Winter Rupture, er, Break

Well, at least I wasn't alone on the trail!

The dreaded achilles tendon rupture did indeed occur, during the Umsted Bowl, our annual family football game usually played on Thanksgiving but postponed from then till yesterday. Fortunately, I have awesome step-brothers and cousins...all were involved in literally carrying me to the car, and my step-brothers Scott (with his son Nicholas) and Jay (with his son, Jack) accompanied me to the ER and hung out with me until reinforcements (ie, my mom and later my brother) arrived. Thanks, guys!

Technically, I have not yet received the diagnosis of a ruptured tendon--I won't be able to see the orthopedist till Thursday morning--but I am unable to put any weight on my right foot, and to the touch it feels, well, like I'm a puzzle with a piece missing. The immediate pain is kept at bay by a boot and the occasional Ultracet.

Since running will be out of the question for the foreseeable future, and since I'll limit (and maybe outright stop) my beer intake in the absence of the ability to exercise much, I've decided to put this blog into hibernation until one or both of its foci are again part of my daily life.

Till then, God Bless, and thank you for reading!

"...and this last beer bottle"

 

On Distinction

We won’t pretend we’re not hungry for distinction

but what can ever distinguish us enough?

This country, this language won’t last long, the race

will die, later the cockroach, earth itself,

and last this beer bottle: silicon fused by man,

almost indestructible, like a soul:

it will go spinning ever farther from the nearest thing

until space, continually deepening, drowns in itself.

Yet we keep a hungry eye on old schoolmates

and everyone born in the year of our own birth,

and spend the nights in ranting over them,

their money, fashionable companions, pliant critics.

To live just a little longer than they do:

that would be triumph. Hence exercise and diets,

and the squabble over who will write the history

of this paradise of demons casting each other out.

by A. F. Moritz. H/T Molly Sabourin.

The Marcus Takach Memorial Run, Tennessee Chapter

Date: December 12, 2010
Location: The Trail at Herb Parsons Lake
Time: From just after 2 p.m. till around 3:15 p.m.
Distance: About 8 miles
Intended distance: About 6 miles...though losing one's way and then finding it again did not seem inappropriate somehow.

Photo from here.

Do You Beer What I Beer?

H/T FuzzyBrew

You can read more about the Bowen Beer Bottle Band here.

Running PARRRRRRRRRRty

Out: Star Wars Cheer Gear

In: Root Like a Pirate!

I now know why Cindy braves the crowds and weather every year to watch the St. Jude marathon. Sure, I ran in it the last two years, but my brief run-by (or, in 2008, walk-by) doesn't explain the long stretches of time she stands, waves, holds signs, and cheers runners of all ages, sizes, and speeds. Having run and exhausted myself in such races, I can't begin to describe how much I appreciate any little thing that makes me smile along the route, be it a goofy costume, a bad joke on a sign, live music, or simply a hearty "Way to Go!"

Those little things can bring a big boost, and I was thrilled to work with Cindy to help provide that same lift to others at this past Saturday's race.

Way to go, runners!

ps: The "Go, J, Go!" sign refers to little Josiah--you can read his story here.