Going for a run...all of me's

So, I started running again... I've always been an avid gym-goer, but running has never been my thing.  However, since my family and I moved to the country, it's started to seem like a great exercise option...I have more open road space than anyone could want, and I don't have to drive all the way into town to hit the gym. Running, to me, is a great many things...It is not, however, fun. Below is a transcript detailing a conversation in which I partook with my NikePlus iPhone app, my self, my body, and my common sense. Self: Okay...I can do this, four and a half miles is really not that far, and I did four last week. Sense: Yes, but it wasn't ninety degrees then. Self: Oh, whatever...it'll be fine. Sense: Oh sure, just dismiss me...that worked out well when we were in college. NikePlus(voice of a lovely, kind woman): Begin workout. Self: Woo-hoo...Let's go! Two minutes later... Nike Plus(voice of a firm, driven coach): Point two five miles completed. Self: That can't be right...I was faster than this in high school! Sense: And thinner, and with more hair.... Eight minutes later... Body: Our legs are starting to hurt....are you sure you're doing this right? Self: Of course I'm sure...I've been running since I was three years old...Liam even knows how to run. Sense: He's also afraid of the shadows in his room...oh wait...so are you. Self: They look as if- NikePlus(voice of drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket): one point two miles completed...move your fat ass. Forty minutes later... Self: This...bad...idea Sense: I tol- Self: Oh, shut up! Body: Full system shut down in...five...four... NikePlus(voice of the devil himself)- point zero one eight miles to go....you're not done yet! Self: Isn't this where I'm supposed to get runner's high? Sense: Runner's high is a myth propagated by runners trying to convince you that what we just endured is a worthwhile and pleasurable activity. Self: For once, I think we agree.

Fun with Headlines

A great many of my friends and family have developed a rather noticeable dislike of the news media.

I disagree.

Granted, I don't think the news is actually delivered with any integrity, nor do I find it particularly informative, but you have to admit....It's stinkin' hilarious.

And so in an homage, or a pastiche if you will(and you will) to Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, who are at least forthright about the absurdity of their news shows, I offer my own news bulletin....

- It was reported that Greece voted to stay in the Eurozone.  (HFB Translation: Greece voted in a party that might, if it's able to form a majority coalition, accept some of the terms of the bailout set by the rest of Europe in exchange for continued membership. In order to form said coalition, the winning New Democracy party must woo a separate politic party with wholly separate ideals to join it because...oh, details details, are they really important?)

-Rush Limbaugh defended Neil Munro, the reported who interrupted the president during speech, and said that Munro was not a racist. (HFB translation: Limbaugh said "Clearly, Munro was mocking Obama's "white half."  or, more clearly stated: "Neil Munro is not a ractist....I am a racist.)

- The Housing Market improved in May (HFB translation: the actual building of houses fell, whereas permits to build houses rose.  Just to be clear....one cannot live in a permit nor earn a living constructing them.)

-Blistering Heat covers most of Wisconsin (HFB translation: Um...it's summer.  Any meteorologist surprised by odd weather in the Upper Midwest has proven him or herself a worse prognosticator than Stephen A. Smith)

The Systematic Wussification of Camping

My family and I went camping this past weekend, and we had a lovely time...

...therein lies the problem.

Let me back up.  I did not grow up going camping.  My father and mother both grew up in Chicago, and neither cared for the great outdoors enough to spend an entire twenty-four hour period living in it.  Some people say that their idea of camping is a room at the Holiday Inn.  My mother's is a room at the Chicago Hilton and Towers.

As an adult, and especially after I met my outdoorsy wife, I sought camping experiences because it fosters a sort of toughness that I, frankly, do not have.  I've always loved being outside, playing sports outside, hiking, and so forth, but at the end of the day, I was always game for a comfy bed nearest the air conditioner.

So now when I go camping, I want to GO CAMPING.  I want to MacGyver my way through a sticky situation, I want to make fire from twigs, leaves, and a hissing cockroach.  I want to have the sort of experience that, if retold to Bear Grylls, might elicit raised eyebrows.

This past weekend, while again quite lovely, was not that. 

Let me clarify that I am not disparaging my family, especially my in-laws who planned the excursion, or the nice people at the very nice place where we stayed.  I'm just saying that it didn't help me become less of a wuss.

My in-laws have a 5th wheel; which is a camper just slightly less well-appointed than Bon Jovi's tour bus.  The bathroom is nicer than the bathroom in my house, and they have a flat-screen TV and a sound system that does most any action movie justice.  Given the option, and I was, I slept there over a tent. 

The campground itself was equipped with a pool, complete with water slide, a bar and grill with really excellent food, and a general store.

Swimming, it is my understanding, is an integral part of camping.  That said, if I'm going swimming while camping, I want to be ankle deep in quasi-safe mud, not a chlorine-filtered pool with a froggy water slide.  And as for the general store...You don't have a store on a campground to provide campers with the essentials they forgot at home...If you forget your bug spray, you suck it up, deal with it, and then tell a story ten years later about how shitty West Nile virus is.

That's camping, folks.

I realize that the needs of people are changing, and that not everyone craves the rustic experience that I do.  But speaking for myself, I want things simple next time.

Just give me my Vibram toe shoes, air mattress, self-staring gas grill, polarized sunglasses, clip-on bug repellent, iPad, and mobile hotspot, and I'll be just fine.

You know, the  basics.

My Big Pile of Shit

Pardon my French, but sometimes there's really only one word that works.... As many of you know, I am a displaced city boy living in the country.  I live there mostly because it's what my wife wanted to do, and well....it's what my wife wanted to do.  Since moving to the country, I've found that surprises are rarely surprising....that is to say that I'm surprised so much, that I barely remember what it feels like anymore.   That said, I had the opposite experience a month or so ago when, upon returning from coaching a track meet, I pulled into my drive way to see my father-in-law's truck sitting in the driveway with a rather large trailer hitched to it.  This was not unusual, as my in-laws are my wife's primary resource for amateur horticultural gear and knowledge.  What made this particular trailer different was that it was covered with a blue tarp.  Curious, and at that point suspecting that my father-in-law was using the tarp to prepare for a "big reveal" later, I approached the mystery cargo. It took about six second and one stiff breeze for me to figure out what was under the tarp... "So...." I said as I entered the house.  "The trailer is full of..." "Horse manure." replied my beloved bride, with enthusiasm befit a Ringling Brothers Ringmaster. "For the garden." I looked over at my in-laws, who were decidedly confused at my confusion. "You guys drove two hours on the highway with a pile of shit hitched to your truck?"  The tarp seemed immediately necessary.   It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question, but I was the one who was getting looked at as if he were a crazy person. After lunch, I proceeded to follow the aforementioned truck on foot to a shady spot behind our defunct swine barn.  My son, who was walking with me asked "What are we gonna do with all that horse poop?" "Ask your mother." The trailer went up, and, as it were, the shit went down.  As the largest member of our ragtag crew, I was handed a shovel assigned the enviable task of making sure that none of the shit was wasted.   File that one under tasks I never thought I'd be given. Truth be told, there was a fair amount of black dirt mixed in with the shit, and the smell was much more tolerable that I first imagined. When the work was done, I stood beside my wife and said: "You know, honey, when we first got married, I had a lot of aspirations for us, and one of the loftiest was for you and I to stand together next to our very own pile of horseshit." She took my hand and replied: "Me too." One of us was kidding. Sent from my iPad