Way back in February, while laying waste to Colorado with my wicked, jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring snowboard maneuvers, Colorado laid waste to me, in the form of tearing up my ankle something fierce. Unfortunately, two weeks before the injury occurred, I had signed up for a springtime half-marathon in Beantown. This half-marathon was fast approaching. Instead of the requisite 12 week training period to get geared up, I had a smidge less than that. 14 days to be precise. I adjusted my training schedule thusly: 3 mile run, 5 mile run, 8 mile run, go time. If you’re really interested, you can go to the trouble of looking up my time for Boston’s Run to Remember to see how I fared, but I think these below pictures adequately demonstrate the results of my new training motto: slow and painful crosses the finish line.

Why do I do this to myself, you might ask. Well, watch this little clip and you’ll get a glimpse into the engine that drives this train.

The MS150 City to Shore charity bike ride last weekend went off with only a few minor hitches:

• The 300 mile drive from Boston to Philly took 8 hours on Friday thanks to rush hour traffic from New Haven all the way to Newark. The rain didn’t help either.
• I over-inflated Lauren’s tire at midnight on Friday and we had no replacement tubes. A little min-crisis to deal with on Saturday morning.
• The weather Saturday morning at 5am was less than lovely. There’s nothing like getting poured on in the pitch black while trying to mount bikes on a car with only the light from the tail lights to assist you.
• Lauren was knocked off her bike about 10 miles into the two-day 150 mile ride but escaped with only a bloody knee.
• And finally, the drive back to Boston on Sunday night was brutal. I could have used a pillow on the steering wheel. Following almost 6 hours on a bike with 7 hours behind the wheel is a recipe for disaster.

Despite all the problems, the weekend was great. The team raised over $7,000. The weather turned out to be perfect, and Aunt Theresa made it to the finish line to greet us. I’d do it all over again. In fact, we’re already planning on doing it all over again next year.

I’ve set up another page to cover the goings on of the team. Keep tabs on what the team is up to, check out the events we’ll be participiating in, donate money, join the team, or just look at some pictures from the weekend and marvel at the wonder that is spandex. Check it out here. Enjoy

Last weekend, the little sis and I ran a 10-miler in Philly. After the half-marathon, this run was easy… 10 miles downhill the entire time. The only problem was the crowd: 14,000 people running down Broad Street made it difficult to get around the slow people that insist on starting up front. No matter how hard race organizers try to get people to line up according to how fast they run, everyone insists on being as close to the start line as possible. This aggravates me to no end. I digress…

The above picture gives you a pretty good idea of what it was like… we’re somewhere over the horizon. This is only about a half-mile into the race, but after about 3 miles, we were corralled onto the two right-hand lanes of Broad Street, so the pack never thinned out. Lauren and I spent the entire time weaving around people, cutting on and off of the sidewalk, and running around the wrong side of the road barriers. Next year we’re elbowing our way to the front.

Here’s a picture of Lauren and me heading into the final stretch. Lauren and I stuck together for the entire run, but with about a quarter-mile to go, she took off on her final sprint. This picture was taken about 3 seconds before she realized the finish line was about 200 yards further than where she thought it was. If only the photographer had captured the look that was on her face only moments later. It was precious. If I had to describe the thoughts most likely running through her head to best describe the face she made, it would go something like this: “This isn’t the finish line? WHAT?!?! Oh my GOD!! I’m going to DIE! KILL ME! KILL ME NOW!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, END THIS INFERNAL MISERY!!” I think you can picture it.

One cool side note: on the same morning we ran down Broad Street, about 100 soldiers stationed in Iraq ran 6 loops around the Green Zone in the first ever Philadelphia-Baghdad Broad Street Run.

[The Broad Street Run]

A couple of weeks ago Christy and I traveled by Fung Wah to NYC to run in the Queens Half-Marathon. For those slow on the uptake, that’s a 13.1 mile jaunt through the 2nd most uninteresting borough in New York. And if you’re not familiar with the Fung Wah, a.k.a the wild chicken trucks, then I suggest you make yourself so. $20 each way on a Chinatown-to-Chinatown express bus from Hell. Two companies, Fung Wah and Lucky Star, run ruthlessly competitive bus services throughout the Boston to D.C. corridor. The buses are known to catch on fire sporadically and murders related to organized crime infiltration have been alleged. I was looking forward to the adventure. Christy was somewhat more apprehensive. We arrived without incident.

Onto the weekend’s big event…
Some of the recognizable sites of Queens? Shea Stadium, LaGuardia Airport, the park with the flying saucers on stilts, and McDowell’s restaurant where Prince Akeem, heir to the throne of Zamunda, found his bride.

We ran past none of those.

Although we did run along the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway for about 100 yards. I run better on exhaust fumes anyway. In other words, the venue was lovely.

If you’re anxious to see the official results, you can click here. But to best capture the spirit of the race, I’ve posted the below photos that show the exciting finale over the last tenth of a mile:

As I pass the 13-mile marker, I kick it into high gear. The little guy behind me attempts to keep up.

I surge past Baron Von Red Shirt. Commence dust inhalation, Baron.

Von Red Shirt decides he’s not going to let me win this mad dash.

The little guy is quickly disappearing into the background during the final sprint.

Sadly, Von Red Shirt hits the finish a length ahead of me.

Only a second later, I hit the finish line.

No time has elapsed and yet I have advanced across the finish line. I am traveling faster than time.

The race is over and I put on my best “I think I might vomit” face. Still no time has elapsed. I’m supersonic.

FIN

I promised and now I shall deliver – the photographic evidence of my worn and beaten self struggling for the finish line in Toronto. Unfortunately, since they’re trying to make money by getting me to purchase 8×10s of this glorious moment, this small, poor-resolution image that I lifted from the photographer’s website is the best I can do…

I’m foolish enough to go all the way to another country to physically torture myself – this time in the form of a half marathon. I managed to finish in decent time, and although my official results have me clocked at 1:47:40, I didn’t cross the start line until almost 4 minutes after the gun went off. So my personal official results say I managed to average just under 8:00 minutes/mile. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

[update 12.13.05: Redemption is mine! The updated race results have corrected my chip time: 1:43:46.1. 7:55 pace. It’s official, I’m the fastest man alive.

The course was mostly downhill (two days later and walking downstairs is still painful), except for the final excruciating 2 miles – uphill and into the wind – but I was able to save a little something for the final 40 meters. As soon as photos of my triumphant race across the finish line are available, they’ll be here.

Aside from the race though, two other highlights to the weekend worth mentioning: a Harvey Keitel sighting at baggage claim, and a walk along the Canada’s Walk of Fame, honoring such famous Canucks as Gordon Lightfoot, Leslie Nielsen, and Lloyd Christmas