Episode 154: Opportunity Cost

If you appreciate my existence even a little bit visit here.

Why? More tracks in Ontario=more valid creeping ops. More valid creeping ops=better quality of life (for me, but also possibly for you if you are needy and place your welfare on whether or not I make blog posts).

Who should you donate to? Whoever turns your crank, I suppose.

Episode 153: Victory Lap Revisited

"Don't come back for a victory lap, only losers come back for a victory lap...my brother did and he's a complete dick, fucking idiot." ~ Anonymous

This is not the type victory lap that is being referred to.

I've often said that the victory lap is a something you can smell on a person. It's the smell of self-loathing coupled with a whiff of devil-may-care recklessness. It's the smell of imprisonment and the smell of freedom all at once.

In fact, some might say I know quite a few things about the v-lap, but most of all I know this: I know why the caged bird sings.

At this point, you may be worrying that I've gone off the deep end and have started taking myself seriously. Trust me on this one, I wouldn't worry about that... ever. At least not on this blog.

At this point you might also be curious about whether this return to the blogosphere heralds some kind of resurrection. Maybe, but probably not. This is more like a one-off endorsement. Or a PSA. Or a stab at a denouement. I find that it's quite impossible to tell most of the time.

So back to caged birds, singing. The victory lap, the fifth year, five plus, grade thirteen, the Van Wilder (thanks again, Wikipedia). It seems like a terrible idea, yet 3.7% of high school students find themselves there (sorry Jimmy Wales, I'm mad broke). I was once among them.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

What can one hope to expect? I will detail these in two parts below:

[For maximal reading pleasure please start clip at :41 or you will experience deep regret]

Part 1: Fall/Winter

Well, you'll probably start off with imagining (resentfully) your peers experiencing the wonders of keg stands, emancipation, and more importantly WiFi (these are the main reasons for higher education, right?). These feelings will peak during late August/early September especially if you choose (ever so masochistically) to venture on to social networking sites (these will soon become your vice).

The victory lappers will huddle for safety in groups in the cafeteria. Shame, fear will be rampant. You will know your kind - whatever the reason (grades, indecision, immaturity, fading hopes of Ofsaa glory trololol) you are all the same. You will dare not look others in the eye (especially not grade nines; Jesus... wasn't that one kid your reading buddy?) lest your resentment boil over in to some kind of alcohol based tantrum/downward spiral (this is inevitable but will happen later).

You will soon find a posse of fellow dejected, disenchanted types united by your collective bitterness. You will become goons, haunting two places (I am assuming only runners and running groupies read this): the gym and the library.

The gym, obviously is a haven because core-o-clock & deluded upper body strength exercises will allow you to both channel your frustrations and avoid social contact. But the library? I don't know about you, but my high school's principal thought that if we had Wi-Fi the whole high school would descend into a terrifying [farm animal] porno-ring (she was a very misguided woman, but she was probably right about that). After all the decent proxy sites get blocked you will eventually be forced to start lurking sites that are just too puzzling to bother blocking (running forums, lulza). You will probably create at least 5 TnF accounts and might even consider posting on Letsrun, or descend into harder stuff (4Chan?!).

NOOOOOOO.

Also, this might give you the opportunity to vandalize and steal copies of Runner's World and the like (no one will notice because you will be the only one who reads these).

Every couple of weeks you will go on a far-flung adventure in which you will run fairly quickly around a grass loop or two and crush the dreams of legitimate high school seniors. This part will be pretty alright, if somewhat unsatisfying. You won't feel too bad about it since payback's a bitch. After Ofsaa you'll be an empty shell of a human being, no doubt. You might even consider dropping out at this point if the only reason you came back was for the O-show glory (which occurs conveniently before the drop date).

Then December will arrive. You'll realize that you actually legit have to make some life choices. Nopenopenope.

Then suddenly - your uni apps are due and you're done school... FOREVER-until-September-but-that's-so-faaaar-away (unless you're going back for the whole year... good lord that sounds awful... seriously don't do it).

Part 2: Winter & beyond

You will march out of your high school expecting to feel like BAMF. Sunglasses off, never look back. You won't though. It will be snowy and barren. The only glory you will feel is your new-found ability to taunt any persons still involved in institutionalized learning.

So. You've been dropped from the pillars of responsibility and expectation. You could do something meaningful with your time. You could travel, get a wicked job, save the world. Or you could realize these things are much too ambitious and purposeful for the likes of you. You will catch up on a lifetime's worth of internetting. Every day will feel as long as a life age of the Earth (winter makes me want to watch Lord of the Rings).

After 6.5 days of this behaviour, you will feel crazier than Jack Torrance snowed in at the Overlook Hotel. You will need a project. A fifth year project.

Things will go downhill from here. Remember how I foreshadowed those old library habits becoming vice and that crazy alcohol induced downward spiral? This is that time. You will memorize all the facebooks, all the blogs, all the twitters, all the wikis, in the name of research. Either that or you'll become enamoured with the delusion that you are an elite runner and go overboard on mileage, core, cross-training (and inevitably become injured leading to a catastrophic cascading effect of futility and boredom). Or perhaps a strange combination of all these things. Yeah. Definitely all of these things.

You have arrived: there is a blogger account calling your name. You will find yourself hiding in a bush wearing dark sunglasses at high school meets.

Real life? What is that? Your entire existence consists of watching people run in circles like a hamster on its infinite treadmill, spiraling out of control to the rhythm of the background music (seriously, if you didn't hit play go back and do and reread this whole thing).

You will know no other way to live.

Soon you'll become enamoured with another delusion- that actual people and stuff care about your life. There is no hope now.

You have become Speedgoggles.

Okay, you actually haven't, no one can be me. But you will, no doubt have a similar trajectory should you choose the 5th year.

Moral of the story? Choose your own adventure at my behest.

Episode 152: Non-denominational winter holiday

...is a solemn time for me.

Don't get too caught up feeling sorry for me though... this is mostly just a cry for help. What kind of help?

So glad you didn't ask! The deity of your choice smote in a most furious and wrath-filled fashion my parental units' wireless router in early May. I'm trying to guilt them into fixing this situation via the most ineffective means possible; a blog that is read by neither them nor their associates.

EDIT: Not sure if it's coincidental or not, but I can now go home for Christmas.

*Seizures are actually more likely to occur due to bright, flashing lights in recovering alcoholics than in epileptics (cool/attractive physics teacher, 2007). Perhaps I should worry...

Episode 151: Muchachos & Mustachios

Remember how I said I was going to do a mustache prediction post when I 'got my shit together'?

Well, that didn't really happen; no one regrets more than I (with the small exception of that part of myself that cares about my transcript... but no one likes that guy, not even me).

But less on dissociative personality disorder (thanks wikipedia), and more on mustaches. Now, I was planning on obtaining photographic evidence, or at the very least taking notes (walking around the club with a notepad FTW), but these things, much like the prediction post were only wishful thinking. So I must rely on memory... ruh roh.

& so we begin... in order of ascending exciting-ness (naturally).

Spectator of the Year
I know an unfortunate amount about spectating, and not just 'cause I'm the biggest creep around. Woah... that's an unexpectedly emo twist to this otherwise lighthearted article. Let's pretend that never happened... anyways, the 'stache comp isn't just about those who toe the line - it's about the supporting cast as well.

As usual, there was a strong contingent spectator 'staches. In fact, I would suggest that the Windsor-Guelph showdown was reciprocated in spectator 'staches. Nominees in this category included CIS alumni Dave Weston and Matt Hulse, mid-D bro Matt MacDonald, tri-dude Ian Donald and that-one-guy-from-Mac-who-wore-nothing-but-a-pair-of-very-revealing-white-split-seam-shorts-and-body-paint (not sure if his 'stache was that good, but Imma give him the shouts anyways for his ballsy outfit... I know how tough wearing underwear in the snow is).

After much ado and head scratching, I have decided that the title of Spectator 'Stache of the Year goes to Matty 'Mac' MacDonald of the Gryphons, but only because he looked like a less musically talented version of Freddy Mercury. Ya'll can probably understand how I feel about Freddy Mercury.

The Bowling for Soup Award
If you don't get this reference, it's probably because you were much cooler than me in the year 2002 (most people, really). Anyways, this award goes to the individual whose mustache attempt was the most abysmal and embarrassing.

Unfortunately, I didn't keep any close tabs on this one. I am blind to mediocrity. Feel free to call out a friend (or perhaps yourself) in the comments section for this one.

Rookie of the Year
One might expect the pickings in this category to be rather slim (pun probably intended), but this year's crop of rookies definitely stood up to the challenge. For example, actual rookie of the year Aaron Hendrikx of Guelph was seen sporting what I like to call the Chad Kroeger (look at this photograph). Frankly, I find Chad Kroeger to be rather frightening, so I'm not quite sure what that means in terms of Hendrikx's standing. I'm more into what I like to call the Magnum PI-dadstache (please don't mention anything about the Electra complex, that's awkward). Boisvert and Cassidy also deserve honourable mentions for their respective lumberjack beards.The award for rookie of the year however (in my books at least) goes to Dylan Haight of Victoria. Was it because his 'stache was substantially better? Not particularly. Was it because he ran heroically over the killing ground of at least one of my ancestors (weird fact)? Not especially. No friends, the reason that Haight receives the rookie honour is because he told me he was a fan. Moral of the story? Brown-nosing trumps hard work and perseverance every time.

Team Title
This category was relatively easy to decide upon. While strong showings were put in by Guelph, Victoria and Regina, the clear champ was obviously Windsor. If you can't take home the big prize, you gotta go for the next-best-thing. Or as I would put it, if you have to be the bridesmaid, you gotta looks so faboo in that fugly dress that the bride will worry about a runaway groom. To each their own, I suppose. Anyways, the Lancers showed unassailable depth and coherency (Walters, Janikowski, Berkis, Aguanno, Falk) that could not be matched by any other team. Kudos... I think.

Individual Champion
This is the one you've all been waiting for, I can feel it. With last year's overwhelming champ, Kelly Wiebe of Regina out of the picture, the field was wide open (reference to the Plains probably intended). Nominees in this category include Childs of UVic, Lecours of Guelph, Ikram of Laurier, Denault of TO, and basically the entire Lancer team. But like, who won? Much like the rookie of the year category, the decision-making process was somewhat suspect. Luckily, this isn't the 2002 pairs freeskate Olympic final, so no one actually cares. The actual winner is none other than Matt Walters of the Lancers (anonymous blog commenter will be pleased). Why? He kept yelling something at me, but like that Barbara Streisand song was on so I couldn't understand shit all. So naturally I assumed that he wanted me to write something about him in my blog. Isn't that every male runner's greatest fantasy?

That is all. If you want me, I'll be nervously awaiting my inevitable nomination for the Pulitzer Prize.

EDIT: I received a rather nasty threat from a Mr. Kieran Doyle, stating that if I didn't mention him somewhere in this post he would refuse to wear split-seam shorts ever again. I don't really know who this guy thinks he is, but I truly believe that the world could be improved by an increase in the old split-seam. I suppose his filthy handlebar mustache was decent too.

Also: I'm going suffer the delusion that I am more affluent than I had imagined by pretending that this is not a coincidence.

Episode 150: This is not the content you are looking for

Saw the guy a day later in the pool, easy kick outstripped his free, sups awk, wonder if he noticed?

Sub-optimal quality complaints? I have an infinite number of excuses, so don't bother.

Episode 149: This is an episode.

Of madness.

But in all seriousness, I might post some reasonable content in a couple of days once I get my shit together. Sorry for my absence to all the true fans out there (nope, didn't think so).

But for now, I am making a request: nominees.

Nominees for what?

Mustache supremacy. That's right... you see where this is going. If not, well then my upcoming post will just give you that much more excitement.

So please, send me* the names (and possibly photographic evidence... the Flying Spaghetti Monster only knows how much I like that sort of thing) of those who you feel best (or perhaps worst) represent the filth that is Movember/CIS. Please consider the following categories**:

AUS ("out East", lobsters)
RSEQ (Quebec-land, poutine)
OUA (Centre of the Universe, suburbia)
CanWest (Left of Thunder Bay, dragons???)
Rookie of the Year



*acceptable means include in person, blog comments, 3:30 AM drunk telephone calls, or pigeon carriers.
**not an exhaustive list; I don't like to show my cards.

EDIT: I am incapable of getting my shit together; expect a report on this after the event...

Episode 148: This is not an episode.

Sometimes I refer to people in my head by their TnF usernames. Sometimes I'm tempted to externalize these aberrations, but don't because simply put, I've forgotten to be awesome. Seems like I've been forgetting a lot these days...

Anyways, sincere (or at least, as sincere as a cat like me can offer) thanks to the random spectator who did not forget to be awesome this Saturday. I don't know who you are, but you significantly improved my morale (in a rather sorry state at the time).