Friedrich August Kekulé beat you to the punch like a century-and-a-half-ago and so maybe you foax should just shake your clenched fists at the heavens and scream, Kirk-like, "Kekuuuuuuuléééééééééééééé!!!!" whilst staring at the following picture:
Maybe this graphic will remind you that, next time you dream, you should dream about something that will reveal unto you the structure of an as-yet-unknown molecule instead of dreaming about having a threesome with Snooki and Sarah Palin who, in your dream, also have something in their mouths, but it ain't a snake's tail (unless you mean that figuratively).]
Yes, they1 are lame. But I'm so Awesome I can take the hit that inevitably accompanies uploading such a post. I have awesome in overplus.
The reason I think Y-E R-U Posts (or YERU Posts) are lame is ... I can't really remember what significant things happened to me during the year. I mean, I guess I could go back and read some of my own posts from the past year to see what I thought newsworthy at the time, but fuuuuuuck that! Have you seen them? They go on and on and never seem to get to the point even on the rare occasions when they have one! Case in point right here — and you would think that "right here" back there would be a link to an example post, wouldn't you, but it's not because it doesn't need to be because the "right here" that I'm referring to is this very post right here, this one that you are now reading and that is vaguely pissing you off with its pointlessly labyrinthine circularity. Because this is supposed to be a YERU Post but, so far, it's a meta-YERU Post, going on and on about what a YERU Post is supposed to do but, infuriatingly, not doing it. Worse still, it stops doing even that and becomes a post about itself though itself is not yet about anything. And you're sitting there, impatiently drumming your fingers on your desktop as you read this and getting more and more pissed at the arch, self-referential meta-ness of it all and you're thinking, Is this a blog post or a badly-translated lost work of fucking Borges or something? And even that is a lie, because, unless you're SteveQ, that Borges comparison probably didn't occur to you. For example: If you're RBR, you're more likely thinking: Why the FUCK am I reading this when I could be eating snickerdoodles instead? WAIT! I COULD be doing both because I can multi-task like that! And then, multi-taskingly (because you're still RBR here; I haven't released you from my spell yet), you think: That last thought just gave me a bit of a stiffy — and you think that because, as RBR, you secretly have a penis2.
For those of you who patiently waded through that confusingly insular and hermetic pomo-ish garbage above, here comes your reward because now this post is going to lurch bathetically into a more demotic and denotative style of language and by "now" I mean "starting with the next sentence" because this one is still pretty self-referential.
So here are some highlights from 2010, in no particular order:
I managed to run a grand total of 1116.6 miles. I am happy about this because my original goal was to run 1000 miles while secretly hoping I would manage to average 100 miles a month and thus run 1200 for the year. I got pretty close to that secret goal (and now 1200 miles running can become my stated goal for 2011). My overall running mileage for this year makes me content because I thought I would only be able to run that many miles if I managed not to hurt myself. Well, I managed not to hurt myself in a way that kept me from running, but I did injure myself this year in a way that was far more painful than any tendinitis I ever had was. The dislocated shoulder happened because I was a fucktard and if you want to know in what particular way I was a fucktard you'll have to follow that link you just zipped by a sentence back and read about it there because I'm not re-telling the story here.
That injury happened two days before May 15, 2010, the day on which
I turned 50 years old and officially entered my geezerdom. I've been calling myself a geezer for some time now, but I've actually been one for just over a half a year. It probably would have been more age-appropriate of me to break my hip in anticipation of this big day, but I decided, instead, to go with the "young man's stereotypical injury" — the dislocated shoulder. I like to think young.
I PR'd in the following distances:
- 5k (23:53 in early April at the D&R Canal Watch 5k) This was the third time I'd run this fucker and I had been Mr. Consistent in it the two previous times, posting a 26:45 one year and then a 26:46 the next. I don't know where this 23:53 came from. I suspect, as always, my n*ts@ck.
- 15k (1:22:31 in late April Clinton 15k Race) This was a gimme because 'twere my first 15k 4EVAH but I was happy with this time because it represented a 8:51 pace, which is way better than I expected to do.
- 10k (55:01 on July 4 at the Revolutionary Run in Washington Crossing, PA) This was the second time I ran that race and I thought I had run it in 54:xx the previous year but turns out? Ran it in 55:14. So I didn't even realize I'd PR'd till I got home. And had already drunk a 4-pack of barley wine. This was also an 8:51 pace, and something tells me I still have a 10k PR left in me because, if you recall, I did an 8:51 pace in that fucking 15K so I should, on a good day, be able to better that, right? I mean, it stands to reason; which is another way of saying it will never happen.
- 5 miles (42:45 in August at the creatively-named Three Bridges 5-Miler) It really is a creative name because the The Fucking Three Bridges 5-Miler is actually 5.05 miles long. Fucking jag-off fireman sponsors! What's your first response to that!?!? Hahahahaha! Plus, that bitch was hilly! I mean really hilly! But if I never run any other race again, I will run that one because it is the first race I ran that had (can you guess what? Hint: The race was sponsored by firemen, and started and ended at their firehouse) FREE BEER at the end! Which I drank like FIVE pitchers of at 10:30 in the morning! My pace was 8:33, which further strengthens my belief that I should be able to run a 10k at a sub-8:51 pace. But, again, I don't think it'll ever happen now that I'm a geezer.
- Um, this is embarrassing. I totally forgot that on October 2, I ran a second 10k this year, The Hopewell Challenge. I had heard it was a really hilly course, which it was, and I didn't expect to do very well and then ... I actually managed to PR again. With a time of 53:38, which is a 8:35 pace. Hahahahaha! What a douche-satchel I am! I can't believe I forgot this! So I PR'd twice this year in the 10k distance, which is exactly two more times than I expected to. So now I've got NOTHING to look forward to, running-wise, in 2011 unless I find some weird-distanced races, like an 8k or something, because there's no way I'll ever run a 10k faster than that. I'm not sure where that speed came from. Again, I'm looking at you, n*ts@ck!3
- 3.33 miles (27:59 on November 14 at Voorhees State Park in a race that was supposed to be a 5k trail race) Yeah, but here's the thing: It was not 5k! They even admitted it! It was at least two-tenths of a mile longer, so fuck it! This counts as a FUCKING PR in that stupid-ass, phony distance because the fucking course ended with a 3-tenths-of-a-mile ascent that was like running up Teh Fucking Schmatterhorne, and even though I know most of you weren't reading me three blogs ago and thus have no idea what Teh Schmatterhorne is, still, FUCK IT, take my word for it, I earned the right to call this a FUCKING PR!1! You may think that 27:59 is a slow pace, which it is, but to give you some context — it was fast enough to make me 16th in a field of 98 in that race, so that gives you a bit of an idea about the nature of the course. There were rumors that some runners fell, people! In a race! FELL!1! That never happens! QED. And once again, I'd like to take a moment to give a shoutout to my favorite n*ts@ck, compared to which all other n*ts@cks are just ugly flaps of wrinkled and hairy pouch-shaped skin, and I'm talking here, of course, about my n*ts@ck, whence springs all my running power. I assume.
Other Numbers: My total mileage for 2010: 1860.65. So that represents 744.05 miles (1860.65 minus 1116.6, for you math geeks) of "otherness" ... mostly lunchtime walking at work because Morrissey, my pussy-@$$ recumbent exercise bike, spent most of 2010 sidelined with a pussy-@$$ injury which was fixed only this month. Next year, I have to set up my spreadsheet to record walking and riding miles separately.
I have A LOT more to say about 2010, so consider this post to be merely Part ONE of Jebus Knows How Many Parts Ultimately.
1 "They", here, refers to "Year-End Round-Up Posts", which was more obvious before I interposed that stupid graphic-heavy and prolix Prologue between this post's title and it's first sentence proper.
2 Perhaps my first New Year's Resolution should be to stop spreading the rumor that RBR has a penis. Accordingly, I hereby resolve that: 2011 will be Teh Year Of RBR's Vagina!1! (Sorry, SteveQ! Your vagina will have to wait till 2012, when I predict it will defeat Obama in the Democratic Preznitdenchul primary because the Dems always elect the Biggest Pussy, whereas the Republicans typically go with the Biggest Dick (and not in the good sense).)
3 But then, when am I not?