Trek Bikes "Believe" Commercial

After seeing it at least 20 times on the Versus Tour de France coverage, I still like this commercial. Rarely does any TV spot get noticed around Activeness! world headquarters, but this one has been Activated. I believe it's an award-winner.

Nothing to Do With Anything

But it's a start...

Activeness Absence: Been Busy Playing Prison Rules

"Let's see what you got, White Shadow!"

Network Marketing Slogan of the Day

“When you’re down, call your upline. When you’re up, call your downline.”

Word.

"Twenty-Six Miles Not Far"

Six Maasai warriors from Tanzania will run the London Marathon wearing sandals made of car tires — and taking in no water. "Back at home we sometimes run for 5 or 6 days, day and night," said one young warrior. "Twenty-six miles not far." They hope to raise enough money to find a fresh water source for their community. Reuters story.

Race Report: O'Fallon Springtime 15K Challenge

My knee had been feeling better and the forecast was dry, so super-FOA Jamie and I signed up for the 15K over in Illinois. We didn't know what to expect in terms of the crowd, the course, or the competition. It was colder than expected and so I went with tights, long sleeves, gloves and an ear-wrap. More than 300 runners made the starting line, running in the same direction to begin with, but then splitting into three routes of 5K, 10K, and 15K. The race director informed us that these were "super races," which apparently is a nice way of saying "longer than advertised." Each race was about 3/10 of a mile too long.

Once the 15Kers made the left turn, I could see that there were four elites already separating themselves from the field. I was in the second pack. Hit the 1-mile mark thinking it shouldn't have felt so hard. The wind was strong. Rick decided the pace was too easy and made his break, leaving me and another guy to trade off 6th and 7th place. We ran stride for stride without saying a word for another three miles. Not one word. But it actually felt like we were having a conversation. Work the uphills, cruise the downhills, keep an eye on the leaders, still visible in the straightaway distance. Keep an eye on the other guy. Is he hurting? Am I? Can he hold this pace? Can I? How old is he? Looks like a foreigner to me. Maybe German. He's in good shape. I hope when I'm his age.... Not one word. I'm enjoying this conversation I thought to myself.

At the first water stop, 4+ miles in, I was dry and concerned about the lack of water stations. I slowed and took water. Mr. Talkative did not, and was quickly 15 yards ahead. He looked to see if I would catch up, and I tried, but it wasn't going to happen. I spent the next five miles keeping him in my sights, gradually falling back. There were some lonely sections. Nobody around. No volunteers, no spectators, no signs. The garage sale sign almost tricked me into making the wrong turn. There was even a roundabout where you had to choose your own path to circumnavigate. That's a big decision to make after eight miles near the anaerobic zone.

As I neared the exit of the neighborhood, my watch crossed the 1-hour mark and the finish was in sight. Rick (5th place) was running back on the cool down and pointed me to the finish. Through the increasing morning traffic, I made it into the parking lot and crossed the line for 7th overall, 2nd 30-39.

I grabbed a drink and a coat and headed back up course to see Jamie come flying around the corner as one of the top women finishers. Although a little hobbled, she managed 2nd place in her age group!

Zac smashed the course record, going under 50 minutes and deservedly picking up the prize money. Activated!

A Runner's High is Real

A new study makes connections between euphoria and running.

"The data showed that, indeed, endorphins were produced during running and were attaching themselves to areas of the brain associated with emotions, in particular the limbic and prefrontal areas. The limbic and prefrontal areas, Dr. Boecker said, are activated when people are involved in romantic love affairs or, he said, you hear music that gives you a chill of euphoria, like Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3. The greater the euphoria the runners reported, the more endorphins in their brain."

I'd like to comment on this report, but since I finished my 12-mile run this morning I've been too busy eating Doritos, drinking Dr. Pepper and listening to Dark Side of the Moon on my iPod.

Activating Ronaldo's Back-Heel Goal

The difference between skill and what I have:

Activating Matt Cazalas

Wheels up! SwimBikeRun St. Louis Czar Matt Cazalas has auctioned off many of his possessions and hit the road unsupported on his touring bike, with all his gear in tow, no knowledge of where he'll sleep each night, and no plans to see the St. Louis Arch again until September.

The title of his journal's web site — crazyguyonabike.com — sort of says it all.

The entire Activeness staff is impressed. In fact, Anonymous Racer X is considering a similar journey. He has begun exploring ways to hitch a trailer to his bike so he can haul his hyperbaric chamber and sleep in that along the way.

Good luck, Mr. C., and stay safe! A rolling stone gathers no moss.

Racer X: 100 Best First Lines From Novels (28-30)

Wherein Anonymous Racer X takes the 100 Best First Lines From Novels and turns each line into the opening of a lame tri-blog post by an infuriatingly self-obsessed triathlete.

Today's installment: Opening Lines 28-30.
Previous installment (25-27).

28. Mother died today.
But I still got in a 25/5 brick while Sophii took care of the arrangements.
— Albert Camus, The Stranger (1929)

29. Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu.
So that the week wasn't a total wash, he always tried to time his appearance in court around Ironman China.
— Ha Jin, Waiting (1999))

30. The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
That pallid, spiritless hacker may be able to journey like a madman through cyberspace, but he'd have trouble even running a mile.
— William Gibson, Neuromancer (1984

Deactivating Night Sweats

Fourteen consecutive nights of flu-related night sweats: You have been Deactivated. After all these years, I discovered a new use for Coolmax clothing: wicking away the wetness during a fever. As with running, cotton is rotten when it comes to night sweats.

Anonymous Racer X Sighting

Friend of Activeness (FOA) Joe sends this report of a sighting of Anonymous Racer X, who teaches us all how to live life at 80-90% VO2max.

Yo. I think I saw X this morning at the Y.

As you know, the Y opens promptly at 5:00 a.m. I showed up at 5:15 to swim and on my way to the locker room I heard madness in the cardio room. Upon a further look, I discovered a beast of a man, running on treadmill 5 at an incredible rate. The Y had only been open for 15 minutes, but the treadmill computer showed that he had already logged 10 miles. Mind boggling! I tried to walk around to get a glimpse at his face, but that experience turned out to be Biblical... All I could see was a very bright light and it appeared that he was gnashing his teeth. After evaluating the rest of him I discovered that he wasn't sweating. UNREAL!

Further, every TV in the room was displaying coverage from the 2004 IM Kona, but not the usual NBC coverage. It was one camera crew following behind one man during the entire event.

After my 40 minutes swim workout, I exited the Y to find that the room had gone back to normal except Treadmill 5 now has an "Out of Order" sign posted on it. I think I may have smelled burning rubber.

Do you think it was him?

Activations: Microcosm Run

February 17, 2008

Crazy run out there today.

I had a 21-miler schedule on the marathon training program. The weather was potentially volatile. High winds and possible heavy downpours later in the morning. The temperature was OK, so I decided I would run the three miles toward the gym, thinking I could duck in and do some treadmill mileage if the weather turned. Or, if things looked OK, keep going, circle toward the park, run a few loops and head home.

First, I wondered if my knee was capable of going 21 miles. I had a boost of enthusiasm from the previous day's 5-mile race, but I had doubts as to whether I could cover that kind of mileage and what the weather had in store.

The fuel belt was loaded and I headed out. The knee was sore early on. I was already questioning myself. Do I turn back? No, it will loosen up. Man, it's windy. I'm getting blown backwards and sideways.

At mile 3 passing the gym, no signs of rain. I'll keep going. Hey, is that Activeness' John driving up toward the gym on this back street? It was. A short exchange on what we were up to and then I kept going.

Around mile 6, the rain started. Then it opened up. I don't know the definition of a monsoon, but that's what I'm calling it. I was soaked and the wind was ripping. I better turn back, this is crazy. I'll go back to the gym or home, this is not looking good. Less than two miles later it stopped monsooning and I eventually turned back toward the park again on a different parallel street.

By mile 10 I felt good and thought I could possibly go the distance if I could continue like this. I headed up the big hill in the park, waved to Dave heading in the opposite direction and started to feel more pain in the knee. I'll see if it feels better at the top of the hill, I thought to myself. It didn't. I had reached my pain threshhold and decided I better turn around and head for home, which was probably another 3 miles away. Halfway down the hill I see Dave and it looks like he wants to join me, but before he gets any ideas, I stop and tell him I'm hobbling. We jogged a little more and caught up on life (and our injuries) before he offered me a much needed ride home. Turns out he just had his fourth child two weeks ago. Wow.

I only got in 11.5 miles of my scheduled 21, but I was happy to be home in one piece. While frustrated with an unexplainable injury, I thought back on this crazy run as a microcosm of what life throws at you over time.

There was enthusiasm and confidence from Saturday's race result, mixed with doubts and questions. There were headwinds slowing me down. I unexpectedly saw a close friend when I least expected it, checking on my progress. The heavy storms came and forced me to regroup and head toward safety. The storms then let up and gave me new courage to keep going. Then another setback, telling me I should stop for the day, followed by a bail out and lift home from a helping friend. It hit me that the mind games, emotion and events of just that one run mirror life's twists and turns, peaks and valleys. It was simply a microcosm of life played out in an attempted Sunday long run.

Race Report: Ghisallo Frosty 5

Five months have gone by since the Ironman in Louisville last August. During that time, the hours of training have been replaced by other life-changing preparations, namely moving into a new house, getting engaged, and planning a summer 2008 wedding!

Although the swimming pool has not gotten much play, I've tried to do some running to prepare for a potential spring marathon.

With a Saturday morning open from travel, appointments and classes — and a local race literally around the corner from home — it seemed like the perfect occasion to test the competitive waters after a lengthy hiatus from the racing scene. I wondered if doing OK on a treadmill recently would translate to a real race.

It was in the 20s temperature-wise but the turnout was impressive and a lot of familiar faces and old friends were there. Jamie and future MILOA Judy (Mother-In-Law of Activeness) came out to support me and our friends who were running. Thanks!

We started the five miles heading north, just past my house, then right at the cemetery. Wow, people were flying out of the gates like it was a 100-meter dash. Am I going that slow? No, this feels right.

The course was similar to one I ran by coincidence the week before on my own. Something I like to call the memory run -- going past my high school and junior high. At the first mile I was in front of the church where a week earlier I had been going through marriage preparation class. My watch said 6:09. Perhaps a little fast, but there was a good stretch of downhill in there. Soon the pack had thinned and I was picking off a few people and uncharacteristically not being overeager, nor getting passed by the patient runners who really know how to race. Around midway we came near the start area and I gave a wave and took a cup of water. The gradual hills hurt me and the chasers behind me would pull even by the top of each climb. I seemed to then recover and surge forward. Closer to mile 4, I could see Todd, Rich and Amy (lead woman) ahead and I thought I was gaining on them slightly.

The final mile was quicker than miles 2-4 and I was able to cross the line about 30 seconds above my PR. My creaky knee had held up and I was happy to have a good showing after such a long layoff. It was good to see the neighborhood in action and have a lot of friends out there. The post-race smorgasbord at Ryan's house was a great way to cap the morning.

Anonymous Racer X: Presidential Runs

I stopped in the middle of my usual Tuesday 20-mile run to vote in yesterday's primary. Because the presidential race is often called a marathon, the only non-heathen candidate I could vote for is marathon preacher Mike Huckabee. But I have to say he's on notice: For the primary I can forgive Huck for not believing in evolution (show me the proof) and for being from Arkansas. But if he does get the Republican nomination then I am going to need him to break 4:00 in the marathon before the general election if he wants the X Man's vote. I hope he's doing plenty of fartleks.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: My Super Bowl 'Live Blog'

6:00-6:25 Caught some of Fox's pregrame show while sorting new shipment of GUs.
6:25-6:30 Sent email to Bill Belichick informing him that I'm currently without a tri coach and asking him to submit a proposal.
6:30-9:30 Rode trainer while watching personalized DVD of 2002 Ironman Florida race. Went harder when downstairs neighbor began hitting ceiling with broom.
9:30-10:00 Shaved arms in shower.
10:00-10:07 Visited espn.com to see if any of my 'squares' won in Globo-Corp office pool. Couldn't figure it out.
10:07-10:10 Envisioned how badly I would kick Eli Manning's ass in a masters swim workout. Wondered if Plaxico Burress owns a tri bike.
10:10-12:00 Tossed and turned in bed after realizing I should have done trainer workout in Zone 2 instead of Zone 3. Worst Super Bowl ever.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Treadmill Shock

Something is wrong with the treadmills at my gym. "Out of order" signs are hanging on the last five treadmills the X-Man has used for my long (20 miles or more) runs. Is it because they are inferior Korean models and not American-made classics? Is it because of my punishing, take-no-prisoners style of running? I've been told by jealous gym patrons that the pounding of my feet combines with my incessant grunting to create a roar akin to a commercial airliner taking off but, since I use a Zune for tunes — I don't understand the world's fascination with iPods — it's not a problem.

When I do my long runs indoors, I get there at 4:59 AM, one minute before the gym opens, so I can sign out three successive treadmills for the duration. I run on the middle machine. On the treadmill to my right I place my cooler of sports drinks, energy bars, gels, fruit and ice. The treadmill to my left is where I store my personal-needs equipment such as towels, Body Glide, replacement shirts, socks and shoes, heart rate monitors (always bring a backup), electric razors (a three-hour run provides the perfect time to shave my legs and chest), a standup mirror so I can monitor my form and the collection of fans I use to simulate wind resistance.

Apparently some people complain to gym management that one person should not be able to tie up three machines at a time but, like I told Abbii, they're just jealous my three percent body fat. Snap!

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: On My Way to Green Bay to Meet the Packers Bikini Girls

After seeing the Packers Bikini Girls bravely putting their bodies on the line to support their team in the subzero temperatues on the frozen tundra in Green Bay on Sunday, I've decided that the X-Man needs to meet these three lovely ladies in person. Clearly we're kindred souls, united by a drive to push our bodies to the limit, to embrace the absolute extremes in life.

For the long drive up north, I have stocked the Rover with a cooler full of Red Bull, four water bottles of lemon lime Accelerade, a box of GU and six Clif Bars. I'll wear nothing but a cheesehead hat and my Borat, Packers-green "mankini" Speedo — the same one that helped me place 39th in my age group at Memphis in May last year. I believe this will instantly identify the X-Man to the Bikini Girls as a trusted friend and soul mate.

Because I'm worried about the health of these gals — and because I like to party — I plan to bring lots of Vaseline, Body Glide, Under Armour and nip guards. I'll offer them a seminar on protecting themselves while training or supporting the home team in inclement weather, seek out a masters swim session in Green Bay, and then invite the Bikini Girls back to my room at the Motel 6 to view my collection of race hardware and watch my personalized DVD from Ironman Arizona 2004. I DNF'ed at mile four of the bike because I felt like my potassium levels were low and just didn't want to risk it, but they'll be able to catch a glimpse of me during the swim.

I told Halii I needed to go to a meeting in Green Bay to discuss a deal involving my Race Hardware Maximizer with an investor. With any luck, I'll bring back a Packers Bikini Girl. Or even just a bikini. Wish me luck, playas.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Bike Century Tug of War

When I challenged Ty to a bike tug of war after I overheard him bragging about his wind-aided bike split at Kona, he had no idea what he was in for. He may have won this battle shown on the video below — that's me bringing up the rear, still fighting against him for the entire 100 miles — but I will win the war when we face off again at Pigman this summer. I blame my subpar leg strength on Laterrii's rancid pasta broccoli that turned into a carbo 'unload' the night before. I asked for my key back — and the $17.64 I spent buying groceries for the meal she butchered. There really is no price I can put on losing the bike tug of war to Ty, but I have asked my attorney to think about assigning one as part of the legal action I'm planning to initiate. Clearly somebody needs to teach her a life lesson about the critical importance of cooking for endurance athletes.



Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Does the Aquaduct Have an Aerobars Option?

Dude, I can't even count how many times I have been out riding a double century in some remote jungle and desperately needed a mobile filtration system. This Aquaduct bike would totally rock if it came with some aerobars. I wonder if John Cobb would help fit me with some before Wildflower?



Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Call Me

With the half marathon and marathon taking place in exactly 12 weeks, I knew that all the new young running femininas would be out in force at the park this morning. Why? Because experienced racers like myself know the typical newbie follows a 12-week plan. Me? I'm in week 45 of my half marathon plan, which I adapted from Peter Reid's 2003 Ironman World Championship-winning training plan, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, despite the 13 degree temperature and biting northwest wind, I decided to schedule a 24-mile run so that I'd be out long enough to assess the current crop of femininas — and to give them all the opportunity to assess the X-Man's body. As usual, I wore the shirt with my cell phone number printed on the front as my outer layer and deleted all my old saved voice mails to make room for the typical influx of messages.

We'll see how it goes. If none of these newbies pan out, I received a complimentary and, reading between the lines a little, extremely suggestive email this week from long-time X-Man groupie and FOA Susii Q. So, depending on her most recent 10-K time — I still require documentation that any feminina I date has broken 45 minutes (45:30 for natural blondes) within the past 12 months — Susii could be the perfect fallback.

Call me,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Seeing Red Over Orange

It's over. Against my clear and strong advice, Lacii went and bought a new pair of lightweight orange Brooks Burn trainers to wear for our Tues.-Thurs. speedwork sessions at the track. How can I be seen with her in my canary yellow Land Rover if she's wearing those bright orange shoes? Dude, the color clash is unbearable!

So the X-Man is breaking up with her after Masters swimming tonight (Why ruin an important workout by doing it beforehand?). It's definitely for the best, as I've been pondering ways to make the move to her twin sister, Macii, ever since Macii nipped Lacii at the finish line of last week's Snowball Series 16K . It’s technically not Lacii's fault that guy tripped her, but those kinds of horrible memories just don't go away.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Resolution and Conflict

When I make a New Year's Resolution I keep it. That supreme dedication and iron will, along with my canary yellow Land Rover and matching I-dot tattoo, has become an X-Man trademark.

In 2008 I resolved not to take the elevator to or from my 11th floor office at the Globo-Corp headquarters tower for an entire year. Desirii's detailed calculations showed that taking the stairs every trip would help me burn enough calories to drop 2.8 lbs. by 2009. Dude, I paid north of $6K to shave that much weight off my new titanium Serotta frame.

Yesterday when I was walking into the building from teaching three back-to-back-to-back lunchtime spin classes, Robert from HR asked me how my 2008 race season was shaping up. To give him the proper context for this year, of course I first had to go back to my DNF at Wildflower in 1999 and take him through my DNS due to gout at Kona last fall. As I was explaining to Robert the magical feeling of the lava fields along the Queen K Highway and gently pointing out that he will never know how it feels, I stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed.

"Nooooo!" I screamed, as the elevator began to ascend and I realized my 2008 resolution had just gone up (literally) in smoke.

Robert couldn't have expected the swift, hard kidney punch that he received, but he couldn't prove it, either, because it left no marks and there were no witnesses. I can only hope that in the future he'll be more discreet with his questions.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Fluid Replacement Sabotage

When I took a run break at the Rover to replenish after my first six-mile loop yesterday, I reached into my gym bag to down much-needed gulps of the 64-ounce bottle of orange Gatorade I had purchased on the way to the park that morning. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the previously unopened bottle was bone dry, with the former contents drained into my bag, soaking the assortment of cycling, swimming, weightlifting and yoga clothes I had packed for my post-run workout while also robbing me of the critical fuel I needed to complete my scheduled 24-mile run.

WTF, man? Did I loosen the cap and take a swig in the QuikTrip parking lot before tossing the bottle into my bag? I have to admit I was blurry-eyed from my late-night rendezvous with Randii – we caught a midnight Pink Floyd "The Wall" laserium show before heading back to my condo -- but the idea that I would make that type of newbie mistake seems highly improbable.

Because I never lock my car doors – people around here know better than to mess with the X-Man's ride – my thoughts naturally turned to drink sabotage. Did Ty's grandmother really die or was that just a convenient excuse not to show up for our run – thus freeing him to ruin my workout by eliminating my fluid replacement source while also soaking my clothes? I'm not one to make unsubstantiated allegations, but those footprints in the mud by the Rover sure looked like they came from Ty's trademark size 12 white and blue Saucony ProGrid Trigon 5 racing shoes.

I guess I can't prove anything -- yet -- but if Ty beats me in the Frostbite series 20K this weekend then I will have to say something because that victory definitely would be tainted.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Pinned-Up Aggression

Shout out to Globo-Corp: A 50ish white guy in a three-piece suit just called from 1987: He wants his logo lapel pin back. Mucho thanks for the holiday gift, but next time just lay the $1.99 on me and remember that, apart from 9-5 on Monday through Friday (and during my M-W-F lunchtime spin classes), I'm sponsored by Team Compound W (unlimited free wart removal formula), not you. Damn, man, Christii got an iTouch from her firm. Though maybe I can use this stupid pin to close the hole on my favorite Sugoi cycling pants so I can wear them next week for the Team CW's Polar Bear ride.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: The (Fast) Doctor Is In

This New York Times article about athletes seeking out doctors who are athletes too makes me feel vindicated for dropping Dr. Rowan after he went over 14 hours at Ironman Wisconsin. Darcii may only be a second-year student at veterinary school, but it just feels right for my doctor to be a babe who can go sub-11:00 at Ironman even on a bad day — and look hot doing it. And, knock on wood, her last treatment definitely solved my flea problem.

Later,
Racer X

Anonymous Racer X: Hog Heaven

Back in August my agent, Chuck, who also is my mailman, received advance word that I likely would be named in the Mitchell Report. Being the only amateur triathlete highlighted in the midst of all these cheating professional baseball players was the X Man's greatest honor. I'm sure the connection was my masseuse, Brandii, who had dated the Canseco brothers before we hooked up in my Land Cruiser one Saturday morning after a sprint tri in Charlotte.

But being called out also was uncool in one big way. In case the ITU wanted to make an example out of me, I had to preempt any potential punitive action by laying low and disappearing from the tri scene for a while.

I've been bummed and burned out since The Bachelor didn't return my wave right before I DNF'd on the Ironman Louisville bike course due to a mechanical problem with my water bottle cage. So I sold Bernice, my Softride, and bought a one-way ticket to London to camp out for Led Zeppelin tickets at The 02 earlier this month. Dude, there's nothing better than crossing the finish line of a tri and knowing you are going to take home hardware, but rocking hard to Stairway with a bunch of stoned Brits...that's a close second.

Later — and happy holidazed and confused,
Racer X

Track Crash (Into Me)

Rage Against the Machines

This "no-nonsense look at the often nonsensical world of fitness clubs" warns people about depending on machines for our workouts. It turns out, for example, that a leg-extension machine trains you to do one thing: "become very strong at the leg-extension machine." Some common-sense points, for sure. Ninety percent of the people I see working with personal trainers at the fitness club would be better off just walking around their neighborhood for an hour each day.

A Plea to NBC to Spare the Ironman Melodrama

The Ottawa Citizen's Mark Sutcliffe doesn't like NBC's approach to covering the Ironman World Championships as "The Ultimate Metaphor for Life. He points out some Al Trautwigisms:

"'The broken shoulder of Natascha Badmann. 'That one hurt.' As opposed to those broken shoulders that feel like falling on a bed of feathers."

"Today is a word worse than hot, when whatever experience you have may be the key."

"One thing you notice about him is the barrel chest of a rugby player and the next (pause) is that he has no legs."

On the web.

Activations: Prove It All Night

Everybody's got a hunger, a hunger they can't resist.
There's so much that you want, you deserve much more than this.
But if dreams came true, oh, wouldn't that be nice.
But this ain't no dream we're living through tonight.
Girl, you want it, you take it, you pay the price.
- From "Prove It All Night," by Bruce Springsteen

(Wherein insomnia sets in and I veer into early-morning JPD motivational writing territory).

One of the endearingly puzzling features of the YMCA spinning class led by Activeness' one and only JPD is the blurred line between the warmup, actual workout and cooldown. A few minutes into the class, your heart rate will be pushing 180 BPM and you'll be soaked in sweat while hammering through a set of intervals and JPD will look up and say, "The warmup is almost over." If that's the warmup...wow. Likewise the first few minutes of his cooldown can feel like a race simulation. But JPD's rationale, which makes sense, is, "Why waste 10 minutes of a 60-minute class not working hard?"

I tend to be a patient guy with a bit of a bleeding heart, but I lose that patience with people who are wasting their time on earth by not pushing themselves in some way. This could be through physical activity, at work, in class, on an instrument, trying something new, or just in improving their relationships. It's a question that haunts my thoughts every day: "Are you fulfilling your potential?"

If you're just coasting through life watching reality TV, perusing sales at the mall and not questioning the status quo, shaking things up a little, or pushing yourself to break through self-imposed barriers, then you probably won't appear on my current roster of friends. If you're part of this generation of Generation-Nexters who think you're entitled to adulation and the corner office just because you sit in your Aeron chair and look busy for eight hours a day, get over yourself. Showing up at the starting line and "waddling on" with the Penguin isn't enough. And if you're not happy with the results you're getting, the only direction your finger should be pointing is straight into the mirror.

Though I shy away from some of the type-A Racer Xs and Racer Xettes of the triathlon world — specifically those who have lost perspective on the importance of the sport — I always admire their extreme competency and absolute dedication. The mass competency on display at the starting line of a race can take your breath away. But if you don't do the hard work required to get ready for a race or even to prepare for a long run or ride with friends, you'll be exposed. No excuses and no shortcuts, just dead on the pavement. People have a variety of body types and abilities and time available for training, of course. But it's a level playing field when it comes to the willingness to put yourself out there and really try. There's something to that, and it used to be the American way. Waste not, want not, and make something happen. Instead, I look around and it seems like we've lost our way while wandering through Wal-Mart.

If you've ever spent a week as a patient in a hospital room or any time helping a loved one struggling with his or her health, you probably agree with JPD that we should be pushing hard for that extra 10 minutes.

If you want respect, earn it. If you have dreams, do the work and make the sacrifices to make them happen. You need to "prove it all night," as The Boss sings on his classic from Darkness on the Edge of Town, an album (remember those?) that got me through many a stationary bike (remember those?) ride in my parents' basement 22 years ago. The Boss is 58 now, but if you go 4 minutes into that YouTube video above I defy you to not get chills from his blistering guitar duel with Little Steven (Hey, he looks like that one guy from The Sopranos!). From what I've heard about his current tour, Bruce is still proving it all night, every night: Are you?

Prolific Tri Blogger Apologizes to Blogosphere for Omitting Critical Details

From "The Triathlonion," December 2, 2007

CHARLOTTE—In a landmark blog post sending shockwaves across the Internet, a remorseful Art Dunbar apologized to the tri-blogosphere on Saturday for not sharing enough details about his daily thoughts and workouts in his 3,900 posts over the past three years. "I feel like the world doesn't even know what really makes Art Art," lamented Dunbar.

To compensate, the 39-year-old Dunbar revealed plans to embark on a 5,000-mile, one-year journey in which he will personally visit the homes of his blog's 217 daily readers. "We'll sit down face to face and share a Gatorade, maybe go on a 30-minute run-walk," wrote Dunbar. "I'll be attempting to atone for my countless omissions about 'livin' the tri life' by answering their questions about all the details that I just haven't had time to blog about."

"I, for one, am grateful that Art is finally making this long-overdue journey," wrote Pleasejustri4JesusSistah, in an uncharacteristically short 3,000-word Saturday blog post. "I mean, how can Art summarize what really happened during his 16 hours and 57 minutes out on an Ironman course in one blog post — or even over a series of weeklong posts? The answer is he can't. So these personal conversations will be invaluable in helping his admirers fill in the gaps."

Dunbar, who gained valuable writing experience during his tenure as a mortgage loan officer at Wachovia, where he enjoyed company-wide notoriety for generating a prodigious amount of memos, also is self-publishing an 'autoblogography' as a compilation of his best blog posts. He expects to offer the 1,050-page tome for sale on his blog by next week — just in time for the holiday shopping season.

Dunbar also announced that he has purchased exclusive rights to the life experiences and thoughts of widely respected tri-blogger ONoUDontEvenTri2StopMeFool. "It gives me a little buffer zone," explained Dunbar. "Once I've blogged about all the minutiae of my own training and life, I'll now have this whole other reservoir of experiences to tap into. Having the ability to tell the stories of ONoUDontEvenTri2StopMeFool as if they are my own is like saving an extra gear for the final kilometer of a killer climb. And that totally rocks."

Would Lance Armstrong Enter a Political Race?

He seems to have all the skills and to be veering in that direction, reports the Dallas Morning News. I'd vote for an Armstrong presidency, if only to see the Olsen twins as co-First Ladies.