Northbound

That’s right. Look at the sign. Twenty-five miles down, seventy-five miles to go. More than that, that’s a big huge marker. You see (or maybe you don’t) I started this in mid-August. I only did eight miles in August, because I’m a big whiny baby and all that. I figured that I needed to get to the twenty-five mile marker by the end of September, and then average twenty-five miles a month (difficult but not impossible) over the next three months to get to the final ultimate goal of one hundred miles by New Year’s Eve.

So, despite all the pain and agony, despite all the complaining and whining, despite all the really bad self-pitying writing you read here, I did it.

The only way this would be nicer is if people were saying in the comments, oh, you’ll never reach your goal with that kind of attitude, you’re doomed before you ever start, you’re going to quit.  But everyone has been nice and supportive, so I don’t have anyone to taunt.  Rats.

I need to figure out a new acronym for the random picks, but I’m not coming up with anything.  They’re 24-24 so far this year, so you know.

WEEK 4
Baltimore 27, Cleveland 14
Chicago 26, Detroit 13
Green Bay 24, Minnesota 3
Houston 15, Atlanta 11
Buffalo 9, New York Jets 0
Oakland 21, Miami 14
St. Louis 31, Dallas 23
Seattle 27, San Francisco 10
Carolina 32, Tampa Bay 0
Denver 37, Indianapolis 17
San Diego 31, Kansas City 10
Pittsburgh 38, Arizona 19
New York Giants 36, Philadelphia 7
Cincinnati 38, New England 35

No confidence in any of these picks, except maybe Oakland over Miami.  Ouch.  And I’m taking the Cowboys in survival this week, even though this looks like a huge “What’s Wrong With The Cowboys” trap game.

Remember I did those demotivational posters for Aggie fans?  I did a new set for Longhorns fans.  Enjoy.

I normally never do this, but here’s a link back to the site I got the image from, because this guy is all about the number 23.

Things I hate about going to the gym and exercising on the treadmill, in no particular order (unless you count chronological):

1. Making sure every morning that I have all the stuff in my gym bag packed and ready to go.
2. The fact that I need a new gym bag.  Well, need is too strong a word.  Would like a new gym bag.  There’s nothing wrong with my current gym bag, not really.  It’s just a tiny bit worn, is all.  And it’s black, which is depressing.
3. Having to stop my car on my way home at the gym.  I hate stopping the car in the middle of long drives, just hate it.
4. Having to get out of my car, which is no small effort.  (The one thing I like unreservedly about Jersey is mandated full-service gas pumps.)  I go to the gym I go to, in fact, because it’s in the same lot as my dry cleaner, and I only have to stop my car once and get out of the car once.  I’m not even kidding.
5. The whole sorry process of getting my little ID card out of its bin and putting it on its rack.  (Nobody ever checks, anyway; I’ve never seen one staff person at my gym that could even be bothered with anything other than gossip.)
6. The walk across the gym floor — dressed in dress clothes — to the locker room.
7. Changing shoes.  Mr. Rogers did it every day, so I shouldn’t quibble, but I loathe changing my shoes in the middle of the day.
8. Seeing other guy’s hairy asses.  I could do without it.
9. The whole preparation process — making sure I have my iPod, my magazine, the little plastic thingy that the magazine rests on — ugh.
10. The fact that I am the only person in the entire gym who is old and fat.  There are old people, but they’re the kind of old people who think going to the gym is fun.  But there aren’t hardly any fat people — all the fat people in Western New Jersey are staying home and watching Jeopardy! and the Mets pregame while I exercise and be miserable.

And all of these things — every one of them, things that I hate — are before I even step onto the treadmill.  I can’t stand it.  I really can’t.

Twenty-three miles down, seventy-seven miles to go. 

My wife and I went to Niagara Falls last weekend, and Niagara Falls is a big place, and we did a lot of walking.  “So does this count against your miles?” she asked.

I thought for a second.  “No,” I said.  “It doesn’t count, because we’re in Canada, and they don’t have miles, they have kilometers.”

Dead-tired after we got home Sunday night, after a five-hour delay at the Buffalo airport caused by rank incompetence by FAA traffic control in Newark.  Wasn’t going to do a thing on Monday, anyway.  Begged off on Tuesday, too.  Tired, bone-tired.  And Wednesday wasn’t a picnic, either.

I tried something; tried not bringing any reading material, tried just to concentrate on the music and my thoughts.  I tried prayer.  “Dear God, let me off this treadmill.”  Worked great, until I realized I’d been praying hard and still was just at the quarter-mile point.  After that, I kept my eyes up on the TVs.  One had the Lou Dobbs show, the other had American Gladiators.  I couldn’t tell the difference after awhile.

I decided to quit after a mile and a half; there wasn’t any way I was going two miles, not that day.  it wasn’t happening.  It wasn’t until after I was off the treadmill and sitting on the bench in the locker room that I noticed the music on my iPod; Peter Gabriel, “Solsbury Hill”.  Get your things, I’ve come to take you home.  Good enough.

If you are here from Bear Meat, welcome — and if you’re not here from Bear Meat, check out my guest-blog appearance there.  There is other Baylor-related content here, including demotivators and updates on Daniel Sepulveda, Hero of American Youth.  (Along with the regular steady dose of right-wing political nattering, NFL analysis, and treadmill-related diatribes.)

I have not forgotten my promise to the Grand Prairie Police Department to come up with better music for their MySpace page, which I made after making cruel, cruel fun of them for choosing a cheesy Nickelback song.  I had planned on a much longer list, actually, but then I took a close look at their criteria and despaired — they basically want a song that appeals to youth, is inclusive of all racial backgrounds, and actually encourages people to become police officers in Grand Prairie.  You start out with criteria like that, and Nickelback starts becoming sort of attractive.  But I think the GPPD can do better, and with that in mind, I offer this list:

5.  John Mellencamp, “The Authority Song“:

I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins

4.  Rob Thomas, “Streetcorner Symphony“:

Come on over
Down to the corner
My sisters and my brothers of every different color
Can’t you feel that sunshine telling you to hold tight
Things will be alright
Try to find a better life

3. Snow Patrol, “Run“:

Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I’ll be right beside you dear

2. The Fray, “How To Save A Life“:

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you’ve told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

1. Green Day, “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams“:

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I’m the only one and I walk a…
My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
‘Til then I walk alone…

Honorable mention:

• Lyle Lovett, “Election Day”
• Brian Burns, “Upside Down“
• Elvis Costello, “Watching The Detectives”
• The Clash (among others), “I Fought The Law”
• Toby Keith and Willie Nelson, “Beer For My Horses”
• Anything from Johnny Cash:  Live At Folsom
• Junior Brown, “Highway Patrol”
• Bruce Springsteen, “Atlantic City”
• Anything by The Police
• Bob Dylan, “The Hurricane”
• The Cops theme
• The Reno 911! theme

I hope that this discharges my responsibility to the GPPD, and hope that everyone associated with that fine law enforcement community has a safe day.

Bill Simmons, writing Friday on ESPN Page 2:

You never want to have money on the Obvious Game. It’s like buying a WNBA franchise or investing money with Cecil Fielder. What’s the Obvious Game? It’s a more nefarious version of a bandwagon pick, in which you unwittingly back a popular pick and realize it too late. This isn’t like riding the wave of a hot stock; you’re better off going the other way and betting that a disproportionately large number of gamblers could never be right about anything… Savvier gamblers learn to sniff out Obvious Games based on experience, just like people learn to flick past any cable movie with Whoopi Goldberg based on experience. But it’s easy to miss the signs. For instance, when I was making my picks for last week’s column, here was my inner thought process as I debated the Bengals’ giving 6½ in Cleveland:

I’m not crazy about that Bengals team, especially on the road with that defense … but how could anyone back Derek Anderson and the Browns? They looked gawd-awful in Pittsburgh in Wee- …

STOP! Right there!

That’s the first way to sniff out the Obvious Game, when you can’t make a valid case for picking the other team.

And — not halfway down the page:

Lions (+6.5) over EAGLES
Like everyone else, I watched Monday night’s Skins-Eagles game thinking, “Wow, is this it for Donovan McNabb?” It’s not like he’s going to become an accurate pocket passer at age 30, and it looks like his legs are gone. What else is left? Throw in the sour Eagles fans (who seem appalled by McNabb, the team and life in general) and Philly looks like it’s headed for one of those seasons when a team fails to cover for the first 6-7 weeks before the betting public realizes that they stink. I watched both Philly losses and couldn’t tell you one thing they do well other than throw a screen pass or stare blankly out onto the field in shock. On the flip side, we’ve reached the point in Detroit that Jon Kitna has Mitch Albom writing glowing columns about him — we’re three years away from Matthew Lillard playing Kitna in a Hallmark Theater movie. I think I’ll take the points.

I am waiting on Simmons to state the obvious — as he has so many times before — “The lesson, as always, is:  I’m an idiot.”  Chortle chortle chortle.

UPDATE:  Taking the Lions, and the points, on the road, with Jon Kitna, into a hostile and near-psychotic Linc?  I mean, come on.

Only two punts this week for Daniel Sepulveda, two-time Ray Guy Award winner and dauntless Hero of American Youth, as the Pittsburgh Steelers flattened the Hated San Francisco Forty-Niners.  Sepulveda continued his flawless holding (four extra points, three field goals).

• Punt #1 (8th of Career):  Second quarter, Steelers up 7-6.  The Steelers move the ball to near midfield, but Ben Roethlisberger misses on a third-and-four deep ball.  Sepulveda trots on the field and lets loose a booming 47-yarder, the longest kick of his young career.  Bryant McFadden of the Steelers (who would score a touchdown on a long interception return in the second half) bats the ball away from the end zone, and the Steelers down it at the eight.  The Niners get a first down, but go three-and-out and punt the ball back to Pittsburgh.
• Punt #2: In the second quarter, the Steelers are pinned at their own 31.  Sepulveda gets off just an average 37-yard kick (hey, it can happen to anybody) but the Niners go three-and-out.

The San Francisco punter, Andy Lee, had the gaudier numbers — 5 punts, 57-yard average — including a 63-yarder and a 66-yarder.  But that includes three touchbacks; Sepulveda didn’t have any.  And Lee twice put the ball in the hands of the dangerous Alan Rossum (who scored a touchdown in the first quarter on a kickoff return).  Although Rossum didn’t get positive yardage, why kick to him at all?

The Steelers turn the corner on a tougher part of their schedule, and we all hope that this means more work — and more glory — for Daniel Sepulveda, Hero of American Youth.

So this is — according to the website I got it from — a nautical chart of a channel around Vero Beach, Florida, and somewhere on here is something called Marker 21 — oh, just trust me on this. 

Only did one mile today, and that at a scant 2.0 miles.  Hey, I was tired, and I was working late, sue me.  I could have skipped it just as easily, but I didn’t.

Know why?  I prepared myself to do the walking I needed to do today in two ways.  I put my gym bag in the trunk of my car, and I wore a T-shirt with some significance — in this case, a gray T-shirt with “Dallas Cowboys” written on it.  Would Tom Landry have gotten on that treadmill?  He would have.  Would Bob Lilly?  Yes.  Would Don Meredith?  Probably, and then gone out for Shiner Bocks later.  But that’s not my point.

The gym bag is important because my iPod is packed in there, and I needed to get it out, and I needed to pack my Nike Shox.  We’re going to Canada for the weekend tomorrow, and I needed to get all my stuff together to pack tonight, and it would be much easier psychologically to walk tonight and bring everything in to pack later.

I have my Cowboys T-shirt, and my Grand Prairie Gophers T-shirt, and my John Tyler Lions T-shirt to give me confidence and encourage me to exercise.  Childish, sure, but I don’t care so long as it’s effective.

Twenty-one miles down, seventy-nine to go.