Reasons to Wake Up in the Morning

So my friends were all like "We're doing this pub run on Saturday morning, you should join us!"  I was thinking "Wait, when does it start?"  Turns out it started at 8 AM.  I'm like "Do I look like I went to a school with a Division I football program?  I never gotten up early just so I could start drinking!"

But I signed up for the Baltimore Running St. Patrick's Day Pub Run (not to be confused with any 5k events) and it was a great decision.  First of all, it's a "variable distance race."  That is, there are some bars you're supposed to visit, but there's no course and there's no specific order that you're supposed to visit the bars.  They get everyone lined up at the start and say "Go!"  Then a mass of people (like a >100 people) just start running through Fells Point (we started at Slainte).  Everyone's running down different streets, wearing green shirts, wearing Guinness beads... it's unlike any race you've considered running.

So you run to some bars, but they're not actually open.  Instead, they have a table set up like a water station at a real race with beer cups on it.  The stations had Natty Boh mostly, but also some Guinness.  My personal favorite was the fact that they had water bottles full of Irish whiskey.  So you squirt a shot of Jamison in your mouth, chase it with a beer, and then start jogging again.  You do it with your friends, so you're not running too fast.  Plus there's a bunch of other people running around the city doing this too.

I generally had at least a beer at each stop and usually a little whiskey.  A couple stops had Bailey's in water bottles too (my friend made himself a small Irish car bomb at one stop).  We generally know our way around Baltimore, so even if we didn't know the bar, we could figure out a good way to get there based on the address.  So we were pretty efficient, our race was 5.86 miles long, but it took us 66:14 (11:18 pace) to run because we hit all the stops to drink and we jogged nice and slow.

Seriously, it was so much fun.  I actually refused to believe that we'd gone 5 miles, it just seemed to fly by (especially because we ran to the furthest bar and worked our way back).  At the end, they gave us a free Guinness at the bar (which, if you're willing to pay a little money, can easily become an Irish car bomb).  If you live in Baltimore, you should absolutely run this "race" next year!

Things You See While Running

So I've become something of a distance runner over the last year.  It's a pretty good sport, really clears your mind after a long day at work.  However, if you're going to run over the winter, you're going to have to do some running after dark.  If you're going to do some running after dark in Baltimore, you're going to have to run towards the harbor.

So it's winter, it's probably pretty chilly, so the harbor promenade is essentially deserted.  However, one of the unique experiences of running on the chilly, deserted harbor promenade is that every so often you run through a break-up.  Literally, you'll come up behind a couple walking together.  You're not really paying attention, but when you get close you can feel the tension in the air.  It's pretty clear that you're definitely interrupting.  You probably startle them as you pass, but it's over quickly enough - for you.

This has probably happened a half-dozen times or so for me.  I think it's a damn shame.  On a fall evening the harbor is really quiet, the air is crisp, it's really a nice place for a stroll.  But there's no one out there but me and the occasional couple breaking up.   I guess you see a lot of people walking their dogs too.  But my point is, it's a shame that people that get outside and enjoy the night a little more.  It's not nearly as dangerous as you think (at least down near the harbor).  Don't wait until you're breaking up with your significant other, get outside for a walk!

Advances in Medical Science

As any dedicated reader of this blog knows, I often use this blog as a vehicle to promote products that have made a significant contribution to society (see this post for example).  This is such an instance.

Humans have been getting and coping with blisters for literally millions of years, but only recently have I discovered the ultimate blister treatment.  I couldn't have done this without my medical-student roommate (who is like 99% of a doctor; I mean, he's already matched to his residency so it's pretty much just a formality now, right?).  My roommate introduced me to:

Band-Aid brand "Advanced Healing Blister"

Now aside from the deficiencies in product naming ("Advanced Healing Blister" sounds like a blister that is in the final healing stages, not an advanced treatment for healing blisters), this is a fantastic product.  Eureka!  Further, in-depth, research has taught me that these are "Advanced Healing Blister Cushions."  Still not a very good product name... maybe that's why I've never heard of them, I just can't imagine an marketing jingle based on that phrase.

Anyway, let me contrast this treatment with historical blister treatment:

In the past, when you got a blister, you'd pop it, put some Neosporin on it, and put a regular band-aid on it.  After a couple hundred yards of vigorous walking the band-aid comes off and sticks to your sock.  Your foot continues to hurt... a lot if you're wearing the same shoes that caused the blister.

With this product?  You pop the blister, stick one of these bad boys on it, and you're good to go.  I ran 10 miles with one of these cushions over a blister, it not only stayed in place, but the blister didn't hurt or get worse!!  It's this kind of innovation (or, since I don't know who invented these cushions, this kind of large corporate theft of a small company's idea) that made this country great in the first place!  Thank you corporate America for allowing me to run without pain.

These adhesive cushion things cost more than your average Band-Aids, but they work infinitely better.  If you're any sort of athlete or just someone who has uncomfortable shoes, you owe it to yourself to stock up on these "Advanced Healing Blister Cushions" immediately.

Considering a Gentrifying Something? Read This Essay First

Cold, windy Sunday afternoons are for reading. It seems to me that one of the great tragedies of our times is that few 25-year-old men are willing to say that. Or better yet, not enough parents of any age are willing to explain that to their children and then miss a football game to visit the library (or it's modern, yuppie equivalent - Barnes & Noble).

I spent over 5 awesome hours in Barnes & Noble, I only left because they were closing. I read The Economist, The Atlantic Monthly, flipped through National Geographic, some sort of skeptic magazine, followed by (unintentional irony alert) a magazine called The Believer. I forget why I pulled The Believer off the shelf, but I want to draw your attention to a fantastic essay by Eula Biss: No-Man's-Land.

I highly recommend that you read the essay before continuing. But in case it's not cold and windy, I'll summarize quickly: It's a great essay, comparing the displacement of the Native Americans by white settlers as described by Laura Ingalls Wilder with the gentrification of neighborhoods in American cities. It doesn't make gentrification out to be entirely evil, which is nice, because I don't think I'm all that evil. The essay really hits its stride when it comes to being a "pioneer" of gentrification.

I can relate to having mixed feelings about being a pioneer of gentrification. I would estimate that the immediate area around my house is no more than 75% gentrified. There are still drug deals happening in the vicinity. I'm torn between feelings of guilt about pricing some families out of the neighborhood and desire for some sort of harm to befall drug dealers everywhere. I have a very Jermaine Clement (à la Flight of the Conchords) approach to dealing with drug dealers, I exact my revenge by thinking very mean thoughts about them.

Biss also brings up the fear that you are expected to maintain when you live in an urban area. About how your parents and friends and people you don't even know say "Isn't that kind of a dangerous?" when you talk about walking outside at night or going for bike ride.

For example, take this quote from the essay:

Gangs are real, but they are also conceptual. The word gang is frequently used to avoid using the word black in a way that might be offensive. For instance, by pairing it with a suggestion of fear.

It took me some time living in Baltimore (growing up and growing used to the city) before, as a senior at JHU, I finally started to notice the casual racism that surrounded the campus. That everyone casually used the word "ghetto" until it lost the significance of that word should car (the utter shame we should all feel for allowing such a thing to exist in America). Sure, for most upper-middle-class kids, ALL of Baltimore is a ghetto. It certainly doesn't look like where they grew up. It's all so poor, so crime-ridden, so... black.

Not that these students shouldn't be wary. There are muggings near campus, students can get hurt by crime, and if you have no idea how to tell a questionable neighborhood from a bad neighborhood it's no surprise that you're scared whenever you're out of sight of campus. That does not, however, excuse the remarks and actions that stereotype the vast majority of Baltimore's residents as being untrustworthy, drug-dealing or -using, and dangerous.

There is another passage in the essay that I found particularly striking.

We are afraid, my husband suggests, because we have guilty consciences. We secretly suspect that we might have more than we deserve.

That sentiment is hauntingly familiar to me. I've lived in this city long enough to feel like a real resident, but I still don't feel accepted by the city. Lately I've taken up distance running and as I've started to increase the length of my runs, I've started to push back the boundaries of my intimate exposure to Baltimore. Once I ran back towards south Baltimore from Patterson Park on Gough. Gough is legitimately crosses through what most people consider to be bad neighborhoods. There's even a four- or five-block stretch that passes through a housing project.

I didn't detour around the housing project, I just kept on trucking. For one thing, I was running, I had nothing on me but a key to my front door. I'm a tall man and although I don't think anyone considers me imposing, the world is a much more frightening place for a petite woman. So I ran right through the housing project.

As I ran through, I was struck with the familiar question: "Do you think these people hate me? Do they resent not only that I have so much more in material terms, but is it particularly offensive that I am even bringing my bourgeois hobby of running into their neighborhood?"

I'd like my running through their neighborhood to be interpreted in a positive way. Interpreted that I treat this housing project as just another city street and don't shun it just because it's residents are poor and predominantly (completely?) African-American. I'd like there to be some way to telegraph "I got a lot of what I have through hard work," but instead I'm sure just look like another rich, young asshole who can't wait to make them move further from my expensive coffee shops.

I feel this tremendous desire to help them by giving them good financial or educational advice or even personal advice. Heck, I'd love to explain to the kids why I'm running (Because it feels fucking great! Because it gets you in shape! Because it's about hard work and the sense of achievement that comes from completing something difficult! Because I don't want to end up with type II diabetes!).

There's no way for me to actually achieve any of this. The chasm that divides us socially is too much for me to bridge. I have to face that this sort of interaction is too far outside my comfort zone and if a conversation did happen, I would not be able to effectively communicate.

I run on, and the next thought is, of course, why do I feel I need to try to spread happiness by forcing my middle-class values on poor people? I think this, of course, because I am running and when you are running you have a lot time to try to think about things that aren't how tired you feel or how far you have left to go.

The answer to this question definitely points back to Biss's (the essayist) point about the feeling of "having more than I deserve." I feel guilty for having more than I deserve, but more subtly, I probably feel the desire to pass these values on to people poorer than myself in hopes of justifying my beliefs. If they adopt my values and also find success, then perhaps I am not party to some terrible crime. I'm just a person who has played by the rules, and here's living proof that anyone can succeed with these rules, so clearly the game wasn't necessarily rigged in my favor.

But I can't escape the fact that the game is partly rigged in my favor, even if I don't actively try to take advantage of it, I'm still a white, middle-class man. So I run on. I cross Central Avenue, reach Little Italy. Back on familiar turf, back to a neighborhood where you can take a date and purchase over-priced Italian food, wine, and dessert. Probably not much more than 2 miles to go on this run, I'm almost done!

I guess that's the other reason to run; because you can make visible, evident progress and you're always moving forward.

Excuse me, would you like something disgusting to drink?

Excuse me, I can see you've just finished a vigorous workout. Do you realize that it's really important to replace your carbohydrates and protein as quickly as possible? Here, let me offer you this totally disgusting beverage.



We call it Clif Shot Recovery drink. We claim that this pale orange concoction is "mango-orange" flavored. We certainly did not come up with that after making the interns taste it and then try to name the flavor, we totally intended to create a "mango-orange" flavored drink. Notice the pleasant agave-rubber scent and the chemical aftertaste, I bet you didn't know that your body could get nutrition from something that tastes like this!

Go ahead, finish the drink! Just hold back that gag reflex for a few more gulps and your body will be in the fast-lane headed towards Recoveryville!