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22. the irony.


A few posts ago, I mentioned that I had starts on several additional posts. Many, if not most, of those were going to be about food.

Which makes this week all that much more entertaining.

On Sunday morning, I woke up at my folks’ house feeling a little uncomfortable. We helped them with a couple of chores and started to pack up to head back to Pittsburgh. And somewhere in the middle of that process, I felt like I had been hit by a stack of bricks. I had to spend the first an endless number of visits to the bathroom and then take a 90-minute nap before Mrs. Crappy got us back home in record time (while I was moaning in the passenger seat next to her).

Since then? A lot of pooping and puking. And not a lot of what I’d call “food.”

It hasn’t been a good week. It won’t be a good day tomorrow, when I’m having chicken noodle soup and Pedialyte for Thanksgiving.

And, as you’ve probably noticed, it’s blown NaBloPoMo completely out of the water. I’ll do what I can to make up some remaining posts between now and Saturday night, but I’m thinking I may not get to nine more between now and the start of December.

Or maybe I can squeeze in a few in between glasses of Pedialyte.


6. picture of health.

Ten miles to go.

I knew that getting through a 10-mile run would result in some, uh, discomfort for a few days after.

But i had no idea about the full range of reactions my body would put me through in the days following Sunday’s jaunt.

  • Pain. Well sure, this one is obvious. And as I said on Sunday, it was evident by the time I was halfway through the race, in my calf, in my hips and in the now-infamous groin. And as everyone warned me, the pain and stiffness continued into Monday, even after a torturous morning session with our foam roller. Tuesday was better in general, but there’s a pain in my left thigh that appeared out of nowhere today. I’ve learned several new funny walks since Sunday, but this will clear up with time, more foam roller abuse and a new bottle of Advil.
  • Exhaustion. I expected this as well, although not to the degree it’s actually hit me. In spite of the pain I had to deal with on Monday, I actually felt pretty good most of the day. But when I got home and took a seat on the couch, I was immediately ready for bed. This wasn’t helped by working until 1 this morning, but it’s getting better as well.
  • Food. I made a mistake on Sunday — when we went to Piper’s for a post-race breakfast, I immediately ordered the richest thing on the menu, their version of chicken and waffles covered in delicious banger sausage gravy. On a normal Sunday, I would have had no trouble hoovering the entire plate; on that Sunday, I ate about a third of my meal before my stomach made it clear that something lighter would have been a better way to go. I ate the leftovers without too much trouble Sunday night, but the discomfort continued on Monday, when the only thing that sounded interesting for dinner was a can of chicken noodle soup. Even yesterday’s election-night pizza is still fighting with me today. This can stop any time now, thank you.
  • Drink. WHAT? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T DRINK BEER? Sadly, this is true. I’ll chalk up Sunday’s experience — ordering an amazing (and amazingly strong) Victory DirtWolf instead of a nice, cool wit as I had planned — as a poor decision; that’s because I couldn’t finish my glass. I drank about 47 gallons of water on Monday, but I didn’t try with the beer again until that night, when another strong IPA led me to suffer feedback from my body *urp* that I experienced on Sunday. And as I am bound by journalistic tradition to have a post-election night beverage, I successfully downed a bottle of Woodchuck cider when I arrived home last night. I think I may give the beer another try tonight, because DAMMIT THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.

I’m going to try to get outside for at least a brisk walk tomorrow morning, to try to work out the last of the kinks I’m suffering from Sunday. I know, I know — i’ll take it easy for a while. But I want to take advantage of whatever momentum I gained on Sunday and turn it into a regular thing again.

And so I can skip the part about having to avoid beer for three days after the next race.

unpleasant decisions.

UPDATE: A number of people whose opinions about college football I respect have pointed out that I could be wrong about this, especially when considering short-term pain (yet another freaking SEC championship) versus long-term pain (Oh, god, Notre Dame fans shut up already). Perhaps I should reconsider.

Or perhaps I should justĀ watch the end of the Purdue game over and over and over.

Part of being a grownup is having to make the best of a no-win situation.

Except that in this case, someone is going to win. And neither choice is going to make me especially happy.

Notre Dame plays Alabama for college football’s national championship tonight. And on what would normally be a practically holy day for me, I find myself instead thinking about skipping the whole thing and going to bed early.

Notre Dame and Alabama. Fighting Irish and Crimson Tide. Elves and Elephants. Bleh.

My default in this situation would normally be to cheer for the team that’s not in the Southeastern Conference; I know we can’t do anything about the Superiority Of The SEC myth until the SEC starts losing title games (although I’d still love to see what would happen if the SECers ever stopped padding their schedules with the southern branches of the Little Sisters of the Poor, but there’s little chance of that happening anytime soon), so tonight’s game should, in theory, be an easy one for me to figure out.

In theory? Sure.

In practice? Ah, crap, it’s Notre Dame.

The leaders of College Football Entitlement have finally worked their way back into relevance, and a win tonight would touch off months of unbearable cackling, even though the program hasn’t mattered since I was in high school. Also likely on tap: an extension of its NBC television contract, which will make things that much more complicated when the Domers finally realize the inevitable, that full membership in a conference is necessary for its survival.

So what do I do tonight?


Nick Saban — who very well could be the sleaziest man in football — and the SEC? Ugh.


Notre Dame and its insufferable fans? Gack.

I should probably just flip a coin. Or, better, maybe bag the whole thing and watch the 2012 Ohio State highlights DVD I just got for Christmas.

But I feel like I am duty-bound, as a Serious College Football Fan, to order up a mess of wings and watch the game. And for nearly arbitrary reasons — Midwest versus the Southeast, I guess — I’m going to swallow hard and be a Domer for a day.

There you go, Irish — I’m in your corner. For today, at least.

catching up, grumpy edition.

And doing it as best I know how:

* Florida was fabulous. The kids are amazing little people — getting more grown up by the minute — and my sister and BIL are doing a great job with them. Mrs. Crappy and I got to the beach four of the six days we were there. I ran a 10K and didn’t die. And we properly celebrated Crappydad’s upcoming 75th birthday.

* And then we had to come home to snow flurries. Really?

* While we were in Florida, I neglected to wrap up the Seventh Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought To You By Bocktown). Because of unusual circumstances that require consultation with our sponsor, I will do so on Monday.

* The 10K was difficult, but fun. I was too slow — finished at 1:20 — but I completed the race knowing what I needed to focus on as I get ready for the Pittsburgh Half. And then my groin decided that there would be no running of any consequence this week, and I’m left with three weeks to prepare to run 13 miles. I am not happy about this. I’ve joked a bunch about not letting my various attempts at running kill me — see above, for example — but the half — especially if it’s a warm morning — actually could be a dangerous thing, given my lack of training in the last couple weeks.

* If I’m able to run it at all.

* For as excited as I was about the start of the hockey playoffs, the actual games have been nothing short of a horror. I’m less concerned with the fights and cheap shots on both sides — they happen, although usually not this much in the playoffs — than I am with Penguins’ horrible defensive effort. Or lack thereof. The team is staying positive — Bylsma said after Sunday’s game that Fleury would start the remaining four games of the series — and I will as well.

* I’ll do that for a couple of reasons. First: Mrs. Crappy and I want to watch Friday’s game at the big screen outside CEC. Can’t do that if the series ends Wednesday night.

* Second: I need to give my playoff beard a little more time.

shame. by association.

As I’ve said here many times before, I try to stay far, far away from Facebook memes, mostly because I don’t like encouraging that kind of thing. But, as you probably know, I also have a hard time resisting one that has to do with music.

And this one, my friends, is a doozy.

My friend @TheLegendofJill posted this to Facebook late Wednesday; I saw it this morning and had to take a look. What Jill posted:

1) Find out the song that was No. 1 the week you were born.
2) Find that song on YouTube.
3) Post that video on your wall without shame.

Jill was happy to post a video of Rupert Holmes’ “Escape (The Pina Colada Song),” a delightfully cheesy slice of the late 1970s. In response, I joked that no one was making music videos in 1966.

And oh, how I wish I was correct. Had I been born a couple weeks earlier, it would have been The Supremes’ “You Can’t Hurry Love.” A week later? The Four Tops’ “Reach Out I’ll Be There.” And I would have been perfectly happy with either classic Motown song.

But no.

Ladies and gentlemen, the No. 1 song on Oct. 12, 1966:

Let’s be straightforward here. I know this song. I know it well. And I’ve always hated it. As in, The Association’s “Cherish” Is One Of The Worst Songs In The History Of Music Hatred.

So, Jill. I found the song. I found and posted the video.

But posting it without shame? Sorry. No can do.