Frosty's Sweating

Frosty's Frozen Sweaty and Melting 10 mile race was completed on Saturday, and my goal was 1:45:00 (10:30/mile pace). I finished in 1:45:36 over a measured distance of 10.06 miles, which resulted in a 10:29/mile pace. I considered it a win and goal accomplished. Below is a breakdown of my pace during the race.

Mile 1: 9:51
Mile 2: 9:57
Mile 3: 10:06
Mile 4: 10:15
Mile 5: 10:20
Mile 6: 10:31
Mile 7: 10:45
Mile 8: 10:54
Mile 9: 11:00
Mile 10: 11:15
Last 338.42 ft: 10:54

Obviously, I haven't conquered the negative split concept.

Believe it or not, I was happy with Saturday's race. I basically achieved my goal, and Deborah was there to greet me at the finish line with a big hug, even though I was soaked sweaty and my face was covered in salt. That's love.

Deborah was wearing her new Texas A&M University hooded sweatshirt, which made me proud and happy, but because we haven't worked out quick boob access, she didn't flash me her victory boobs. Too bad.

My coach tells me it's time to begin increasing mileage, and I'm ready. Ready in the sense that my mind is ready to begin increasing mileage. My fat ass, on the other hand, may require more convincing. At this point, I'm at a loss as to why weight isn't falling off my frame. I've been watching my intake and I've working out hard. It seems like I should be down by about 20 lbs by now, but I'm still hovering around 260 lbs, which is obvious in the picture. I was going to see if I plateaued in 2007 at about the same weight, but I can't find my log book.

I'm going to use Deborah's advice and incorporate some weight training and spinning on non-running days to keep the calorie burn up. Hopefully, I can drop 20 or 30 lbs by May. If I don't, a sub 4 hour Colorado Marathon simply will not happen.

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Running and Conversing

During Rudolph's Revenge 10k and Frosty's Frozen 10 mile, I was behind girls that were chatting like they were on the phone. Not just a few words here or there, but detailed descriptions of Sally's new boyfriend's (blank)...and why Jen's skin can be so soft at 40...and how the the room's decor was calming during the 18 day labor before little Ulysses blessed her life.

It was so frickin annoying. Can't they at least act like this is hard? "Did you get water or Gatorade at the last aid station? Oh, me too. I like fruit-punch flavored unless it's made from a powder, but the lemon-lime is okay. The water tasted funky and had a little aftertaste. The volunteers were very friendly though, and did you see that girl's engagement ring? I could never wear those hair ties in the wind. Just too many tangles..."

In 2007, I ran with Carrie in the mountains, and she talked every step of the run. The best I could do was a few "yeah," "uh huh," and "uh uhs." I think it was stronger's way of letting me know where I stood on the conditioning ladder.

Before Christmas, I ran with a group from Life Time Fitness to look at Christmas Lights. My coach said, "you should come out. We have runner's of all abilities, and it will be fun." Only 7 runners showed up: two Ironman competitors, two ultramarathoners, two marathoners, and me. It was like a tempo run from hell keeping up, and I swear they weren't just talking during the run, they were singing frickin Christmas Carols.

I told Deborah that I'm buying an ipod.

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Bucko

I've been called Bubba all my life, but Deborah has taken to calling me "Bucko," as in "you think you know the answer, Bucko, but you don't have a clue," or "could you at least have printed out directions, Bucko?"

I kind of like being Bucko, so I'm officially changing my nickname to Bucko.

That's DrBucko to you, though.

Estes Christmas and Prostitution

I ask you, is this a runner's physique? Or, a middle-aged well-fed runner-in-my-dreams bod? 4 hour marathon my ass. I'll be lucky not to crack the asphalt during the Colorado Marathon. I recently meet some industry colleagues, and I was introduced as a "marathoner." Both of the colleagues were runners, and, in fact, both of my colleagues looked like distance runners. The expression on their face was priceless when they looked at me and thought about marathoning, and all I could say was, "I'm a Clydesdale," as if they couldn't tell. Onward...

The family spent Christmas in Estes Park. The girls--Lexie, Deborah, and Miranda--went a week before Christmas to enjoy time without the boys. Lexie is on the left, Deborah in the middle looking gorgeous, and Miranda on the right. They look happy, huh? After we arrived--"we" being the boys and I--there was a noticeable tension and change of expression in the house.

Before leaving for Estes Park, I stopped at Target to get a travel size shampoo. Everyday, I would get cleaned up, including shampooing my flowing locks of hair, and everyday, I would see my reflection in the mirror and wonder why my hair looked like it needed an oil change. After about 5 days, I looked at the bottle and realized that I had bought a travel size conditioner.

This is what I look like when Deborah calls my name.

The deer made several appearances at the house while we were in Estes Park. They would walk up to the back patio and look into the house. Deborah told me that the girls had walked around naked before we got to Estes, so I just assumed the deer wanted to check out the human female body while the girls lounged in their glass enclosed habitat. One morning, I got the nerve to open the back door and walk out on the patio.

One little deer came up and nibbled on my fingers. She must have thought that I looked grain-fed, so I could have some leftovers on my fingers. Either that or they thought I was Santa Claus. You know, bearded, fat, jolly, greasy hair, and all that.

Obviously, deer won't walk up and nibble human fingers unless someone has been feeding them, which is a big no-no. It was very difficult to resist throwing some corn out behind the house especially since at least one of the females looked pregnant. In Deborah's words, "Cold, pregnant, and hungry. My motherly instincts are telling me to feed them." Fortunately, we resisted temptation, which was incredibly difficult, and the deer wandered off. I ended up eating the corn.

After Christmas we returned to Denver, and on a quiet New Year's Eve night, Deborah and I watched a show on Showtime called "Gigolos." Neither of us were that impressed with the show, or the gigolos for that matter, but we keep watching episode after episode until midnight. During this, our conversation turned into a discussion of which of the two of us could make a living as a prostitute.

It put me in a bad spot cause ya don't want to tell your wife that she ain't got it goin on at 49, but on the other hand, you don't want to tell your wife that she would be a great ho. Looking at the pictures posted in this blog, it's pretty easy to conclude that Deborah would be the bread-winning prostitute between the two of us, and I would take care of her at home. I can hear it now, "I cooked a great dinner for you baby, and let me rub your feet after a long day at work. Or, would you rather I get you a nice warm douche?"

We digress into the weirdest conversations sometimes, but at least we're always laughing. Well, almost always.

Happy New Year!

Running (Slowly) Towards Aging

So I'm shopping for Christmas gifts, and I see Justin Bieber's Christmas CD. Miranda <3 Justin Bieber.

"Under the Mistletoe." Hmm. The picture kind of looks like he got caught doing something under the mistletoe. Anyway, I began to wonder how many photos they took to get the "Under the Mistletoe" cover look that Justin Bieber and Miranda wanted.

Which brings me back to me. I went racing last weekend, and ran Colorado Runner's Rudolph's Revenge 10k in a slow 1:02:48. It was actually 6.28 miles, so my watch had me averaging 9:59/mile. Finally, after years of trying, I got back to the 9 minute miles. Barely.

I was all happy and stuff, but yesterday, I say the picture from the race. That's what I look like? OMG, it's scary. I bet Justin Bieber, like any other girl, would never post a picture that, let's say, makes them look normal, bad, or in my case, old and scary.

But, here is DrBubba running his latest 10k in Littleton, Colorado on Saturday, December 17, 2011.

I'm huge.

And I'm old.

Look at that loose skin under my chin. I look like my dad except that he never had a beard. What's really bad is that I look like this after losing 20 lbs since October. No wonder Deborah (wife) wanted me to stop groping her. Ewww.

The weight I can continue to do something about, but the hound-dog skin around my face looks permanent. From here on out, I'm gonna have to start photoshopping my photos. I definitely don't want my wife to see me like this.

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Next month on January, 21, 2012, I'll be running Colorado Runner's Frosty Frozen 10 mile race as part of my preparation for the Colorado Marathon in May. Let's hope I look smaller and more handsome in January. Either that or I'm getting my personal photographer to run along backwards in front of me and shoot 100 photos/mile. Out of 1000 pics, there has to one that makes me look Biesirable.

Daddy/Daughter Bonding

Although periodically I'm reminded that she's really my stepdaughter, I consider Lexie to be my daughter, and I treat her exactly the same as Justin and Jarrod. This morning Lexie was finishing her breakfast, and I held out my arms out for a big hug. Lexie looked at me with that "oh, no" look and said, "What?!"

I told her, "Lexie, I wanted to give you a hug and a kiss."

With that she turned to me, closed her eyes, held her head back, and opened up her arms, which granted me her consent to proceed with the kissing thing. I picked her up, gave her a big smooch on the forehead, and set her back down.

As she turned to walk back to her Lucky Charms, Lexie concluded, "I think moms give better kisses than dads."

Laughing Tube

That's Deborah's mom and dad, Nancy and Ken Griswold, when they visited our house for Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. This year, Nancy was called away to see a very sick friend in Massachusetts that was Deborah's godmother. After traveling to Massachusetts and spending a few days, Nancy began to feel sick. After another day, Nancy was in the hospital in Greenfield with a breathing tube and double pneumonia. She was very sick.

Fortunately, the antibiotics began to work, and although she remained in intensive care, she began improving. When we could finally call, we learned that Nancy could not speak--she could write on a pad and Deborah's sister, Donna, would read the notes back to us. Donna had told us that Nancy was able to get up and walk a little earlier in the day, and as the phone call began, I thought what Nancy needed was a little laughter to make her feel better.

Nancy, "mom," is a free spirit like her daughter Deborah. After our wedding ceremony last year, the DJ was spinning records, and Nancy wanted to dance with me. During a particularly slow song, when I was trying to keep my dancing space at a respectable distance, Nancy pulled me tight and grabbed both cheeks of my ass, as in, I got seriously felt-up. By my mother-in-law. We still laugh about mom checking Deborah's merchandise.

Anyway, I knew Nancy could appreciate my humor. So Deborah talked to her mom for a few minutes, and her mom responded by writing a couple of notes, which Donna read to Deborah. When Deborah handed me the phone I said, "Nancy it's great to hear that you're doing better, and we sure do miss you. I heard that you were able to get up and walk around a little today. Was that gown you're wearing open in the back?"

Nancy almost choked on the breathing tube trying to laugh. Apparently, it's not easy to laugh after a tracheotomy and breathing tube are inserted with double pneumonia. After a second, Nancy wrote, "yes, my ass was hanging out," which Donna read over the phone. I wish I'd seen that.

Nancy is slowly recovering now and was finally discharged from the hospital after a 10 day stay. They had a very low key Thanksgiving in Massachusetts, but we all were very thankful that Nancy is on the mend and never lost her sense of humor.

Nancy, if you're reading, I want you to know that Deborah's got me looking for Salsa dancing lessons to work on my Latin dance moves. Don't be surprised when I see you next if we do a little dirty dancing.

On the other hand, I've already seen you do some of those moves after a couple glasses of Cabernet. Or was it with Chuck E Cheese?

Turkey Day With A Trot

My coach said he needed a hard 5k time, and I decided that I wanted to break 30 minutes in the 5k. But, my coach also said I could run a 28 minute 5k. Well coach, I ran hard, and I achieved my goal, that is, I ran the Anthem Turkey Day 5k in 29:44. Yea! It wasn't as fast as he wanted, but achieving my goal was a win for my Colorado Marathon training program.

I finished 13 out of 30 in the 50-59 age group, which for me is pretty good; however, I was outrun by a 7-, 8-, and three 10 year old boys; four men over 60, and a 70 year old man. Clearly, I still have a lot of work to do.

My wife, best supporter, and Turkey Day boob flasher, Deborah, was with me at the trot taking pictures. She was up on a small atoll with a view of the start and finish. At the start, I was waving to her so she could pick me out of the crowd of 9 minute milers, but something in the grass caught Deborah's attention and she was looking down. So, no start pictures, which is really a good thing because I didn't have to suck in my gut at the start and finish.

As I made the final turn, Deborah was on me and started snapping pictures. Normally, finishing a race would have earned a boob flash, but Deborah was dressed in about 16 layers, and it was impossible to unleash the perky girls in such a short period of time. Not to mention we didn't want to get arrested before preparing the feast for the kids.

We talked about it afterwards and decided for future winter races, we should create undergarments with boob cut-outs...like so

Deborah will simply have to open her outerwear to flash me the victory sign. I know this may sound juvenile, but really guys, are you motivated by a finishers medal or perfect breasts. I got medals, and they're nice, but I'll never see enough of my wife's boobs. On my deathbed, with my last gasp of air, I hope I ask Deborah if I can see her boobs just one more time. But I digress...

After the trot, we had a wonderful pre-prepared turkey dinner that I purchased. It's not that I'm too lazy to cook, it's just that our oven electronics burnt up for the second time. It cost $1500 to fix it the first time, and I'm not paying for a third set of electronics with a design flaw. We've managed to get by without the oven by using the heck out of our microwave, which is Whirlpool's equivalent of a Betty Crocker Easy Bake Oven. Anyway, without an oven and since it takes 6 years to cook a turkey in the Whirlpool Easy Bake Oven, we purchased our dinner this year.

By the end of the day, Deborah and I had attended and run a 5k race. We applauded a 5 year old girl that finished the 5k in about 36 minutes, and we applauded an 81 year old woman that finished in 39 minutes. We bought about 300 meals for Americans going hungry, and we thanked God for our family and the life we've earned. Thursday, 24 NOV 2011, was truly a happy thanksgiving.

Balls and Turkey Trot

Balls...

It's the new 'word' around the house.

"Did you see the balls on that table?"

"That sucks balls."

"And his ball-handling skills are excellent."

'Balls' started with our 15 year old sophomore, Miranda, and now she and Deborah giggle nonstop about 'ball' this or 'ball' that. It's hard not to chuckle because they are laughing.

Deborah recently told me that she wanted a medicine ball to help with her ab workouts. I said that we would go to Dick's Sporting Goods to get one, and, of course, she replied, "I would like to feel Dick's balls before I buy them."

After buying them, I told her she would have to carry the "ball-sack."

When we got home, Deborah asked Miranda, "Would you like to see Dick's balls?"

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It's Turkey Trot time again. As noted last year, I've completed personal turkey trots each of the last 5 years, so this year marks my 6th year trotting before putting on the feed bag.

However, this year is different. My coach wants a competitive timed 5k trot, so I registered for the Anthem Turkey Day 5k - 10k. I said I wanted to break 30 minutes, and he said I could run 28 minutes. I told him I don't know how to run a 5k. He said warm up a little and start running.

I'm more nervous about the 5k than I was for the Estes Park 1/2 this past summer. So nervous that I was just going to sneak out Thanksgiving morning and run a race before anyone knew I was gone. Deborah said, "No way. I want to see you run. It's been a long time since I've seen you run a race."

So, I relented, and Deborah is going with me.

"Besides," Deborah added, "I'd rather watch you run than watch the boys play with their balls while you are out having fun."

Miranda chimed in, "Now that it's getting colder, the boys have squishy balls? Can you make their balls harder?"

And Lexie concluded, "Sure. DB can fix balls. He can fix anything."

Happy Thanksgiving Everybody!