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Crazy choices explained, maybe

It’s often difficult to comprehend why people choose the mates they do. There’s the classic case of the attractive professional woman paired off with the layabout and perhaps abusive man, a situation that comes in a variety of flavors. There’s the quiet guy with the overbearing, endlessly carping wife. There are the women who seem determined to wind up with an active alcoholic or drug addict, and date not just one but a parade of such types. Why do people make the choices they do? I am not a psychology expert and have no interest in what those who are have to say, at least for purposes of this post. Instead I’ll do my best to explain my own patterns and how they have been both adaptive and maladaptive. Read the rest of this entry »

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The lesser-known hazards of McDonald’s

I haven’t had any cool dreams since abandoning my PRN sleep medication (I’m almost tempted to take it every night even when I know I won’t need it just for the cortical audiovisual effects). Last night I had an interesting one.

I was in a McDonald’s with my girlfriend and a mutual friend who, I knew, was interested in her. This was in the morning. I think all three of us were staying in a hotel across the street, in separate rooms. There was a fourth person, another male, who was supposed to show up at the restaurant at some point, but the three of us believed (and don’t ask me how I knew what my two companions were thinking, since we didn’t discuss the issue out loud, but I did) that there was tension between my girlfriend and this guy for some reason, maybe because they’d had some kind of fling or near-fling before she and I got together. Read the rest of this entry »

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Upping The Stakes: Three-part series on high-altitude training

The third of three installments of a piece I wrote for Competitor Online was posted today. Here are links to all three.

Part 1: What’s The Real Story With Altitude Training?

Part 2: Upping The Stakes: Live High, Train…Like Hanibal Lecter?

Part 3: Upping The Stakes: How Long Is Long Enough?

I not only had a lot of fun with this but learned quite a bit, and may even apply some of it to my own training soon. If that happens, I’ll detail the results here for that guy or woman (I’m not sure which it is yet) who comes here looking to read stuff about running.

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Yeah, it’s a slow day and I found this on a forum where I engage in compassionate trollism

“Does anyone have a pet on phenobarbitol? My 10 year old mastiff has 4 seizures last week during the night and we rushed him to the vet in the morning. The vet didn’t do any bloodwork or nothing, just gave us a prescription for phenobarbitol….after reading about this I am nervous about him being on it. It says you can’t stop the drug once its started because it could cause a seizure. We don’t know what the seizures were from but my boyfriend noticed that our back yard was full of mushrooms, the flying kind too i guess. He could have eaten one of these? Anyway, has anyone else had good/bad experiences with phenobarbitrol?”

I don’t think the dog is alone in eating these mushrooms if the writer has seen them flying around. Also, it’s noteworthy that this person managed to misspell the word “phenobarbital” three times in two different ways — on a writers’ forum.

On the same forum (and sorry, I can’t link to it because you need a login) I chimed in with this on a thread titled “Where will Casey Anthony go next?”:

“I’d be happy to take her in. She’s undeniably gorgeous (when she doesn’t have the jailhouse pallor, anyway), she’s resourceful, she’s soon to have a lot of cash, and best of all it’s doubtful that she’ll ever want kids! People have been rough on the young lady. I think if she were guilty the jurors would have maybe picked up on that?”

My guess is that the overwhelming majority of respondents will take this seriously. (As of this moment, someone has already helpfully told me that I am entitled to my opinion.)

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Healthy disdain: the blogs you weren’t looking for

A rather intense and irascible runner I know recently introduced me to a loose, unofficial network of blogs that, at least in theory, address running and exercise but focus more than anything else on “healthy living.” I have begun to understand why this runner spends a lot of time being rather intense and irascible. Picture a gay vegan atheist pro-choice fitness buff deciding to test his mettle by eating lunch for two weeks straight at a McDonald’s in rural Alabama in the company of vocally bigoted pot-bellied godbotherers, and imagine how he would feel at the end of those two weeks.

I’ll say up front that I have nothing against people who blog about what they eat and why they think it’s the solution to everything, or people who blog about running no matter how little of it they actually do, or people who blog in a way intended to describe positive changes of any sort that they have made and wish to share with others. Even if the primary goal is attention-whoring and not making the world a better place. I certainly don’t claim to blog to improve anyone’s life, and by definition blogging is generally a “you’re entitled to my opinion” endeavor if not an outright solipsistic one.

This, however, doesn’t mean that I can always appreciate other people’s motivation. Sometimes, the results are just strange. Read the rest of this entry »

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Buffalo Soldier: Exclusive Interview With Emma Coburn

Buffalo Soldier: Exclusive Interview With Emma Coburn at Competitor.com.

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“Trust me — I have first-hand knowledge,” says serial liar

Whenever I develop an unhealthy desire to learn what Idiot America’s latest delusional belief system has bred, I check out Gribbit’s blog, since at all times he reliably has his clubbed and syndactylous fingers on the pulse of the feeble and fluttering heart of right-wing stupidity.

Gribbit’s posts invariably assume one of two forms. He either makes claims based on his skimming of either self-parodic “news” sources such as WorldNet Daily or mainstream articles he doesn’t understand (and often say the opposite of what he thinks they do) or he skips the sources part and flat-out makes shit up. His latest post is an example of the latter. Read the rest of this entry »

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More right than I realized

Recently I made a note of the exorbitant prevalence of OCD or OCD-like behavior in copy editors, specifically those associated with a company I do a fair amount of “work” for. (It’s a content mill and nothing more, and I’ve become so disenchanted with the whole operation that I no longer write under my real name.) Since I posted that stuff — and possibly because I posted it — things have taken some amusing and spectacular turns for the worse, or better, depending on your taste for schadenfreude. Read the rest of this entry »

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I guess the 10 percent rule really is crap…

…because the New York Times has gotten around to making a note of it. From Gina Kolata’s column from yesterday, “When Running Up Mileage, 10 Percent Isn’t the Cap”:

[Researchers] investigated the 10 percent rule because it is so popular and seemed to make sense with its gradual increase in effort. The study involved 532 novice runners whose average age was 40 and who wanted to train for a four-mile race held every year in the small town of Groningen.

Half the participants were assigned to a training program that increased their running time by 10 percent a week over 11 weeks, ending at 90 minutes a week. The others had an eight-week program that ended at 95 minutes a week. Everyone warmed up before each run by walking for five minutes. And everyone ran just three days a week.

And the results? The two groups had the same injury rate — about 1 in 5 runners.

This isn’t at all illuminating because 90 minutes a week and 95 minutes a week both amount to so little training that the whole gang of 532 would have been better of skipping the race. Nevertheless, this is one instance in which using noncontributory data and a couple of anecdotes to support a true conclusion gets a pass. That said, even though Kolata has long had a gig with the Times, which is probably read by about six frigtillion more people every year than the Times (Running) in which I had a 10-percent-rule article published, I think I’ve done the topic similar if not greater justice, possibly because I can afford to be more prickly on a blog and even in RT than Kolota can in her august publication.

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You are what you eat, depending on where you are

I am bemused by the fact that the same load of groceries that would qualify me as a health nut most everywhere I’ve lived makes me a nutritional pariah among my associates in Boulder.

My usual purchases include some combination of the following: pasta; tuna fish in water (solid white if I’m feeling flush, chunk light otherwise); whole-wheat bread or bagels; low-fat or nonfat cheese slices; fat-free or low-fat salad dressings of various kinds; fresh, frozen (usually) or canned (vegetables), the latter typically including chick peas; cole slaw or lettuce; some kind of pretzel-based snack food; skinless boneless chicken breasts; a two-liter of diet soda (not lately, though); and sometimes, Sour Patch Kids or lemon drops. Now and again I’ll get Egg Beaters and I don’t get skim milk as often as I should, but I’m dealing with a very small fridge at the moment. Read the rest of this entry »

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Addendum to the Crossfit post: full article from Competitor.com

The other day I derided wrote about the Crossfit program that Brian Mackenzie is deluded into believing convinced will revolutionize training for distance runners. At the time, the full article in the June issue of Competitor was not available online, but it is now, in Competitor’s nifty digital format.

A couple of notes. One, Richard Gibbens (not Gibbons) is incorrectly identified in the article as an exercise scientist. He has a bachelor’s degree in exercise science, but that doesn’t make him a scientist, and this would hold true even if he were a bastion of sound analysis instead of a fifth-degree crank. If he’s an exercise scientist, then I’m a physicist, and anyone with a B.A. in psychology is a psychologist, and wouldn’t that be a colossal mess.

Two, and more importantly, it’s become clear to me that all of these guys pushing low-volume, high-intensity training for distance runners because they themselves became injured or otherwise wiped out by high-volume training have no idea how to train properly using high mileage. Mackenzie is very clearly an intense guy, as is Gibbens, a former Green Beret. I have no doubt that whatever mileage totals they reached in their previous lives included far too much work at the high end of the aerobic spectrum, and that they had no concept of how to properly execute recovery days. Had they gone about things the tried and true way, and maybe tried running more on grass and dirt and less on pavement, and learned that hammering away all the time is a bad idea, then they surely could have thrived on a greater overall workload. This is admittedly just a guess, but it’s not a blind one — I’ve seen their Type-A ilk in action and their ability to survive sane marathon training is limited by their personality traits unless they submit to being reined in regularly by a second set of eyes.

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In which I present possibly the most worthless “article” about running on the Web

I admit that I only found this captivatingly inane treatise on the evils of “jogging” because I decided to choose the title “How Jogging Can Be Bad For You” from the LIVESTRONG pile just to practice writing from the standpoint of borderline intellectual dishonesty. (People on debate squads apparently engage in similar endeavors routinely.) For all I know, the “author,” Jonathan Wong, was doing the same thing when he wrote the piece, in which he gives three basic reasons that jogging “does people no good”: It doesn’t help you look good, doesn’t help you in the “game” of life, and isn’t that great for your health. Reading only these three section headings is enough to assure anyone not in the throes of heavy-metal poisoning, an ether binge or organic mental compromise that the “writer” is either piss-ignorant or gleefully dishonest. Given his lack of command of English (note that he manages to misuse both “it’s” and “its,” which is pathognomonic for spurious content), I reckon he’s just a twit.

Some excerpts: Read the rest of this entry »

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Skateboarding powerlifter vs. Arthur Lydiard: not a fair fight

This morning I was sitting in the waiting room at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine waiting to meet with one of the exercise physiologists on staff to gather information for an article I’m writing for Competitor Online about high-altitude endurance training. There was a print copy of the June issue handy, so I grabbed it and was immediately struck by the cover, which features the words “Run Less, Get Strong, Go Faster” alongside a photo of a grave-looking, heavily muscled guy who was apparently the mind behind this breakthrough. No longer quite as anxious to get into the performance lab, I flipped to the story, knowing I was about to be walloped with a load of bunk but curious as to whether it would be novel bunk. It wasn’t, but it pushed the limits of credulity all the same, at least as much on account of what it didn’t say as what it did. Read the rest of this entry »

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Blue Healer: Ellie’s rough road

So lately I’ve been helping to take care of a dog that has proven to be a remarkable, and damned near heartbreaking, challenge. (Well, considering we all live indoors and have plumbing and electricity and stuff. I don’t want to get too high-flown here. A Jack London story this ain’t.)

Ellie is a 12- or 13-year-old Australian Cattle Dog mix, weighing in at about 60 pounds. (An alternative name for this breed is “Blue heeler.”) I first became acquainted with her toward the end of last year. A friend of mine does a lot of house-sitting and pet-sitting, and I often lurk nearby when she does; Ellie’s family is a frequent client. My initial meetings with Ellie were on the turf of her owner Jil’s parents, who live less than a mile from Jil and her husband and own a similarly aged, better sighted, more arthritic pooch named Mollie. Mollie’s owners are also frequent clients of my friend the sitter. When Jil is out of town, Ellie usually stays at Mollie’s, and when Jil and her parents are both out of town (which happens more often that you might think, not that I’m reading your mind), the dogs and my friend all stay at Mollie’s. Which is a hell of a nice house, since you asked.

With that burst of irrelevant details out of the way, I’ll describe the problem and the (apparent) (re)solution. Read the rest of this entry »

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Word manipulators and OCD

I’ve done a fair amount of freelance editing work — mostly copy editing academic textbooks and more recently editing “articles” for the smoldering slag heap known as eHow, which exists solely to cannibalize Google searches (if I were hammered I’d admit that the whole fucking enterprise should be shitcanned for the good of the Web and everyone who surfs it) — and although the pay can be solid, it’s not the kind of work most people would do even if they had the right background for it. The simple reason for this is that it is excoriatingly dull. Imagine spending a couple of weeks sifting through the text of a 1,100-page introductory criminology textbook-to-be looking for the most trivial errors, and making sure that every reference cited in every banal chapter was partnered with a reference in the badly garbled 40-page end-of-book reference list and conversely. Most people would flat-out laugh at the idea. Read the rest of this entry »

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Chickens, eggs, black helicopters and cheap wine

Today I was privy to a conversation between two men who appeared to be homeless (and if they weren’t, they dressed the part) in which each was dourly reassuring the other that the U.S. government was sitting on more oil reserves stateside than the rest of the world held combined, and better yet, that Uncle Sam’s grim scientists an actually manufacture sweet crude whenever they need to. The central idea here was that there is so much oil beneath our feet that if the government so desired, gas prices could drop to about a quarter a gallon and excess numbers of people could enjoy a much-improved standard of living — an egalitarian notion that the power brokers at the top of the heap could simply could not abide by. Bemused, I chalked this up from my position one Pearl Street bench over to, on balance, ignorance rather than paranoia. But then somber End Times talk took over (at which point one of these gentlemen may have been humoring the other) and I knew I had myself some conspiracy speculators. (Most conspiracy nuts don’t rise to the level of generating theories, so I use that term sparingly.)

A long time ago in a city far away, I volunteered for a spell at a facility servicing mostly homeless people with a well-honed taste for crack cocaine. At least half of them seemed to believe that President Clinton was withholding from the public a cure (not a vaccine) for AIDS because unleashing it would mean introducing more blacks into the American workforce, something that the power brokers at the top of the heap simply could not abide by. At the time I chalked this idea up to drugs and understandable bitterness, but given the number of similar proposals I’ve heard since that time from perfectly sober street people, I’ve abandoned that stance.

I have to wonder, then: Is the high prevalence of conspiracy-based notions among street people one of the causes of homelessness, or is it more one of its consequences? Read the rest of this entry »

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Clipboard gauntlet

When not working or wasting time writing blog entries, I like to spend time reading and pounding coffee on Boulder’s venerated Pearl Street Mall when the weather is pleasant (and this time of year, that’s the case virtually every day). This is in spite of the fact that this four-block hippified zone is choked with people of all shapes, sizes, and — most notably — smells.

I decided today that I may have to avoid the place altogether. And it’s not because of the panhandlers, the teenage girls obliviously wandering along in rows of six, or the “musicians” who inexplicably believe that people want to listen to them strum and croon with all of the polish and panache of a gibbon injected with ketamine and given an electric ukelele.

It’s the Clipboard Brigade. They’re fucking relentless.

By way of explanation, there are countless young volunteers for various organizations patrolling the place on days like today (i.e., every day). These groups are what you’d expect — Planned Parenthood, Greenpeace, Feed the Hungry-Ass Children, Save the Goddamned Environment. (I made up the last two, but the real names are close.) They stand smack in the way of passerby wielding clipboards and try to snag you by catching you unawares: “How are you doing today! What’s your name, man?” Then up comes the clipboard and thus begins the spiel. They’re telemarketers in the flesh. And if you listen to the spiel and tell them you’re declining to contribute, they just move to the next step in the rhetorical algorithm unless you flat-out walk off, in which case they cheerfully order you to have a great day.

The problem isn’t that I don’t like these organizations or the minions they have dispatched to represent them. I like their causes and their passion. The problem is that there are so goddamned many of them that avoiding them is like an elaborate video game. If you see one ahead and figure you can dodge her by switching to the other lane of the mall, you’ll just discover another one stationed over there, because they anticipate this.

I’ve also tried the talk-on-cell-phone trick, the talk-animatedly-to-myself gambit, and the cold stare. Only the latter helps at all. I’ll sometimes engage them briefly with the lie that I already give to their organization, something they really can’t argue with even if they know you’re lying. I do in fact donate to Planned Parenthood, but I guess I need to give even more so that eventually every potential solicitor is demolished in utero.

This is a real problem for benign misanthropes who prefer to negotiate large crowds in a de facto bubble. Even the panhandlers don’t try to get your attention this aggressively; they simply hold up cardboard signs. Actually, there’s an idea; if I dress in rags and avoid showering — hardly a stretch for me — then the Clipboard Brigade will identify me as a member of Team Will Beg For Booze Money and I can live out my days on the mall in relative peace.

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This shit Louisiana does not need

Not again.

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The public cocoon

The world’s full of ignorant and constitutively unintelligent people. As the emergence of the Internet has shown, this shambling and insufferable army of halfwits is just as eager to offer opinions as those who can actually read, think, and process information above what I’d refer to as a simian level if I were fucking drunk and feeling less than charitable. Among these hominid-pundits who technically qualify as human beings are Gribbit and Ikester7579 (Andrew Richardson and Isaac Bourne respectively). If I were indeed plastered and inclined to engage in facile ways to upset these assholes, I’d write this post in a manner that would force Google to index additional evidence of the haplessness of Andrew Richardson of Dayton, Ohio (Gribbit) and Isaac Bourne of Jacksonville (Ikester 7579) and link it to their real names.

That dumbasses want to be heard just as much as others do is not at all surprising; in fact, it’s to be expected, and at some level it’s even acceptable. Before the Web, fuckheads who in a sensible world keep their delusions and misapprehensions to themselves had few options for sharing them beyond the walls of their trailers and group homes. They could disseminate their useless ideas was by writing incoherent letters to newspapers, creating illegible newsletters, and meeting in the basement of Cletus’ Snack Shack in Twat Rot, Alabama to trade insights about how to best deal with Negroes, liberals, the godless and other enemies of the trout-faced and toothless. Beyond that? Not much; functional illiterates have a hard time infiltrating higher-visibility venues such as the mainstream media, colleges, and book publishers (all of which are controlled by vindictive, godless Jew-communists anyway). Read the rest of this entry »

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Please picture a world like this

I wish that for one day, everyone in the United States who is ambulatory would lose the ability to walk, but retain the ability to run. This would happen with no concomitant improvement in anyone’s fitness. In other words, the only way people could get from place to place on foot would be to run, however slowly, sloppily and painfully. If they needed to take breaks, they’d have to sit down or stand there until ready to go again.

This would be an awesome sight in the non-ironic but non-hackneyed sense of the word. Just imagine it. Young people, fit people, heavies, senior citizens, smokers, drunks, cops, aspiring pedophiles, missionaries, whores, cable servicepersons, Wal-Mart shoppers, everyone — running along sidewalks, across parking lots, from the bread aisle to the checkout counter, into family court, out of bars at last call. I would spend the entire day filming people, except at the end, where people like me would be at a distinct strength advantage we would put to heroic use, e.g., in the form of looting or recreational vandalism.

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