undecided fool who misses out.

Why am I selling? Because I live in the suburbs now and take the train to work, and that’s my writing time. There’s a lot I miss about biking, but it’s impossible to write. The letters come out all jiggly.

So if I understand correctly, straddling sexual chocolate here is going to yield a daily ride on the Lowell line, and a living situation that either doesn’t have the square footage to store this alleged magic carpet of vajay, or doesn’t leave enough cheddar in the wallet to transact that “Columbian Primo” that you’re going to be transporting.  No thanks, bruh!  I’m going to hold out for something less exotic.

Wicked Shitty? More like Wicked Awesome. Slainte!

IrishPub

Lowell Sun

LOWELL — After 81 years in business, Corey Belanger said it’s time for Majors Pub to reinvent itself.

Belanger, who has owned the downtown pub since 2001, and is just its third owner overall, recently announced that Major’s will change its name to Wicked Irish Pub n Grill later this year.

“We’re just changing with the times.” he said in a recent phone interview, adding that the bar for many years served blue-collar downtown workers from businesses such as Courier Corp. and Joan Fabric. “This place has a rich history, dating back to the Prohibition Era. But it’s time to gear up for the 21st century.

“We’re very excited. This is not an easy choice to make.”

Belanger said the bar will begin its transformation in early August, about a week after this summer’s Folk Festival.

“We’ll have a ‘Farewell to Majors’ week,” said Belanger, who was elected to the City Council last fall. He said the week will feature an auction of Majors replica, as well as other promotions and T-shirts.

I love it! Councilor Corey doing it big and giving all of us a taste of how great downtown can be if you just give him the keys. The Wicked Irish Pub and Grill. Fantastic! The only thing I can think of that is slightly less subtle would have been “Massholes Drink for Free Pub” or the “Mickey Wahd’s my Cousin Tavern.” And it makes sense. If you can’t get the stench of the Dubliner out of the floor boards (or the coke residue and the hookers out of the basement), the only logical thing is to hang a Tri-Color on the front door, stick a hurley behind the register, and add a bowl of piping hot Dinty Moore Stew to the menu aaaaannnndd…Failte! Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s The Wicked Irish Pub!
h/t to KPax.