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Of Mice and (old) Men

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Pac Man wins again

November 15th 2006 12:12

In this second instalment of athlete street fight, two unlikely rivals meet up. That is the whole point of this exercise (yes, there is a point), to pair opponents who would not normally meet. Today we find Paula Radcliffe, women’s world record holder in the marathon, and multiple world cross country champion, versus Pac Man, arguably the most recognisable video game hero of all time. Both exhibit super human abilities, Radcliffe’s unbelievable pain threshold, and ability to log 140 mile weeks, Pac Man to devour everything in his path, edible or not, while maintaining a relationship with Mrs. Pac Mac and escaping blob-like ghosts. (Whether or not Pac Man is human, or even exists, is an existential question that falls outside the theme of running, and as such will not be addressed at this time.)

Pac Man, although not as fast as Radcliffe, nor as dextrous, has an advantage, that is, he can Pac. He merely has to open his mouth and move in a forward direction, and everything in his path is in peril. Radcliffe adopts the strategy of kicking Pac Man, then running away, kicking and running, with the hopes of eventually beating her opponent to a pulp. After a series of effective kicks and escapes, Pac Man decides that he needs to look the other way, that is, keep his front to Radcliffe, so that he can see her approach. As Paula comes barrelling towards her spherical rival, he simply opens his mouth, and Radcliffe’s best asset, her superior speed and athletic ability, become her downfall, and she plunges into Pac Man’s gaping jaws. Before she knows what has happened, she has been Packed. Pac Man’s mouth closes around the svelte athlete and, in one gulp she vanishes. Amazing that such a simple tactic would be so effective, but that is why Pac Man is world famous. The man in yellow can bask in his glory, and feel reassured that no other marathoners will ever try to take him on in a street fight.

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Athlete Street Fight

November 12th 2006 10:37

The last entry about Lance Armstrong, coupled with perusing the Internet and coming across episode synopsises from celebrity boxing pushed the thinking wheels in my head into motion. Who would win in various athlete street fights? I chose the street fight rather than boxing because a) I imagine copyright laws prevent me from writing about something similar to celebrity boxing b) There is a wider opportunity for unforeseen events in street fights, and I prefer my imaginary situations to be unpredictable.

So, with the Lance Armstrong marathon debate fresh in our minds, the fist athlete street fight will feature two greats: Lance “The Man in Yellow” Armstrong, and Haile “Why doesn’t anyone outside of Ethiopia know who I am” Grebrselassie. Armstrong multiple Tour de France winner, G., multiple Olympic and World Championships medallist over 5000-10 000 meters.

It would begin something like this: Haile would be walking down the street, in the middle of the sidewalk, because you can do that when you are Haile Gebrselassie. Armstrong is riding down the street, sun reflecting off of his helmet. This reflection, however, shines into G.’s eye, burning his retina, and causing him to drop the handful of cherries he is casually munching. Lance refuses to apologise, on the grounds that he is not Jesus and cannot direct where the sunlight shines. The stage has been set for athlete street fight.

Gebrelassie has amazing reach, given his height, and his sinewy muscles bead with sweat as the takes may a swipe at Armstrong. He feels convinced that he can outlast his opponent and just needs to tire Armstrong out. He has managed to confuse Lance by landing a series of upper cut punches on his opponent’s jaw. Lance, despite looking like your average endurance athlete from the waist up, possesses superhuman strength from the hips down, and swiftly delivers a flurry of devastating kicks to the shins. After decades of logging high mileage, G.’s shins cannot withstand the impact, and shatter on impact.

The winner is Armstrong. The prize? Someone has to eat the cherries that fell on the sidewalk.

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RunStrong/ LiveStrong

November 8th 2006 11:13

Lance Armstrong made his marathon debut this past weekend, and in an impressive performance, broke the 3 hour barrier. Any runner will tell you that under 3 hours is a good time. For women, it is a great time. He qualified for the Boston Marathon, arguably the most prestigious marathon in the world, on a training regime that could best be described and substandard, haphazard, and plagued with interruptions. In a sport where long runs, sometimes up to 24 miles, are the backbone of any preparation, the man in yellow did one two hour run in the weeks leading up to the event. Why? After dedicating 20 of his life to cycling, Armstrong admitted that he did not want to watch his diet, resume an existence consisting of only eat-sleep-train. He asserted that he did not want to compete, he ran to finish, to enjoy himself, but he sheepishly admits that a fiercely competitive athlete still emerges when he runs. Obviously, Armstrong posessed tremendous fitness and natural ability. In his marathon debut, he ran a time most of us dream of running.
Many people don’t realise that Armstrong’s ex-wife Kirsten is a marathoner. She has lowered her personal best to less than 4 hours, and is on the verge of a Boston Marathon qualifying time. She became a public figure during her marriage to Armstrong and over the course of the disintegration thereof. Armstrong (she has not shed her married name) also attracts a lot of media attention for her running, writes and speaks publicly about how running helped her through her divorce, a separation she openly mourns. Every year, she runs the New York Marathon, and in a recent issue of Runner’s World, admitted that she was happy knowing that somewhere on the start line, “the man in yellow” would be there too.
Why does Lance Armstrong need to enter the same marathon as his ex-wife? Perhaps it is an act of support, of solidarity, and maybe I am far too cynical. But why in New York, and why the sport for which his wife has made herself a name? There are far more prestigious marathons, with a greater number of participants. It seems to be too much of a coincidence….
Recent articles published by the New York Road Runners describe Armstrong’s marathon triumph, but some also admit that it detracted from the elite athletes running world class times. The best up and coming marathoners from around the globe gather in New York each year to test themselves on the course that winds it’s way through the city, and this year, they received a fraction of the media attention they usually would due to Armstrong’s presence. In a sport when a brief interview, photo in the newspaper, or mention on television can give a runner notoriety, perhaps leading to badly needed funding, Armstrong stole the show from athletes who were there, and needed that attention to gain a livelihood. Granted Armstrong will not be stealing endorsement deals from up and coming long distance runners, but the sport of marathon running has few heroes who are household names. By taking the attention that is usually reserved for these athletes, Armstrong inadvertently did the world of long distance running a disservice.
I am not trying to argue that Armstrong ought not run in races. He should, he is a fabulous role model for young people to get moving, get active, and for those in his demograph to get off the couch. He is joined by the liked of Mohammed Ali, Wane Gretzki and Nadia Comaneci as one of the greatest athletes to have ever lived. However, by simply being Lance Armstrong, any sporting action he does will gain media attention, and as such, he needs to tread carefully. One also has to wonder, if a runner (say, Kirsten Armstrong) was able, through some supernatural event, to enter the Tour de France, how would lance react, knowing all eyes were on someone else? But, again, I have been known to be a bit cynical…..

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Out running

October 19th 2006 13:46

Yesterday when I was out running, and again this morning, I kept thinking about a book I had just finished, trying to work out why it mad me so uncomfortable.

At the beginning of The Tattooed Girl, by Joyce Carol Oates, the reader sees Alma Busch through the eyes of her would be pimp and watches as she immediately falls into another abusive relationship

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Power-roo

October 19th 2006 13:13

A bit off topic today, but after reading my roommate’s notes on Jean Baudrillard, and peering into the fridge at work, it is clear that there is an alarming trend in hydration beverages: hyper-real names and flavours. Like all runners, I am concerned about hydration, and like to drink my mom’s Gatorade when home during the holidays. An example of this descent into hyper-reality: Socceroos flavoured Powerade. The Powerade empire was built on a solid foundation of classic drink flavours such as lime, blueberry and cherry. This spawned more exciting and confusing flavours like Jagged Ice, Arctic Shatter and Green Squall. As a proud Canadian, I have seen my fair share of ice. I promise you jagged ice does not taste good, and arctic chatter sounds more like an ailment caused by over exposure to cold rather than a re-hydration drink. A new low has befallen Powerade drinkers: Socceroos Powerade, in the delicious flavour called Socceroos Strike. Designed to hydrate the Australian Soccer team to a world cup victory (ok, designed to milk the Socceroos world cup appearance), this drink promises not only to re-hydrate, but to exhilarate.

A few weeks ago at Subway, I pilfered a bottle of Socceroo Strike, imagining a tasty mix of soccer balls and shin pads. What exactly does Socceroo strike taste like? Well, like sweaty soccer balls, so the title isn’t that off base. The men at track said it tastes like *ahem * bums, whereas my fellow sandwich artists described it as “bin juice” and “good because it is free.” Did any of us feel re-hydrated after their Socceroo Strike experience? I am not sure, partially because no one could consume an entire bottle, and partially because any re-hydrating effect would occur because of water consumed after ingesting Socceroo Strike in order to chase away the sweaty after taste. As such, whether or not this drink as a re-hydrating beverage, or as replacement for ipecac

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Of Mice and (old) Men

October 17th 2006 12:36

Tonight I rode my bike out to the West End for track practice. It wasn’t really track practice, because we run back and forth on this road, doing variations of kilometre repeats. Anyway, for variety’s sake, I run with this group of old men on Tuesdays, who really aren’t all that old, older than I am…adult men.

I think that I am too competitive with these men. I get there, think to myself that these guys are old, so I should be faster, or I am a girl, so I have to prove myself. We kind of antagonise each other, as much as we get along. I don’t want them to be faster because they are old, they don’t want me to be ahead of them because I am female. Or, like tonight, someone sidles up to you, asks about your times, tells you they are an engineer (aerospace), ex-Olympic hopeful, turned swimmer and cyclist (and socially retarded), and I decide that I have to run faster than he does because he is irritating

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Of Mice and (old) Men

October 17th 2006 12:28

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Even the Crows are Doing It

October 16th 2006 11:19

On Friday, I went up to school to hand in my thesis. On my way back out to the bus, there was a crowd of people standing, mouths agape, looking into this one tree.

Like all good rubbernecks, I walked by, trying to look into the tree while maintaining a reasonable level of subtly

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