It's Like This, Cat

We lock our cats in the basement at night. That way Toonces can be as crazy as she wants without driving us crazy. Somehow she escaped this morning and decided at 5:30 am that she really missed us.

I wish cats were more into being pleasers. I swear, if I glare at Pancho for two seconds because of something he did, that dog does whatever it takes to get my affection back. He mows the lawn, takes the trash out, and offers to take the 88 Accord off our hands.

But not so much for the pinche gato. As if her TO DO list for this morning reads like a shampoo instruction bottle, here's how the first 20 minutes of Toonces' morning played out.

1. Jump up on bed.
2. Meow in search of affection.
3. Get knocked off of bed with pillow-to-the-face.
4. Repeat.

It took twenty freaking minutes for that cat to finally give up.

But I'm no better. This became a battle of wills. Mano a paw. I was fully awake and ready to get out of bed. But I refused to get up until the cat gave up and knew it was never going to be in the bed while I was.

It's no small accomplishment for me to win a battle with an animal that has the intellectual capacity of a one-year old. But I can say with confidence that so far, on June 22, 2007, on the scorecard for the daily battle of Mike and Pancho vs. Toonces the score is...

Mike and Pancho:1
Toonces: 0

Here's to an early end to today so our score may be preserved.



One night I came upstairs to find this. For a cat with no balls, Toonces is one ballsy cat. Pancho's body language suggests he is not at all comfortable with the idea of a cat in his bed. Toonces' body language would suggest she doesn't give a damn. I feel your frustration Pancho.

Conversation with Emily #6567

This evening in our den...

Me: What are you watching?

Emily: Oh some reality show about a guy who has to choose between dating some 40 year old girls and some 20 year old girls.

Me: Seems like a no-brainer.

Emily: (ignores me) It might be so bad that it will be good. But you won't like it. You'll just make fun of it.

Me: I don't need to watch it to make fun of it do I?

Emily: {no response--crickets chirp}

Editor's Note: This is not the first time Emily has told me she was watching a reality TV show that I was not welcome to watch. I guess I am too judgmental and take all the fun out of watching the show. But I would like to add that each time this occurs, the show's premise is exponentially more absurd than the one before it.

Don't Call It A Comeback

ABRIDGED VERSION

Highlights from Grandma's Marathon 2007.
1. I ran my fastest marathon ever, 2:57:53.
2. I did not run 4+ miles in the rain at 1 a.m. post-marathon, like I did a year ago.
3. Staying and visiting with Jocelyn and her husband in Duluth, and their kick-ass kids. Do you have friends that, even if you see them as little as once a year, you are so comfortable with them you pick up right where you left off with them a year ago? Jocelyn and Co. are those kinds of friends to Emily and me.

Grandma's weekend is such a great time for me. I love runnig. I love races. I love my friends, both in Duluth and those that I run with. I love my wife. I love my family. I love my dog. And Grandma's brings most of that together (four out six ain't bad).

Here's to Grandma's 2008 and whatever stories they will bring.

Below is a picture me of me running just before the 21 mile marker. Please keep all lame "I'm too sexy for my shirt" jokes to yourself. It was freaking hot out there.


This picture comes courtesy of Jocelyn, who said she expected this photo on my blog within the next 24 hours or she'd tag me with another meme.

Don't Call It A Comeback

THE UNABRIDGED VERSION
WARNING: This is a long, self-absorbed, potentially boring post. Oh wait that is true for 90% of the content of all the posts on this blog. So just add the word "very" to all the adjectives in that first sentence. Read this only if you are VERY VERY interested in how my marathon went.

As I wrote a year ago, my Grandma's 2006 experience was remarkable not so much for the race itself, but for what happended afterwards. I had to run four miles in the rain, less than 18 hours after finishing the marathon.

Well, this year's marathon didn't have any of that zaniness. I did, however, run my fastest marathon ever, which is much more exciting for me than any post-race shenanigans. About two months ago I was training with the intent of running a sub-2:50 at Grandma's.

Well, I ended up running a 2:57:53. So how can I be so content if I missed my original goal time by almost eight minutes? Well read on.

At the end of April I ran in the Drake Relays Half-Marathon in Iowa. At that race, I didn't really push myself until the last three miles, just as my friend Kirk suggested I do. So I was pretty fired up to run a sub 1:21 half-marathon without trying too hard. This race basically suggested I was right at 2:50 marathon shape. Things were looking good. I still had a month to train hard and I hadn't even gone for my first 20+ mile training run.

But there was this minor detail to the half-marathon in Iowa. I got tripped up at the start and fell. I reallly didn't think much of it until a few days later when I went for a long run. Halfway through the run, my right hamstring started spasming like crazy, a real painful kind of crazy. A trip to the doctor confirmed what I already knew: I had pulled my hamstring. But I hadn't put together (which he did) was that I pulled the hamstring by trying to break my fall at the Drake Relays and then getting up and running 13.1 miles at a 6:10 pace.

So the month of May was dedicated to resting and recovering. I lost a lot of confidence and my legs have felt out of sorts ever since. As a result, changed my goals and approach to the race.

Here were the three rules I made for myself going into the marathon:

Step 1. Make it to the half-way point in the marathon somewhere between 1:29 and 1:30.
Step 2. And at that point I would assess how I felt. If I felt okay, the least I could do is push myself to a sub 2:58, which would be my personal record (PR).
Main Goal: Run a negative split (which means running the last 13.1 miles faster than the first 13.1).

Let's see how I did...
Step 1: I reached the half-way point in 1:29:47
Step 2: My final time was, as I mentioned, 2:57:53
Main Goal: I ran the first 13.1 miles in 1:29:47, which means, my Texas math tells me, I ran the second 13.1 miles in 1:28:06.

Good job me!

So I am basically writing this post to brag about myself. I am not here to brag about how fast I went. Cripes. I got 174th freaking place. What I am proud of, however, is how I was able to set and reach realistic goals for myself. This race was a big deal for me.

First, I have always been able to this for any distance from 1500 to 8000 meters. However, this is the first time I nailed my goals for a marathon.

Secondly, my legs never felt right during the weeks leading up to Grandma's. And they didn't really feel loose during the marathon either. So I really had to grind this one out. My confidence and training were both compromised by my injury. So to PR under these circumstances is rewarding.

Lastly, I have a history with marathon training to set lofty goals, which is fine. But this is the first time I adapted and adjusted them to how I was feeling. In the past I would have stubbornly stuck to my original goals. The results when that has happened have not been pretty.

So my present goal is to see if I can do anything to get my legs back to feeling good again. Then I'll see what I can do at this fall's Twin Cities Ten Miler. Seems realistic to me.

The Zoo Crew

As Emily posted earlier, we got cats. She describes "getting cats" the same way one might describe getting the mumps or termites. And in fairness to Emily, she is the one who cleans the litter box, so I can see why she is less than thrilled to have them.

Fortunately for me, I have the cushy, glamorous job regarding los pinche gatos: I feed them. So the cats appreciate me as the food source and I don't have to pick up their poop. This explains why I am more forgiving of these cats' friskiness than Emily is. Actually, Nacho is pretty mellow. Toonces, not so much.

So I have a lot of catching up to do on this blog. I'll begin by posting some pictures of our two cats, Toonces and Nacho (they are sister and brother).


I think Toonces is on the left in this picture, and Nacho is on the right. Toonces is the smaller of the two. I wanted to name her Flaco, but Emily had naming rights on her.




Toonces and Nacho spend a lot of time together, be it playing, eating, sleeping, or just looking out the bedroom window wishing they were outdoor cats.




And it's good that the cats have each other. Because Pancho still commands most of our attention and definitely has the most toys.

Suddenly the San Antonio Dodgers Sounds Pretty Good

The close, very close, reader of this blog will notice the right column of this page lists books I've been reading, movies in my life, and restaurants I dine at. The absurdly close reader will note that these lists have not been updated for some time and are now obsolete.

Well, they have since been updated. One post I have been meaning to write about for some time comes from Baseball In the Lone State by Tom Kayser and David King. The obsessively close reader will remember that I was reading this book when I last blogged like two months ago. And as I said before, this book was edited by my sister. So mad props to her.

This book was a fun, easy read. But you have to be huge baseball fan to like it. Being a Texas fan, or a Texas baseball fan won't cut it. You have to be a huge fan of the sport in general.

That being said, one section of the appendix has something we can all enjoy: a catalog of all the teams have played in the Texas League. Keep in mind, this league dates back to 1888, so the odds are there were a lot of teams with ridiculous names. Even so, I was impressed by the quality and quantity of absurd names.

Here are the highlights.

Ardmore Rosebuds
Cleburne Railroaders
Corsicana Oil Citys (their spelling not mine)
Houston Babies
Houston Magnolias
Longview Cannibals
Paris Parisians
Paris Eisendelfer's Homeseekers
San Antonio Missionairies
San Antonio Gentlemen
Sherman Orphans
Sherman Students
Shreveport Gassers
Temple Boll Weevils
Texarcana Casket Makers
Wichata Falls Spudders

When I was growing up, the San Antonio team was the Dodgers. We are now called the Missions (not the Missionaries, mind you). I always thought it was funny to cram the name Dodgers onto a city like San Antonio (not exactly known for its cable cars). Kind of like the Utah Jazz. But then my friend pointed out San Antonio was no funnier than the Los Angeles Dodgers since there are no cable cars in LA either. I think I told him "two wrongs don't make a right dickweed."

I'm not sure who won that debate, but it may have been me. Afterall we were in like fourth or fifth grade, so closing my arument with the dickweed zinger was prettty powerful stuff.

First Things First

I know it's been a long time since I've blogged, so let start by getting something off my chest...

SPUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURS!!!!

My mom is a native of Akron, OH. But I will freaking disown her if'n she's pulling for the Cleveland Cadavers.