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I got sneakers and I got nerves. Not the steel kind, neither.

The sneaks. They’re custom. They’re from the incredible shoe company called Hersey’s Custom Shoe Company, formerly of Maine, presently of Framingham. Are they big enough in the toe box? I dunno. Should I wear them this Saturday at the Rocky Raccoon 50? I dunno. Should I have the velcro for the gaiters sewn onto the sides of them? I dunno. Should I just get a different pair of sneakers so they can be bigger for running in the desert? I dunno. Will I have enough time to break new shoes in? I dunno.

Oh. And my Gossamer Gear pack arrived. Am I going to keep it? I dunno. Was it that it was just packed wrong that it hurt my back after a bit with it? I dunno. Is there a way to rig it so the weight stays at the top? I dunno. Did I order yet another damn bag? Yes. I did. Is my bank account draining? Yes. It is.

Why’d I wake up at 4:00 PM today? I dunno. Why’d I feel like I was hungover despite not having drunk a thing? I dunno. Why have I been having such strange dreams lately? I dunno. Why haven’t I finished the damn website yet? I dunno. What am I doing with my career? I dunno. Is my apartment dirty enough to be classified as ‘unsanitary’ or just ‘gross’? I dunno. Who decided that all blog templates should be long and skinny while computer monitors are getting wider and wider? I dunno. Am I going to be able to finish a 50 mile run this Saturday? I dunno.

Have I lost any weight from all this running? No. Then what’s the point? I dunno. Why’m I in such a crappy mood, anyway? I dunno. Just am.

I was in Whole Foods (looking for Agave nectar so I could make Ultralight Joe’s Moose Goo, (I wound up using honey) and fell prey to marketing forces by picking up the Utne Reader as I was in the unending check-out line.

In it there’s an article by Amy Roe, from the Bear Deluxe Magazine about the ubiquitous “race T-shirt”. Not being much of a racer I don’t have many. Two from the North Pole Marathon, (very nice ones, by the way) and two from NYCRR runs. Generally, I wear them to bed or while cleaning. If at all.

But almost every race will get you one, no matter how badly you place (point in case: I have some).

Which means:

• 8.5 million runners partake in a road race every year, just in the US.
• To make sure every participant and volunteer gets a correctly sized shirt, race directors order 2.2 times the amount of runners
• Which equals 18.7 million race t-shirts per year in the US.
• Average cotton t-shirt: weighs 14 oz, produces 15 kg (33 lbs) of greenhouse gas emissions what with production, shipping, packaging, etc.
• Roundabout total of emissions from race t-shirts per year in the US: 280.5 million kg (618 million lbs.)

And those are just the road races. Can you imagine the numbers if you included all those charity walks, etc? And Triathalons, etc? What happens to these 19 million t-shirts? Well, the leftovers from races go to charities, as I’m sure a lot of the participants’ shirts do as well. A lot of these charities send them to poorer countries (though, see below links as to why this is controversial in and of itself.)

So what is a bunny-huggin’ road runner to do? Well, the article suggests that we encourage our race directors to at least purchase t-shirts from an environment-friendly clothing company like Continental Clothing. I know nothing about them, but could be worth investigating, were I not so lazy.

Here’s a link to the article. But at Western States, finishing gets you a belt buckle which you have to admit is really,really cool.

THOSE T-SHIRTS GOING TO POOR COUNTRIES:
THE CONTROVERSY

Apparently, most are just plain scams (from thepreacher.wordpress.com)
Says ITGLWF General Secretary Neil Kearney: “There is no charity when it comes to the trade in used clothing. This is a lucrative business. On the market stalls of most African countries, cast-offs donated to charity command prices about 2,000% over what the wholesalers pay for it”.
Though there are some legit ones Here’s how you can tell the difference.

After talking to Grant, who I think is the owner of Gossamer Gear, I wound up buying the Mariposa Plus with the understanding that I may wind up returning it. With a hip belt.

details to follow.

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Perhaps it’s the temperature dip, or perhaps it’s that I’m still a little sick. But during my long run on Saturday during which I had no Kleenex or the like, I just couldn’t help wondering…

If snot runs down your nose and into your mouth, will that count towards your daily calorie total?

There are ultra-light fanatics who shave their eyebrows in an effort to reduce every last bit of unnecessary matter that could possibly weigh them down. I’m not one of them. Obviously. Because if I were, I’d not be shoveling Hershey Kisses into my mouth at the rate that I currently am.But I do count myself among the folks who would rather obsess over making their pack lighter than actually working on making their muscles stronger. I’ll spend more money on gear than NASA if that’s what it takes to avoid doing pushups.

But I’ve already bought my pack. It’s 2.5 pounds - an Osprey Aura 35. I don’t know why. I went to EMS. They suggested it. I went to Tent & Trails. They said sure, why not. So I got it. Now I look at these Gossamer Gear bags and find these backpacks that weigh less than my pantyhose and I get overwhelmed with fear that I’ve gone and bought the Behemoth of all backpacks.

So go get a Gossamer Gear bag, then. Except that when I spread out even some of the supplies that I’ve got now that I’m bringing… the food, the extra socks, the tiny toothbrush, the snake-venom kit… it looks like a Hummer wouldn’t provide sufficient space.

Please advise.

And as of today, R.I.P. Bobby Fischer. Say what you will about the man, but always remember — if there were no Bobby Fischer, there would have been no “One Night in Bangkok.”

Well, the vile strep-ear-infection-fever thing that the entire Northeast seems to have suffered from is on its way out, praise Buddah. I’m a little freaked out though since I’ve got the Rocky Raccoon 50 miler coming up and here I am not having done much of anything other than sleep for almost a week now. So to make it feel like I’ve actually training I do what I always do: screw around on the internet looking up marathon gear.

But I’ve vowed that tomorrow it’s back to hardcore. And I’m going to start with nutrition. So I’ve researched (read: procrastinated cleaning) all sorts of nutrition stuff, most of which I can’t make heads or tails of, but did find that old “food pyramid” that non-sloth are supposed to abide by.

I’ve been determined for the past, oh.. seven months to make these “Dragon Bowls” that Angelica Kitchen makes, and went out and bought all the goods. Repeatedly. And repeatedly they would sit in my fridge and mold, unless they were suitable for the bunny, in which he would get them. But from now on it’s going to be different.

So I cooked the rice. I cut up the rutabaga (I think it was rutabaga). And I worked up a sweat enough to make me decide that that was plenty for one day’s work. I did cook the rice. See? Hardcore;

Forgive me, B. I should never have doubted your wisdom.

It wasn’t the cleanse what done me in. The phlegm, the shakes, the hacking– it was not the fault of the Neera Super Cleanse (a.k.a. “The Beyonce Cleanse“). After a visit to an urgent care doctor (side thought- is it a bad thing when your doctor mentions that he’s going to be on “America’s Most Wanted” that night?) it turns out it was strep with an ear infection and a side order of fever. And, just to make me a delight to be around, PMS. (That part I figured out on my own.)

And it’s too bad, because I actually wanted to do the cleanse. I’m skeptical of some of its claims, such as that you can lose 12 pounds in a week, but I know a few sensible people (Coach L.S.B. foremost among them) who have really done well by the cleanse.

Seeing as it’s probably senseless to attempt detox while taking 500 mg Amoxicillin and 800 mg Ibuprofin on top of the usual brew of modern science’s best, I’ve stopped the program.

I will say this: for having not eaten any solid food for the two days I did the program I was surprisingly never hungry. The drink was actually tasty. I’ve actually brewed it as a tea a few times since. But if you do decide to embark on this thing, buy an extra bottle of their wacky syrup (painfully expensive as it may be) because you’ll go through it quickly.

Okay, I’m eleven hours into this. I’m doing it on the recommendation of my coach, Lisa Smith-Batchen.

I was always wary of this sort of thing, especially since when you Google “Neera Master Cleanse” up comes “Beyonce Diet.” Not that I would mind having Beyonce’s abs instead of the Michelin Man-esque figure I’m currently sporting, it just makes me skeptical, you know?

But like I said, she’s no dope (Lisa, I mean. I can’t vouch for Beyonce.) So here are the results of day one (of five).

DAY ONE:
I feel like shit. I’m coughing up enough mucus to fill a jacuzzi. I’ve got the chills. My head is pounding. I’m shaking like that junkie in the 86th street subway who insists he’s a Vietnam vet*. Three hours into the cleanse and I started swigging directly from the syrup bottle to kill the caffeine jones.

Either I’ve got bronchitis or I’m really, really toxic. In an effort to determine which is the case, right now I’m going to go re-tox the best I can with a vodka tonic and a Snickers Bar.

* even though he’s clearly about 18 yrs old.

Someone left a comment! Someone left a comment!! And it’s a nice one!!

I do not have guts of Teflon. I do not have a bottomless wallet. I can no longer sample these dehydrated meals in mass quantity.

I can only stumble in amazement at those who are able to maintain their one-ness with nature, their communing with Our Mother Earth, whilst producing exhaust the velocity of which is rivaled only by the space program.

What in hell kind of food frigging heats itself?? And do you really want it in close proximity to your gall bladder? And when you’re out in the forest, with only the glory of nature and pine needles for toilet paper, do you really want to eat something that the manufacturers named “Inferno Mountain Chili“??

Oh yeah– a decrease in the toenail aggregate. I grabbed the wrong pair of sneakers, topped it off with a walmart-quality brand sock and ran 5 hours. Smart. That’s why they call me Smart.