More random, completely controversial, and hackle-raising thoughts about running performance. Humans have the uncanny ability to take disparate facts and try to sew them together into some logical thread. I'm a direhard Arthur Conan Doyle fan. As a kid, I read all his wonderful Sherlock Holmes stories and was always amazed at how he'd make Holmes tug on small, seemingly inconsequential clues and then follow them--in eloquent, Victorian fashion--to the logical terminus which was usually the solution of some strange crime committed by the most unsuspecting of characters. I'd slap the book closed and wish that some day I could be as observant as Holmes. I wanted to learn how to play the violin, pull on a pipe, and walk around Victorian London wearing a deerstalker hat, solving crimes committed by stodgy, greedy bankers somewhere near Whitechapel. God, I love Victorian England--the fog, the industrial bleakness, the paradox of tight, repressed collars against the occasional, repressed, loose morals--and the Ripper, he too was out there, somewhere in that fog. Good shit man. Anyway, of a more boring manner, with regards to running.... All runners are either climbing or descending; some of us are in the middle of climbing to new PR heights and others are falling down or falling out. These same others are making up excuses about this and that--a pain here and a missed run there. I read excuses every day across a sea of blogs. Some are downright laughable. Most people talk themselves--during the middle of their postings--into justified laziness and simply make up shit to walk their way around the fact that running isn't central to their lives. My problem is that I don't know where I'm at. I fall somewhere between the two, but I can't. I'm either on my way to more greatness or I'm fucked. My best days are either ahead of me or I've run my legs out for a lifetime. It's heaven or hell; it's polarity; it's that crazy Manichean dualism again, damnit! So the only thing to do is drive on. Train harder. My past two races felt like shit. I have no idea why. Some of you have helped with advice about the impact of mileage and repeat pounding on the legs. Some of you rush to your copy of Gideon's Lydiard, crack the stiff spine, and findeth the chapter.....CENSORED DUE TO LIBEL AND RUNNING HERETICAL REASONS. THE PUNISHMENT OF RUNNING HERESY CALLS FOR THE THUMBSCREWS FROM THE TONSURED, RUNNING DEVOUT (i.e. THE ORDER OF THE LYDIARDS OR THE ORDER OF THE DANIELS OR BOTH.... ) But I just don't buy it. Something odd appears to be unfolding. So let me be Holmes and bore you with some facts: -- The peak of my recent running career occurred in the span of 2 months: October and November of last year. During this time, I PR'd a marathon by 5 minutes; I PR'd a 5 mile course (in the wind before wind was a convenient excuse), I PR'd 10 miles and won a race by minutes out where Christopher Walken-types slaughter innocent deer and sip steaming coffee while driving good ole' American trucks. Shit, I even PR'd a 1/2 marathon on the way to a 2:34 marathon. What's that? I even ran a 16:15 5k on a certified course, beating the next bloke by over 2 minutes. (I've given up on my 15:47 in July. I yield that impossible distance to the courageous, but yet anonymous William of Ockham.) --During this time, I drank like a fish (so all this bullshit waxing about being 'pure' and running better in some alcohol-repressed state or whatever from some other intolerant, righteous runners out there to spew all over me and across their blogs, is 100% other-agenda related.) Call me stupid, but I can see through that one as certain as I can see Jesus making more wine for him and his family to party harder in Cana. --During this time, I lived in the antfarm. I was in-between jobs and I drove 1.5 hrs to work in the middle of ipod traffic hell. --I ran more marathons than I am running now....like 2x. --My training was very haphazard, and my mileage was significantly less than it is now. I had no schedules and I did things like trick-or-treat with my daughter at the doors of Pandu's house one moment and then hop onto a treadmill for Saint Sebastian-progression arrows the next. So.... Now, I am running 100+ mile weeks, doing quarter repeats at 68-70 per, doing some MP stuff and..... 16:54 5k 2:45 marathon 2:36 marathon This is the dilemma. So true to running, none of it makes any sense. It follows no Holmes conclusion. There's no deerstalker hat and no pipe to pull on. It's the $#%#$% body and so it's completely illogical, my dear Watson. It's probably more mental and less physical. Best of all, none of it follows the quaint little advice of a million dollars worth of published books from those gurus, seers, prophets, and current, legacy-for-a-buck-sucking, expo-sideshow/snakeoil-selling motherfuckers.

Sorry folks, but it's in your head. Sure, it's putting a foot in front of the other, but dollars and legacy popycock won't buy it. Don't give one red cent more to Doctor Terminus--save it instead for a 6 pack of fine, Dutch beer or for a new pair of Mizuno trainers.

Lets see.... Run hard, recover, run long, recover, run 'ye lactate threshold', recover....ALL FOR FREE!!!!! YEEEHAWWW!!!

Elementary, my dear Watson!

--------------------------------- You Smiths and Morrissey fans, have you seen Morrissey lately? Good God man, he looks so old...so fat...so...un-Morrissey. So sad...so sad. He used to be a very beautiful man. He was a real hunk. No, I'm not gay, but I'm for sure no rube homophobe either, and I feel very comfortable in my own sexuality such that I can freely comment on the wonderous beauty of a man who crooned the classic, "There is a Light That Never Goes Out." What a damn shame. Anyway...I'd still go see him in concert--in a heartbeat. He's my another one of my heroes.