It is very clear, excessive drinking on your birthday can impact the pace of blog posts. The good news is . . . my brain has been fried, so you haven’t missed much (with the exception of a few really good naps).
It all started Friday when I met about 12 friends at Pomodoro East for a few Yazoo Pale Ales and some food. It was a great hang and the Fab Five made a complete showing, which was great because I like to re-enforce my omnipresent age and wisdom growth at events such as my birthday parties.
After that, it was on to Village Pub, where, like Cheers, they all know my name, but have decided to stop serving my beer because I was training so much I hardly went in there anymore. True story! So, went to my back up, Guiness and, just for kicks, ran their keg dry.
Saturday, I watched the World Series with, a big time Nashville power broker, and my ongoing disbelief of clueless big league hitters. First it was the Yankees, now the Tigers. Proof that pitching and defense wins pennants. It reminded me of a baseball rule that I would like to see changed. Mr. Selig, listen up.
I see all these batters wearing excessive padding on their elbows, ankles, chest, wrists, nipples, or whatever, and I have a problem with it because it takes some of the fear out of batting, which is a huge part of the game, but for years we’ve let guys like Barry Bonds wear a fucking bullet proof pad on his lead arm and dive into pitches without thinking twice. (It would be akin to me swimming the Ironman with the security of a rubber ducky float). My point here is IF you are going to let them wear battle armor when they are in the batter’s box, make them wear it on the bases, too. It’s a legit request and Major League Baseball should start it next season.
Yesterday was my first run since the Sasquatch Trot two weeks ago. As you know I tweaked the knee a bit and have been spending a lot of time humping my foam roller. Our relationship was a little rocky at first, but I’ve learned to appreciate her on a new level and trust her to make me a more relaxed runner, and better lover.
Okay, anyway, let’s get back to Ironman’s for a minute. Last night, I came home and tuned in my DVR’d version of Kona! I didn’t watch it all, just got a little taste and man, did it fire me up. If you get a chance, do yourself a favor and look up Kona Swim Start. It is literally insane, in all the ways insane is good.
And of course that inspired me to swim tonight, and and I’m going to leave it at this, but there are some weird mother fuckers around YMCA’s. After my brush with bizarro, I watched over my shoulder on route to the pool. I picked the lane closest to the wall and repeatedly swam into it on purpose as practice my bodily contact for Wisconsin. I know what you’re saying, “Who’s the weirdo here?”
Oh, and I just found this clip of Ironman Wisconsin, which is pretty bad ass.