Sore Everything

It's been a while since I posted, and this is what has happened since I last updated:

1. I've been running at least 5 days per week, which is more running than I've done since cross country in high school.

2. Everything from my knees down hurts. Name a muscle, ligament, tendon, joint, whatever. It hurts. They all hurt. Here's an example of what I'm talking about: There's a tendon that runs along the outer side of the knee called the LCL (opposite side of the ACL). One day during an average run my LCL stiffens up and feels like it just got three inches shorter. So I stop running, because, you know, it hurts, and go home to hit the internets to see what I might have done to it. I'm looking up "knee problems" on various medical websites and I'm reading about ACL and MCL injuries and all of the nasty things that can happen to your knee. When I finally find something about the LCL, all the entry says is, "LCL: Rarely Injured." That's it. So now I'm hurting somewhere so uncommon that the great and powerful internets can't even tell me what's wrong.

3. As for the allegations of sabotage, my key witness (the dog), seems to have come down with what can only be described as "Scooter Libby Syndrome", and has forgotten what happened. So I'm dropping the case.

Finally, here's a website that one of my soccer buddies referred me to. It's got great nutrition advice for all manner of exercise and sports activities and I've already learned that carbohydrates after running = happy muscles.

Taking out the competition

Seriously. It's on. Yesterday things went to a whole new level of competition in the Russell Household. After a good workout and signs of progress in the weight department, at around 6 o'clock my lovely wife encouraged me to have a beer. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? When I was done with that one she went right to the fridge a pored me another. By itself this is nothing to complain about, in fact having a wife do this for her husband is a joy that all men hope for (it's one of the top 10 reasons I married her). However, in the context of this competition, I had my suspicions that she may have had ulterior motives in getting me to drink up. It's called Fat Tire, after all. Well, later last night my suspicions were confirmed when, in an act of "goofing around" my dear wife kicked me in the left shin. Hard. Drawing blood. And today there's a welt the diameter of a golf ball that hurts when I walk.

So this morning, bloated and hobbled, I stood on the scale and saw the weight that I had lost over the last week right back where it started. And as she kissed me goodbye this morning on her way to work, I thought I saw the glimmer of victory in her eye.

I have presented the evidence as it happened. So while she might speak encouraging words and offer a warm hand of friendly competition, watch your back. And you legs. Personally, I will take to wearing my shin guards around the house.

Naked Parties - and not the sexy kind

I know that this is extremely tangential to the mission of this blog, however since I've been standing naked on the scale more often recently, and I'm assuming others have been doing the same, this NYT article (free registration req'd) stood out this morning. Some students at the better class of East Coast institutions of higher learning thought it would be interesting to the cast off the social signaling that goes along with being clothed, and have taken to throwing parties where you only get to wear shoes. Evidently there's more sophisticated conversation and a lot less drinking - a far cry from most of the college parties you hear about, where the very ideas of "sophisticated" and "less drinking" aren't really in line with the spirit of the evening. And while I am certainly NOT advocating any of us throwing one of these parties, it is an intriguing idea.

And with those images in your head I will note that my first week of the contest has to be considered successful: I made it to the gym six times, kept the diet healthy, dropped 3 lbs., and stayed off the sauce. Hurrah.