More about Floyd

There's a good story about Floyd Landis in Play, the NYT's sports magazine. He comes across as a guy who is a bit lost at this point, forced to do rides for money with weekend warriors to pay his legal bills in an uphill fight. At this point, it's really impossible to sway many minds about the guy. If he is lying about the whole thing, he's pathological, but there's a lot of evidence that he was one of many to dope in the sport. No matter what, I'm disappointed there haven't been more riders just come clean, like David Millar.

16 miles, 2:04:03

Return of the Pigdog, Ankiel Edition

I've been a very bad blogger. Just like running, it's very easy to get out of the habit. I've found more of my blog-like impulses lately have gone to either Facebook or Twitter (the thing on the left side that updates the minutia of my day). Still, I cannot abandon the Pigdog. This weekend, a story unfolded that really encapsulated what I think fighting the Pigdog is all about: The return of Rick Ankiel. Rewind to 2000, I remember watching this guy pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals utterly lose his shit pitching in the playoffs. If the mascot came out, he would have hit the moose with a wild pitch. It was an amazing, compelling meltdown. Normally, people just fade away to live, I guess, either a life of regret or move on to something else. Ankiel, after not regaining his control and suffering injuries, simply took a different route: he converted into an outfielder. Now I suck at baseball. In Little League, I was a good fielder and had an OK arm, but I could absolutely not hit well. I'm not certain why. The idea of being a major-league caliber pitcher, then turning around to be an outfielder is beyond the pale. This weekend, he hit three homers for the Cardinals after making it back from a couple years in the minors. That's astounding. Dude could have easily hung it up but kept plugging away, fighting against all odds. After all the Bonds stuff and whatever, it's pretty inspiring to beat the odds like that and attain, at least for this moment, a big measure of redemption. If Hollywood dudes are circling this story, they're nuts.

Turning the Corner

Tonight was probably the best run I've had since The Crumple. I got out later, when the temperature was lower and the humidity wasn't as bothersome. Heat acclimation is probably setting in, too. Hopefully, I'll get in run along the lake in Chicago.

5.75 miles, 44:53

The Tour de Dope

The Tour is over. Alberto Contador, or "the little Spanish guy" as I call him, finished in the yellow jersey. It has to be a hollow victory considering the doping circus the Tour became. I'm not sure if all the expulsions and positives are signs that cycling is truly serious about getting rid of doping, or more evidence that the sport has a serious culture problem. I know at this point I wouldn't be surprised if any cyclist tested positive for EPO, blood transfusions, testosterone, the cow blood stuff, whatever. I wouldn't be shocked if in the next few weeks we find out more info about the little Spanish guy and Dr. Fuentes. The Times had a good story today about the denial and coverup culture in the peloton. Until that stops, I'd expect more of the same.

11 miles, 1:26
5.75 miles, 44:33

Failing to Train

Leaving work this week, I grabbed a copy of the June issue of Runner's World, which had an article by Amby Burfoot about my beloved Comrades Marathon. The article itself, written by a very experienced runner who even won the Boston Marathon in 1968, was pretty good. He got his ass kicked, had to walk a big chunk of it and was completely cooked by the time he hit the Polly Shortts. He called it a "personal worst." But thing is he didn't train for it. He'd run a half-decent half marathon before it and just figured he'd coast. You'd think his lesson would be the age-old "Respect the distance." Instead, in a sidebar, Burfoot tells the masses "it doesn't take any special training to run Comrades -- no more than you would do for a marathon." Um, this is from a guy who covered the 54 miles in 11:05, which wouldn't even have been an official finisher until they eased the restrictions a couple years ago.


5.75 miles, 46:12

Brazilian is Badwater Champ

As suspected, my man Pacheco met the Pigdog somewhere near mile 118 in Death Valley. I have to say, I was a little disappointed the temperatures were a somewhat chilly 113. What global warming? Anyway, Brazilian rookie Valmir Nunes won Badwater in a course record 23 hours. Beefcake extraordinaire and self-proclaimed "ultramarathon man" Dean Karnazes turned in a pedestrian 10th place performance, losing out to NYC's Blake Benke, who I should point out for the MBAs that found the time to train while doing his second year at NYU.

5:75, 45:06

Going Out Too Fast

There's no worse feeling than going out too fast during a long race. There comes a point in time when it's quite clear you've screwed up and the ensuing miles will suck out loud. I have a sneaking suspicion this might be happening to Badwater virgin Jorge Pachecho, who was leading the race after 42 miles. Jorge's a machine operator in LA. My guess is he starts to feel funny pretty soon.

5.75 miles, 45:08

Septugenarian vs Pigdog

I truly hope I'm able to run as I get older, right up until the end, really. It makes me happy to read old guys who are still at it, although I've noted some of them came to running late in life. Maybe there's only so many miles (on asphalt) in a body. In any case, a 70-year-old laser eye surgeon in Fresno is taking on the Badwater Ultra, a 135-mile race through Death Valley. Robin Smit will be the oldest person in the field when the race kicks off Monday. He wants to do the course in under 48 hours, which will get him a coveted Badwater belt buckle. In seems like Robin is ready: he did a 135-mile "training run" a couple weeks ago, and he's fond of running when it's 109 degrees out. He should do just fine.

5.75 miles, 47:10

Cyclist vs Dog

This is really taking on the pigdog.

5.75 miles: 45:12 (yesterday)
5:75 miles: 45:26

Devil Time

The Tour finally got to the mountains today. Rasmussen rode away with the race, but it seems like he doesn't have it to keep the yellow jersey, at least judging by what Bonnie DeSimone wrote. I'm waiting to see what my man Sam Abt has to say. Today's coverage did yield both the first streaker -- a "hors d'categorie" gross-out, Bob Roll said -- and the first appearance of Didi Senft, the German dude who dresses like the devil and hops up and down over the last couple kilometers of mountain stages. I didn't run long today, but I felt at times like Didi was going to show up to remind me how hot and humid it was.

5.75 miles, 45:54

The Sprinters

The first few years I watched the Tour, I only paid attention to Lance and the fight for GC. But I'm now into the more obscure parts of it -- who will win the polka dot jersey? -- particularly the crazy sprinters. JPS notwithstanding, cyclists have always struck me as pansies. It's not just the outfits, but the ones I've come into contact with several times out running who are all about talking shit to runners, etc, only to ride away in their spandex. In any case, that doesn't hold for the sprinters, the wild men like Stuart O'Grady, Robbie McEwen and Tom Boonen. These guys are insane, hurling themselves to the finish without much regard to safety during the flat stages. McEwen showed today what he was made of by going over his handlebars with 15 miles to go, only to get up, dust himself off, rejoin the peloton and win the stage.

8 miles, 1:05:10

Time for the Tour

It is reassuring this time of the year to turn on OLN -- I won't call it Versus -- and here Phil Ligett and Paul Sherwin. It's time for the Tour. Of course, it's a bit of an awkward year, considering the entire sport's reputation is in toilet over the obviously rampant drug use. It should be interesting how they cover Floyd's limbo. I have to admit, I found it all a bit charming, the idea of these skinny dudes getting hooked up to IVs by Belgian masseurs in dodgy hotel rooms. Alas, I guess it's a new era. I guess I'll root for Levi Leipheimer this year, but it's probably Vino's year. I'm OK with that, particularly because his team is funded by Khazakstan's semi-despot leader.

5.75 miles, 45:26