The Fort Wayne Country Club vs. The Brass Rail

I had the opportunity of spending time lately at two of Fort Wayne's finest.  As I sat at the finely linened table with silver place setting, plates with silver embellishments along the edge, wine glasses, water glasses, small butter knives, cloth napkins, courteous yet phony servers, over looking a golf course like those on television I also took notice of the people.  The men particularly, as it's mostly men at the country club you know.  What happens to wealthy men?  Why the conformity?  Where does fashion go?  I took note of several of them wearing shorts, Brooks Brothers likely, no socks, with heeled dress shoes.  Leather, kind of high-end looking loafers I guess.  With tassels - leather meaningless designs tethered to the top of the shoe.  Skinny white legs.  With mostly big bellies, 'chub' as my kids would say. 

It all made me think of the Brass Rail, and contrast the two.  The Brass Rail is a bar downtown. I'd classify it as a dirty punk band bar.  A friend recently referred to the people there as 'dirty hipsters'.  They conform just as much as the country club crowd.  No doubt.  The outfits are a bit different.  The tattoo's rampant. Everyone's in close contact, real close, and loving it.  It's dirty mostly.  And loud.  And real. Or maybe it's not real.  Just as phony as the country club.  Maybe.  Just a different clik. There are no men in shorts with tassled dress shoes and Polo shirts at the Rail. But there's probably the occasional nose ring - which is also a meaningless design tethered to ones nose cartilage? Is that how those work?

Anyway...to each his own.  I feel about as 'sorry' for the skinny legged guy in dress shoes with no socks as I do the kid with the nose ring trying to be cool. Fashion is a funny thing.

I'm doing a workout on Memorial Day at CrossFit called Murph.  They're having a cookout, beer, barbeque, the whole deal.  Sounds like fun.  When I asked what Murph was I got the answer and it scared me:  run 1 mile, do 100 Pull-Ups, 200 Push-Ups, 300 Air Squats, then run another mile.  I don't know why, but I live for phsycal challenges like that.  I don't know if I have the guts for the nose ring - but I'm going sockless in a pair of these babies:


     

run for it.

Ran the Indy Mini Marathon last weekend.  Beautiful weather.  Usually starts out cold and everyone has to wear long sleeve 'throw away' shirts that you must dodge in the opening mile.  Not this year.  It was humid - which never seems to phase me. Even after a pretty good drinking night at the Vogue two nights earlier I felt mostly hydrated, as I ate the ice from my Vodka tonics as to be in top form.   I had an OK run.  I was repeating my normal mantra "all systems go" as I continually  assess heart rate, quad, calf pain, foot strike, etc.  Everything was fine until mile 8 when I planned to bust my move.  Exactly at the mile marker I got a cramp in my right calf.  "The right calf" I thought, "that's like old reliable.  Never fails.  The left is my Achilles".  Age.  And lack of training.  So I had a code red cramp.  Within a few strides I had to stop and sit down!  It's hard to really go for it when you're sitting down in a running race.  I quickly tried to rub out the ball of pain and then got back on my feet.  Then it was Kosovo pace.  No disrespect to Kosovo, in the least, or the pain those people had to endure - but I once had a running friend say to me something about Kosovo.  People had to flee that country and literally run for miles to get away from the conflict.   Running for their lives. 

All I had to do was run for five more miles with a code red burner in my right calf. So I put things in Kosovo perspective and just kept on going.  I think my pace may have quickened a bit near the end - like a horse heading for the finish line. 

When you can see the end goal you can endure a lot of pain. 

 

Gone Daddy Gone

Violent Femmes.  Sometimes my phone and the music on it plays at exactly the right time.

I've not written in a bit.  Makes for a dull blog.  Just haven't had much to say I suppose. Or time. 

I've been working out.  I swam this week and felt pretty good in the water, nailed my flip turns.  I think it's CrossFit burpies...that jumping down tuck, jumping back, jumping up move is a little like doing a flip turn.  Sorta.  I do feel a little more power off the wall.  My stroke feels a little 'musclely' though, as if I've been doing pull-ups and push-ups lately.

I ran this week, in the rain.  Started out just a nice sprinkle, but then as I finally got into motion it turned torrential on me.  Of course I was wearing my only nice pair of running shoes which I intended to wear this Saturday at the Indy Mini.  They're still soaked. I may run in my semi-running, semi CrossFit shoes, Brooks Pure Connects.  I haven't really trained a wink so what does it matter? Might as well blow my feet out in style.

Running in a warm rain is life affirming in some way.  Cleansing.  You run faster.  It seems easier and more exciting.  Jumping over puddles, or splashing through them, standing at intersections looking like a wet noodle as the vehicular passers by look on.  I had a good CrossFit workout last night, finished with the most reps in the allocated time - we had to do 200 meter sprints carrying a 20lb medicine ball over head.  Then a series of wall ball shots, dumb bell push presses and dips.  It was a burner.  Entirely burned out my quads the Wednesday prior to a Saturday half marathon?  Who knows - maybe CrossFit will improve my running?  I doubt it - my cardiovascular engine has been running at idle for so long its forgotten how to process oxygen.  Nonetheless, running the Indy Mini is kind of fun.  This is likely my 8th running of that event.  I hate running. 

Its a beautiful day.  The earth is back - all full bloom.  Warm.  May 3rd of 2012.  It really has been a long time of this.
____________________________________________________________________________

Beautiful girl,
love the dress