In Which I Shoot Down Your Weak-Ass Resolutions.

Sing it, sister.

WEATHER: Unseasonably warm!


MILES THIS WEEK: Shamefully few.

WHERE TO: Hangoverland.

MOOD: Much better than this morning.


Some people run to relieve stress.  They are like the free and easy gazelles of the running world, prancing gaily across the savannah, leaving their cares and worries behind.

Some run for the privilege of eating every g.d. cheeseburger they please, thankyouverymuch. These are the Great Danes of the running world–the big strong capable-looking runners who look like they could probably beat your ass and then eat your entire head.  But only after this next episode of Two-And-A-Half Men and some buffalo wings.

Some run once every few months, after they overindulge at Big Bruce’s Nacho Factory Sports Bar ‘n’ Grill and as a result feel “not-so-fresh.” These people are not really part of the running kingdom, but I guess we could classify them as tree sloths, as they only really get in gear when they see the MIGHTY HARPIE EAGLE swooping in for the ambush.  “RAAAAAH!” screeches the eagle.  “Huh?” says the sl- OH MY GOD DID YOU SEE THAT?  GROSS!

(“Chomp chomp snap chomp,” says the Mighty Harpie Eagle.)

And some truly driven eager-beavers run because they have Goals that they want to Achieve.  And today, while many of us were munching on ibuprofens and drinking Pedialyte and rubbing our bellies in the warming glow of a cheap-red-wine-and-Jello-shot-induced hangover, the beavers were out there, making resolutions to Do Better in 2011.  And good for them.  Hell, maybe YOU are a resolution-maker, so maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on you.

Whatever.  I will be as douchey as I please, because your resolutions are probably boring as all hell.  If you’re going to torture yourself and be all type A, if only until about January 25, at least be interesting.


Boring Resolution: Run the Boston Marathon.

OK, listen up.  Yes, I know that you want to run the Boston Marathon.  And I want a MacBook Pro with 5 bajillion mHz of computing power and 60 hectares of RAM and 9 USB ports and a seat warmer.  But then again, what am I going to use it for?  Oh, right.  Reading Gawker and cranking out bellyaching posts about frat boy runners and the fact that the Boston Marathon SOLD OUT IN EIGHT HOURS THIS YEAR and furthermore was experiencing technical difficulties so that even those of us who were IN TIME couldn’t sign up.  Gr.  And you just KNOW that on April 15, Oprah/P. Diddy/Kathy Griffin/Wynonna Judd will roll in and say, “Wait!  I WANNA RUN!”

“Welll…” will say the BAA head.

“Pleeeeease?” Wynonna will say.

“Well, OK,” will say Mr. BAA.

Better Resolution: Pick another race.

As I was saying: I mean, yes, I could get the souped-up computer, or I could just get a normal one that lets me send mindless awesome Reddit links to my friends.  Likewise, you could train your bum off in the hopes of getting in. You could solicit fantastic amounts of money from your friends and be a charity runner. You could work real hard and become an internationally renowned talk show host/author/recording artist by next year and then get in on name recognition alone.  OR you could just look up your local race and then come rolling into the Muncie, Indiana Marathon finish line happy and secure in the knowledge that you would have beat Oprah/Kathy Griffin/Wynonna.

Or you could drop a steamer on the BAA doorstep.  I’m just saying.

Why not? Resolution: Poop on Wynonna Judd’s doorstep.


Boring Resolution: Drop 10 pounds.  Ooooh and also get a six-pack.  That sounds nice.

I mean, OK, go ahead.  But if you’re like me, you have this resolution roughly every New Year/Chinese New Year/First of every month/time you browse your favorite Megan Fox fansite.  And then you (I) get all superpumped and go do like 20 hill workouts in one week and feel alllll good but them BLAMMO soon enough you’re (I’m) at IHOP, smearing cream cheese waffles all over your face and body and even stuffing it between your toes just to make for maximum blood-stream-fatty-deliciousness-absorption.  Yeah, the waitress loves it and even pours boysenberry syrup on you without you asking her to do so (it’s like she read your mind!), but let’s try for some moderation, honey.

Better Resolution: After consulting a trusted health professional, undertake a healthy, responsible program of diet and exercise to help you to look and feel your best, whether or not that entails creepy-defined abs and delightfully veiny arms.

OK, this is better, but then again, no health professional is going to outright advise you to run any batshit (read: fun) amounts. Ermmmm I’ll think about this one and get back to you.

Lowbrow-Comedic Resolution: <requisite joke about going out and buying the other kind of six-pack hahahaha> <punches self in face>


Boring Resolution: Run every day.

Go back to the annals of The Running Log and witness what happens when we run without resting.  Namely, we get injured and get a one-way express ticket to on the train to Crazytown, and we sit drinking our pain away in the dining car with the hobos the whole time.

Better Resolution: Run responsibly, stretch regularly, cross train once a week, etc., etc.

Still boring, but at least it’s not stupid.

Take Things Up A Notch Resolution: Never wear any running garb that is not skintight spandex.

Picture it: there is the pink-clad mob of Susan Komen runners in Rock Creek Park on some idle Sunday afternoon, turkey trotting along and gossiping about Phyllis’s new piece of man-candy of a pool boy and monopolizing the trail when OUT OF THE DEPTHS OF ROCK CREEK PARK, WITH HORRIBLE VENGEANCE, THE MIGHTY BLUE LIGHTNING COMES CRASHING THROUGH THE UNDERBRUSH AND WAILING LIKE THE MIGHTY BANSHEE THAT SHE IS.

“RUN ON THE RIGHT, BITCHEZZZZ!” she screams, with enunciation that lets you know that of course she spells “Bitchez” with a Z.

“Who WAS that vision in shiny skintight cerulean?” says Phyllis.

It was BLUE LIGHTNING, that’s who.  The Komen ladies watch in awe as the finely tuned spandexed machine leaps off into the distance.  Which takes a while, because our mighty hero has been running for HOURS, and even tightly-swathed-in-synthetic-materials ladies need to pace themselves.



Boring Resolution: Find a running partner to inspire you to run farther/more often.

Once again, it sounds great in theory.  But running is an intense activity and inspires lots of emotions.  For example: anger.  And the anger only grows exponentially with every added mile, so that by mile 25, if running buddy is running NINE-MINUTE MILES or NINE-MINUTE-TWENTY-SECOND MILES and you want to run 9:10, DAMMIT, well, you just might suggest that he go take his fast/slow pace and jam it into any number of orifices in the most painful manner possible.

Another running emotion: stomach discomfort.  Try explaining to your running buddy why you’re collecting large, soft, flat leaves and then running off into the woods every 15 minutes.  Not that this ever happens to me.

Either way — adios, Running Buddy.  Farewell and safe travels.

Better Resolution: Put this on your iPod.

Russian 1970s-era baritones will stick with you no matter how awful you are.

I-Realize-I-Am-A-D*ck Resolution: Have you ever run with me?  There’s a support group for that.  Ask Rusty/S./my high school track coach/either of my sisters.  It’s OK, baby.  They’ll make the hurting go away.


Poor Resolution: Buy and wear toe shoes.


Better Resolution: Get properly fitted for running shoes.

Those people at Pacers work on commission, you know.

HOT Resolution: Buy and wear toe shoes…after fashioning a crude loincloth from them and some pieces of twine.

Send pictures.


6 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by James Kurtzleben on January 1, 2011 at 11:30 pm



  2. Posted by Bear on January 2, 2011 at 11:12 am

    this post is EPIC — trololo guy AND that .gif of stop hitting yourself? I just peed myself!


  3. Hey, don’t knock Muncie. I’m signed up for a race there in July.

    (btw, wanna do that race with me?


  4. Posted by molly on January 3, 2011 at 10:24 am

    too bad there isnt that awesome clip of the sloth and the harpee eagle on youtube somewhere! bahahahaha!!!


  5. Don’t be jealous. Toe shoes make my feet looks hot. And my feet are hella hot.

    Also, loin cloths. I look hot in loin cloths.


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