Groupon Holiday

            A week ago, my friends insisted that I sign up for Groupon, and boy, what a week it’s been!  I’ve never had so much fun in all my life.

            On Sunday, I took the first plunge and signed up for half-off nachos ($4 value) at this local bar 9 miles from my house.  I went with my friend, Tim, and we watched football all day!  It was super fun, and we met these cool guys who told me to “Sit down. Shut up” after I greeted them. They were wearing a bunch of leather and smelled like cigarettes.  Turns out it was a biker bar!  I had always wanted to join a biker gang, but I don’t think this gang was accepting applications at the moment because when I handed them my CV, they tossed it to a big guy with a mustache, who put Tobasco Sauce on it and ate it.  Tim and I laughed about it all the way back from the hospital.

            Speaking of hospitals, on Monday, I cashed in on 60% off new eyeglasses ($70 value) and X-Rays ($125 value) at this local hospital 17 miles from my house.  I didn’t need either per se because I have perfect vision and intact bones, but it seemed like it couldn't hurt.  I went with my friend, Becky, and we got our whole bodies X-Rayed!  We’re going to turn them into a Halloween costume for sure.

            Hey, did somebody say Halloween?  Because on Tuesday, my friend Abigail and I went to this local pumpkin patch 25 miles from my house and got two pumpkins each for 40% off ($18 value).  But then we thought, hey, why end the Halloween fun there?  So on the way home, we stopped at a glamour photograph studio and got 70% off professional glamour shots of us with the pumpkins ($40 value).   I couldn’t believe it when I saw the photographs because they were Photoshopped so well, I looked like Brad Pitt and the pumpkins look like the Kardashians!  It’s going to be a great holiday card.

            I liked the pumpkin experience so much that on Wednesday, my friend Robert and I went to this local vineyard 49 miles from my house, where we picked grapes all day for 75% off ($28 value).  Who knew there was a vineyard near where I live?!?!?!  Certainly not me, until I went there and saw it with my own two occhi.  While there wasn’t a wine tasting the day we went, Robert and I snuck some grapes that we picked, and they were delicious!  The weather was beautiful, and we were out there from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. with other Groupon takers and some folks who looked like they worked at the vineyard because their hands were calloused and faces sullen.  But I couldn’t be happier.  Only a few dozen bucks to pick grapes that will become wine!

            Thursday was an interesting one.  I went all day without seeing a Groupon that I really liked until lo! What’s this?  Spend all night in the drunk tank of my local jail 65 miles away for only $15 (80% value)?  Why, yes, thank you.  It was the night of a lifetime!  I went with my friends Mark and Lisa, and we had a blast!  I brought Cranium, Mark brought cards, and Lisa brought Risk, and we played and laughed all night.  Meanwhile, some other takers of this Groupon were having a great time because they kept saying, “I’m never drinking again” and “Uuuuughgghghggh!” while punching imaginary friends.  I agree with them; who needs to get belligerently drunk when you’ve got Groupon?  Not me.

            Well, sort of not me!  On Friday, I purchased a Groupon for this local bar 73 miles from my house—no, a different bar this time!—that was advertising 14% off margaritas ($2 value) so long as you stay all night washing dishes.  Um, yes, please!  The very same bar was also advertising 60% off a bicycle tune-up ($40 value) and 35% off raw venison steaks ($18 value).  Naturally, I got all three.  When my friend Amanda and I got there, this was no ordinary bar.  Gone were the artificial social trappings and trite pub décor.  Instead, it was a nice, one-story bungalow, where a teenager and his grandmother lived.  So authentic!  When I told Mr. Andrews, the teenager-cum-owner of this establishment, that I had ordered the “tri-fecta,” he said, “Great!  Now, give me your bike, and I’ll be back in 1-2 days.”  I did so, and when he came back, there was venison as far as your eyes could see, and my bike was tuned-up, up, and away; plus, the margaritas were delicious.  Mr. Andrews was so modest about them.  “I’ve never made these before,” he claimed.  Yeah, right!

            Saturday was my last day, and while I spent most of it in Mr. Andrew’s bar, chained and handcuffed with interest to Mr. Andrew’s grandmother’s stories about the magazine epidemic of 1961, I did get home in time to tackle 50% off yoga at this local yoga studio 91 miles from my house.  My friend Josh and I took part in this new kind of yoga called “Clown Yoga,” invented by some gurus in India (!), in which everybody dresses in clown suits and laughs all the toxins away while engaging in all sorts of poses.  The most cleansing was probably Down Dog Pie in the Face, in which you face the ground and bend your head down into the belly of a fresh-baked blueberry pie while stretching your legs back.

            I had so much fun, it’s no wonder that Groupon has engendered its share of imitators.  First, there’s Riotmobon, which is very similar, except partakers tend to engage in more extreme activities that will get analyzed by social psychologist in a few years.  There’s also Specieson, which is like Groupon if Groupon was run by people who look like spiders.  Finally, I just heard about Thirdwheelon, which gives even bigger discounts if you and your date bring an additional friend who makes things awkward, but you insist that it’s OK.


The latest straw poll is in.

There is not much to say about training this week.  My left achilles started to feel pretty bad on Saturday, 10/22, so I took the whole week off.  As I write, it feels fine, so that was probably a good decision.  Biked 60-90 minutes everyday, got massage and chiropractic work done for the achilles.  Ready to get moving again.

Corrections

On October 6^th, the author wrote that his six-mile morning run was an “afternoon delight.”  This makes no sense.

On September 15^th, the author mistakenly wrote that he “ate his fill of Tostitos Scoops just because.”  They were actually Tostitos Hint of Lime.

During his morning run on August 29^th, the author questioned the veracity of a local first-grade girl’s t-shirt, which read “Pretty Princess.”  He stands corrected.

On September 1^st, the author claimed that it was “raining” during the run and that he went out with Natalie Portman shortly afterwards.  It was actually “drizzling.”  He was also thinking of a dream he had.

In the Alarming Introduction, the author cited the shock-statistic that “68% of organic water bottles are made from retired pianist fingernails.”  The actual figure is 65%.

On September 21^st, the author thought he was going to take out the trash, but then he mostly just wandered around, wondering where to put egg shells.

In third grade, the author allegedly claimed he didn’t not like a person but as a friend and that it was also opposite day.  NASA logicians have been unable to untangle this paradox ever since.

On October 18^th, the author wrote a catchy anecdote followed by a 200-page parade of pop-psychology and pop-sociology studies interspersed with the trappings of a narrative, which he then published and sold millions of copies of.  He regrets the mistake.

Two weeks ago, the author claimed, “Anybody who grows up just watching cologne and Axe Body Spray advertisements will definitely mature into a normal human.”  A complete retraction is called for.

On October 24^th, the author referred to a number of passages from previous posts.  These were all fabrications, including this last one.

Last Week’s Training

Sunday, October 16^th: 14 miles, 95 minutes. Biked to nearby the Fells and ran from there.  Nice run.  Finished with a couple laps of the track to gauge the pace at the end, and they were at 5:30 pace.  Feeling pretty good overall.  Best run in a while, actually.

Monday: AM 5 miles easy.  PM 8.5 miles, 60 minutes.  Feeling OK, a bit tired, but fine.  Plus lift, ice bath, hip exercises, lift, chiropractic work in the early afternoon, core, etc.

Tuesday: 8 miles with three miles in the middle faster.  At Fresh Pond.  Wanted to go 6:00 pace in the middle, did 6:10, 6:05, and then got pretty frustrated and hammered the last mile, not sure what the split was.  Not such a great day, but it was a sort of progress I think.

Wednesday: AM 9 miles, 62 minutes.  PM 4.5 miles 30 minutes.  Raining and windy.  Plus extra stuff (same as Monday).  No aches or pains, so the somewhat harder day yesterday worked out fine.

Thursday: 12 miles, 80 minutes.  At Fresh Pond.  Had to get up early for work, so didn’t get quite enough sleep.  Tried to pick up the pace a little in the middle, and it didn’t take.  An OK run.

Friday: Did a progression run on the river in 7:00, 6:45, 6:30, 6:15, 6:00 5:45, 5:21, then a mile cooldown.  All paces are estimates except the last two miles, which are accurate.  Didn’t feel too good until the 5:45 mile, then got a little more comfortable.  So, an OK workout; things aren’t coming as quickly as easily as I’d like.

Saturday: 7 miles, 48 minutes, easy.  Feeling OK, left Achilles sore.

Week in Review: 75 miles.  14 mile long run.  Two very conservative workouts.  Things aren’t coming very easily right now.  It’s hard to try to do something well, really try to do something well, and everything seems conspired against it.  I know from experience that things tend to turn around, but when you’re actually in the middle of it, it’s very frustrating.  I feel like I’m doing the best I can to get back to 100%, and maybe that’s where the thought process should stop.  There is a passage from The Art of Fielding, which is about baseball, that creates a relevant representation.

All [Henry had] ever wanted was for nothing to ever change. Or for things to change only in the right ways, improving little by little, day by day, forever.  It sounded crazy when you said it like that…The dream of every day the same.  Every day was like the day before but a little better.  You ran the stadium a little faster.  You bench-pressed a little more.  You hit the ball a little harder in the cage…Your swing grew a little simpler.  Everything grew simpler, little by little.  You ate the same food, woke up at the same time, wore the same clothes.  Hitches, bad habits, useless thoughts—whatever you didn’t need slowly fell away.  Whatever was simple and useful remained.  You improved little by little till the day it all became perfect…

An Evaluation of Hindrances

            This one is going to be a bit different.  I wish to make a comment on the psychology of the athlete.

            All I ever want is for easy things to go right, and for bad things to slowly go away through learning the bad things’ weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly.  I demand my hindrances revere me and fear me, for I desire to get rid of them.  There are a few problems.  The first is arrogance, which makes me think that I can do new things well and do old things better with less effort.  The second is that I am merely one person, and while I know many things about myself, I don’t know quite how they interact, particularly in a relationship to time or context.  This is why athletes have a constellation of advisers around them who know them and who are, ideally, less susceptible to the first problem because they are motivated inherently by selflessness in the relationship.  (Athletes are always by necessity self-centered.  There are no exceptions.)

            Do you ever feel like you make a mistake, and since any mistake is almost certainly a result of bad faith, the mistake was a result of another mistake, which was a result of a mistake, and on and on down the line?  Perhaps that is an idle feeling, for you should just make a re-commitment to fix what you can and move on.  There is a way to be active in the situation, forward-facing.  To say that a problem is a learning opportunity is easy to say and hard to act out with equanimity.  When things are going really well, it’s never easy, but it is always simple; there are very few questions.  It’s always a spectrum, I suppose.

            There are a certain set of calculations, which, being followed, tend to guide the ship rightly.  And yet you never know for sure, I mean for sure for sure, that the ship is going in the right direction until you actually get to your destination.  That's a wild existence.

Sunday 10/9: 10 miles, 66 minutes.  On the Minuteman trail. The best I’ve felt in a while, around 6:20s the last 4 miles.  This was my third day back after most of last week off.

Monday: AM 3 miles easy. PM 5 miles easy plus lift, core, ice bath, massage.  Good to get back into the rhythm of doubling even though they were short.

Tuesday: 9 miles, 60 minutes at Fresh Pond.  Mostly 6:30 pace, then stretched the legs out a bit the last two miles, perhaps 5:50 pace without really going for anything.  Things are turning around.

Wednesday: AM 4.5 miles easy. PM 6 miles easy plus lift, self-massage (rolling out on this pin type thing), ice bath.

Thursday: 9 miles, 62 minutes at Fresh Pond.  Quads a little beat up, but that’s it.  Plus massage.

Friday: 8.5 miles, 60 minutes at Fresh Pond.  With 6x30 second pick-ups in the midst of it.  A good way to get a little bit of pace into it.

Saturday: 6 miles easy on the river plus core.

61 miles.  Made a re-commitment to stretching and lifting this week and got back into the rhythm of regular training.

The Invention of Hallways

The Invention of Hallways

Dark Castle

Outside the King’s Bedroom

The Dark Ages

6 p.m.

Servant: OK, it’s time to pick who’s going to the Prince’s bedroom to ask him what he wants.

Chef: No way am I doing it.

Maid: I did it yesterday.

Nurse: I’m off the clock for the next hour.

Servant: Well, nobody volunteer all at once.  Fine.  I’ll do it.

Chef: It’ll be dangerous.  I’m almost positive he wants what he had yesterday: an entire chicken, cooked on a spit, with ale and a side of another chicken.

Servant: But, we can’t be sure.  It’s best if I check.

Maid: Remember, you’ll have to go through the king’s bedroom, the queen’s other bedroom, the princess’s bedroom, the bathroom, and the library before you will get to his bedroom.  You’ll never make it.

Servant: Oh, excuse me, your highness.  I didn’t know you would be in here.

King: Well, I am, filthy knave.  I’m a bit busy staring at the wall, if you don’t mind.

Servant: I can come back.

King: No, no.  What do you want?

Servant: I was just trying to get to your son’s bedroom to ask him what he wants for dinner.

King: Well, be quick about it.

Servant: Yes, your highness.  [Pauses.]  Actually, may I trouble the king for a question?

King:  [Grumbles.]  Fine.

Servant: I was just, well, I was thinking.  You know the person who designs all castles?

King: Yes, my cousin—a blind, toothless, vagabond architect.  They say he’s the best.

Servant: Verily, verily.  Well, do you think he’s ever been inside a building with more than two rooms?

King: Oh, heavens, no.  He lives in the forest and comes to town only to sell the boars he catches.

Servant: Right, I was thinking that might be so.  See, the other domestics and I were talking, and it seems like it’s kind of a hassle for everyone involved that we have to go through private rooms just to get to where we want to go.  There has to be a better way.

King: What do you mean?

Servant: What I mean is, can you imagine a structure such that I wouldn’t have to walk through your room, the queen’s room, the bathroom, and your daughter’s room in order to speak with the prince?

King: You mean, have many different houses, each being its own room?

Servant: Not exactly.  I was corresponding with my friend in Denmark, and he says that they are thinking of building a castle that, instead of having many rooms connected with each other, it has many rooms that are connected through a different, very long, narrow room that serves as a conduit between the rooms.

King: I think I understand.  Build a separate house for each bedroom.

Servant: No, no.  Well, sort of.  It would be like if each bedroom was a separate house, and each house was connected to a long, narrow house, and all the houses were inside the castle.

King: Of course.  And what would be the point, again?

Servant: What we want is separation, so that fewer workers get harassed and the members of your family don’t scream and threaten us every time anybody tries to get from one place to another.

King: I suppose I can see how that might be a problem.

Servant:  For example, as it is right now, if I want to get to the storage room in the basement for salt, I need to pass directly through the dungeon first.  There are criminals in there.  They’re hungry and thirsty.  They beg for food.  They’re spiteful and experienced with makeshift daggers.  Four servants have been bitten this week alone.  Although, one servant has unexpectedly been smitten, so maybe it evens out.

King: Yes, build a separate house outside for the dungeon, and then another separate house outside for the storage room, and also many other separate houses for the different bedrooms.

Servant: Sort of.

King: This is a fine idea, knave.  I’ll talk to my cousin.

Servant: [Walks past.]

Queen: AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

And on to training:

Sunday: 14 miles. 97 minutes. On the Minuteman Trail. Just not feeling good. Definitely something wrong with my right calf, and tired overall.

Monday: Off. Rest. Massage, which I think helped.

Tuesday: Off.

Wednesday: 1 hour bike.

Thursday: 1 hour bike. Cleared to run.

Friday: 6 miles, 42 minutes on the river. Calf feeling much better, but very sluggish overall.  Running after time off is the worst, the worst I say.

Saturday: 8 miles, 54 minutes on the River. Felt much better, and calf has loosened up, feeling good enough.

Week in Review: A week to recover and get better.  Very frustrating, but hopefully this is just a minor setback.  The problem was likely a minor calf strain, which occurred about two weeks ago.  I remember the workout precisely.  It’s weird sometimes how if you’re in the middle of something, it can be hard to see outside it and it seems like this big thing; but then once you get outside it, you look back at it and realize that it was merely this isolated, strange, messed up thing that means very little.  For all you experienced with a key, the key to the previous sentence is as follows: it/thing/something=injury, not it=beyond the injury, and grammar=an indulgence not called for in this context.  But, like, all my sentences, it was highly symbolic and discursive.  Take from it what you will.  I learned from the injury and am moving on.  There is much work to be done.

Press Conference

Forward Transcript of Press Conference Speech of Professional Athlete Who Suffers Great Humiliation by Acts in His Personal Life

Good morning.  I wish to thank you all for coming today.  And for those who chose not to come, I wish they hear what I have to say and instantly forgive me, forgetting everything I did wrong, as if they got zapped by the memory eraser from Men in Black.

I have many friends here.  I also have many co-workers, sworn enemies, and parasites who feed upon the discourse surrounding my public persona, which has become a veritable cottage industry.  Regardless of which category you fit in, I wish to say: I’m sorry for what I have done.  I have made serious mistakes.  I have made terrible, ugly decisions directed at clowns.  Please forgive me and my pet tiger.

I admit fully to what I did, and I make no excuses.  It is true, however, that I grew up without a father who didn’t make weird jokes and talk about girls with me as if that was OK.  Therefore, I had no one to give me a viable model of masculinity. (Except for my father in a general way, my grandfather, brothers, uncles, everybody I read about, casual acquaintances from church, numerous teachers, and my personal mentor, His Holiness the Dalai Lama.)  Without any role model, how was I supposed to know not to do what I did?  Further, I was raised on a very simple diet, so when I started to get a salary, I acquired an expensive taste for copper wiring and aluminum siding.  It is not so hard to see how I first began eating those apartment complexes.

Many of you might not know this, but I was raised in a religious household.  Snake handling taught me to see the value of a simple life, to shun alcohol and sex, and to never get caught or bitten while doing something violent.  Clearly, I have strayed from my roots.  With the help of my pediatrician, Dr. Phil, I have learned to return to the core values that first shaped me.  For example, he has repeatedly reminded me that renting a blimp for FGM-148 Javelin ATGM Rocket Launcher target practice—but instead of launching rockets I launch my local school district’s textbooks, hermit crabs, and cafeteria food—was a poor idea.  Further, hiring a skywriting plane every week and instructing it to write “Marry Me [name of the week]” on the chance that a woman of that name would be on a date with her boyfriend is funny, but it’s damaging on an emotional level to other people. 

While many fans have been understanding and have forgiven me, others have not.  Some stories about my personal life have surfaced that are complete fabrications.  I never once hired a team of assassins to explode the top of Mt. Everest after I climbed it so that no one could ever climb as high as me ever again.  Besides, what happened there is a private matter between me, my beautiful wife, and the Indian Subcontinent.  My wife, Amanda, I mean Sarah, has been there for me since the very beginning of last October.  I know this situation has been tough on her, especially because I lost some of my sponsorships.  Especially since I lost some of my sponsorships.  It’s like, I know, baby, but we’re going to get through this, and that’s when I can hire a team of conservationists, scientists, and bartenders to rid our private island of its flesh-eating locust/indigenous subpar margarita problem.

Despite this support, I know that some fans will never believe in me again.  They will use my name as a punch line.  When I take the field, they’ll toss oranges and apples at me.  They’ll fire guns at me.  They’ll train attack dogs to hunt me wherever I go and sick me where I stand.  After the game, they’ll search for me in an attempt to taze me or at least get information about their children, whom I kidnapped.  I understand this urge, but I exhort everyone involved to forgive me and just move on already.  I went to prison for what I did.  I was technically just visiting as part of a reality TV show, but that was rock bottom for me.  I have learned from my mistakes.

I am taking steps to rectify all the wrongs I did.  My foundation is working with youth to promote positive life choices, such as not running for and becoming president of Belarus and then using their tax money to build a giant castle made of whale hearts.  I have also partnered with Human Rights Watch, the World Wildlife Fund, and UNESCO to repopulate Brazil’s native soccer ball population, which was decimated after I hired a team of assassins to steal all their soccer balls and send them to the Arctic, where I thought polar bears could use them as flotation devices.  It was my signature green initiative.

Some say that the quality of your intellect can be measured by your choices; others, that it can be measured by the last book you refer to in a social setting.  It is at this point that I wish to say that I recently read Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. I apologize to everyone involved.  People also say it’s not your words or beliefs which define you. It’s your acts.  That’s pretty ironic if you think about it, but my question would be, does dressing up as a woman farmer and then committing unspeakable grain atrocities qualify as an act?  Like, if you only do it once?  What if you sincerely believe in your heart that it was a dream?

I once heard, and I believe it’s true, it’s not who suffers on account of you that matters; it’s the extant to which you be you, no matter the consequences.  I encourage all my fans to follow their dreams and live a life that, when you look back on it, you can think, “That was some crazy shit!”  I believe in second chances.  I believe in third chances.  I believe in an infinite number of chances.  I believe the Chance cards in Monopoly are real.  I’d like to return to the game and get things right this time around.  I thank you for your time. 

Conversation between two E. Coli bacteria

Cow’s Intestine, 12:15 p.m.

Donna: Hey Stephen, what’s for lunch today?

Stephen: Lower intestine pathogenic bacteria.

Donna: Again?

Stephen: Yeah, I know.  It’s ridiculous.

Donna: Ridiculous is right.  I’m trying to raise a family of healthy, gram-negative, rod-shaped bacteria that grow up to be productive prokaryotes, and it seems like all we ever have to eat are lower intestine pathogens.

Stephen: It seems crazy, but these are tough times.  Did you see the paper this morning?

Donna: No, what happened?

Stephen: Do you remember Nicole and Alejandro—Jesse’s kids?  Looks like they got fed uncooked to some human multi-cellulars, who got really sick.

Donna: They used to be such good kids.

Stephen: Well, now they’re wanted for poisoning.  Whole neighborhood has been put under surveillance.

[Enter Sasha.]

Sasha: I heard that’s not the whole story.

Donna: What?  What is it?

Sasha: Well, now the multi-cellulars have blacklisted the entire E. Coli community, including the innocuous strains.  They say the attack was on purpose, was coordinated from the inside.

Stephen: From the inside?

Sasha: Say everyone was in on it.  From Prime Minister Coli on down.

Donna: No way.  Not the Prime Minister…

Sasha: See, it was just too perfect.  What happened was, Bessy was slaughtered on Thursday by the multicellulars.  My friend Yunis was walking the beat near Pathogen Mile, and he gets a call.  Caller says his host’s dead, time to find a new place.  Obviously, he’s devastated.  He’s been living there for months, has his roots there, you know?  But, he does the brave thing and gets on the PA and makes sure all the e. coli with pathogenic capacity know to get out.  He stays behind and makes sure the whole neighborhood has evacuated.  Then, just as he’s leaving, he spies the prime minister getting out of her grass limo.  He thinks, no way.  Either the prime minister is intentionally staying in a dying carcass, or that’s a fecal transmission I’ll never understand.  But, then he remembers.  You know what day Thursday is?

Stephen.  The Prime Minister’s weekly gutbike ride.

Sasha: Exactly.  Unaccounted for from 4-6 p.m.

Donna: So what if she was in Bessy’s lower gut?  That doesn’t prove anything.

Sasha: True.  I’ll just state some facts, and you make your own conclusions.  Thursday at 5 p.m., my friend sees the prime minister intentionally staying in Bessy’s gut.  Everyone else is evacuated except for the members of that grass limo.  Later that night, Nicole and Alejandro go missing.  Their mother says they were interning with the prime minister’s office after school.  Friday, Bessy is slaughtered.  Sterile environment, peroxide, the whole nine yards.  Saturday, Bessy is transported in parts to the Coli Restaurant.  By Tuesday, there are five cases of e. coli poisoning from that same restaurant.

Donna: These are merely coincidences.  Isn’t the prime minister back and safe?

Sasha: Yes, she is.  But, remember, what was the campaign that the prime minister ran on?

Stephen: That she was from humble beginnings, that she knew how the pathogens lived because…

Sasha: Because?

Donna: Because her father was an e. coli of pathogenic capacity.

Sahsa: And therefore?

Donna: Therefore she has the genetic code that could express itself as a pathogen!  And this code can be transferred through horizontal gene transfer, not even requiring offspring or duplication!

Stephen: Oh no.  So she could have taken Nicole and Alejandro hostage, transferred the pathogenic genetic code to them, kept them in Bessy’s gut, and then returned to the community by Thursday night!

Donna: Right, but, wouldn’t have Nicole and Alejandro—O157:H7 bless their souls—died in Bessy’s slaughter and the meat preparation?

Sasha: Remember what else was in the prime minister’s platform?  About her personal traits?

Stephen: Sure, that she was strong, independent, resilient.

Donna: Resilient!  Those weren’t personal traits.  They were genetic traits!

Stephen: Right, like resilient to peroxide and other anti-bacterial cleaning solutions.

Donna: So, all that would have been necessary would be undercooked meat, almost a guarantee based on the history of the Coli Restaurant. 

Stephen: But, why?

Sasha: See, this is where it gets interesting.

[Enter Prime Minister Coli and E. SWAT Team.]

!!!

To be continued…

The Week’s Training:

Not such a great week.  Started out fine, but Thursday through Saturday were rubbish.  Some problematic sensations need to be resolved.  No good workouts this week, although got in 20 miles on Sunday.  81 miles total.