The Lazy Snail?

Training twice a day for most of the last several weeks has been a very effective way for me to get in shape. I gain more confidence in this fact with each passing day - as my workout times get faster, or my distances stretch longer, or my strokes and strides become more efficient. It's definitely happening - I'm certain of it.

The trouble is, if you were a casual observer, you'd have absolutely no idea.

I tend to keep my athletic exploits very low-profile amongst co-workers or in the general public. A few of my professional acquaintances are aware that I do some type of exercise program, but they don't have any concept of the magnitude of my compulsion. Others may suspect that my lifestyle is different somehow, but they don't know the exact nature of it, and they've seemingly decided against asking any specific questions, in case the answers make them uncomfortable. (In other words, I'm the triathlete version of Ryan Seacrest.)

So while I'm working my body into the best shape possible, the rest of the world is mostly oblivious. And I thought I was OK with that, until a conversation with my 5-year-old daughter unexpectedly struck a nerve.

We were looking at our tropical fish, observing the ivory-shelled snail who is the latest addition to our tank. Then we had the following conversation:

*
Daughter: I like our snail. None of my friends have a pet snail.

Me: I like him, too. He's like Spongebob's pet, Gary.

Daughter: I named him “Lazy.”

Me: What? Why’d you pick that?

Daughter: Because he moves really slow all the time.

Me: Sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s lazy. Remember, he’s carrying that big shell around all the time. Being a snail might be hard work. Or maybe he’s already taken a long walk around the tank this morning, and now he’s resting.

Daughter: Hmm …

Me: Plus, we have no idea how he compares to other snails. For all we know, he may be a very athletic snail. He might be way more active than we think.

Daughter. Oh.

*
From there, I tried a transition to some kind of lesson about not being able to judge someone’s ability by his appearance, but I was only a few seconds into my spiel before my 3-year-old came over and distracted all of us (as is her gift). Before I knew it, they dashed off to the craft table together, and the moment was gone.

As usual, it was an opportunity for quality parenting that fell by the wayside on my watch. And remember what I said in my last post about how my training makes me irrational about things? Let’s call this little story Exhibit B.

When you start sympathizing with snails, you know your life has taken a strange turn.

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Tunnel Vision

Note: this is the same thing I posted yesterday. The only update is a link to the Cervelo site for non-tri readers out there.

*
Before we get to today’s post, I’ve got a brief administrative update …

I’m going to shift gears somewhat with the formats of my posts for the next few weeks. Life’s moving pretty fast right now: I’m making several out-of-town business trips this month, spending a lot of weekend time on a remodeling project, and trying to help manage the kids at home without falling asleep on the living room floor. Plus – and I may have mentioned this already – I’ve got a couple of races on the horizon that I’m training like crazy for.

In light of all that, the only options I see for updating this blog are by writing posts that are 1) shorter, 2) less frequent, or 3) both. I’ll get around to longer posts when I can, but for now I’m taking a “less is more” approach. With that in mind …

***

Occasionally I suspect that all of this training makes me a little bit irrational. Then I’ll have a brief interaction with someone who quickly confirms it.

Case in point: I recently subscribed to Triathlete Magazine. (Also, I’ve let my Runners’ World subscription expire. I could make a whole post out of this, but I’ll spare you my RW rant for now. As for the symbolism of switching my loyalties - this isn’t quite up there with Anakin Skywalker strapping on the breathing mask after falling in the lava pit, but it seems fairly significant nonetheless.) And here is the first issue that arrived at my house this week:


Pretty easy on the eyes, don’t you think? I thought so, too. But here’s the irrational part …

I looked at the cover, quickly said “Whoa!” under my breath, and set it down on the counter. A few minutes later, my wife walked by, picked up the magazine, and we had the following exchange:

Her: You’ve got to be kidding.

Me: What?

Her: Nice cover.

Me: I know … isn’t that a totally hot bike?

The sad part is, I wasn’t joking. The first thing my eyes were drawn to was the bike. That’s what the endless miles and laps have done to me: I’ve become more focused on training and tri-gear than I am on a beautiful woman (who also happens to be a world-class triathlete, by the way) wearing nothing but a bikini and, um … actually, now that I study it, those glasses and shoes are pretty hot, too.

I keep telling myself that this tunnel vision is a temporary development, that will subside once my races pass and my training tapers back down again. Because otherwise … on second thought, I’d better not speculate any further. There are just some roads that I’d rather not travel.

Finally, on a related note, I’ve been shopping for Cervelos lately. That’s another topic that deserves it’s own post – and I’ll be sure to tell that story as events warrant.

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How Lucky I Am!

Two quick observations before today’s post …

* Remember one year ago, when I wrote about the miserable weather conditions at the Napa Valley Marathon, and how I might have run a sub-three-hour marathon if not for the fierce headwinds and freezing rain? Well, at last Sunday’s Napa Marathon, conditions were absolutely ideal: sunny, calm, temps in the high 40s to low 50s in the morning. I just thought that warranted mentioning.

* Also, I know I’m a week behind on this one, but how do you like Kellie Pickler’s great new pair of … shoes? I understand her decision to play coy about the whole matter – but didn’t she realize that hundreds of websites would immediately do this kind of comparative research in hopes of blowing her story to shreds? I mean … Kellie does know about the Internet, right? Um … right?

At any rate, I think my feelings about attractive breasts have been fairly well-documented in the past - but in this case, Kellie’s new look kind of gives me the creeps. She had such a natural, wholesome image working very well for her, and now she’s transforming herself into some kind of younger, ditzier Dolly Parton. I’ll just never understand what Hollywood does to people.

OK, enough for now. On with the post …

***

Last weekend, my wife and I took our two oldest kids to a local theater company presentation of Seussical, the Musical, based on the collective works of Dr Seuss. The plot is an amalgamation of several stories, starring Horton the Elephant, the Cat in the Hat, Gertrude McFuzz (who was certainly much cuter than I remember from the book), and the residents of Whoville.

The tales are intertwined and told concurrently (or as my perplexed 5-year-old daughter told me halfway through the first act, “They’re mixing up all the stories!”), and reach a dramatic crescendo just before the close of Act 1, when almost every terrible thing imaginable starts happening to Horton.

He’s lost the clover he protecting (where all of the Whos live) after it was stolen by a group of vigilante monkeys and flown 1000 miles away by a black-bottomed eagle. He’s stuck on a nest in a tree - first through ice storms then through searing heat - waiting for the return of the deadbeat Mayzie bird who tricked him into hatching her egg. He’s about to be captured by hunters and sold to the circus. Saddest of all, he is oblivious to the affections of Gertrude, who undergoes a Kellie Pickler-like tail augmentation procedure just to gain his attention.

Of course, in the second act, everything works out just fine (it is Dr Seuss, after all): the Whos are saved, Horton and Gertrude find happiness, and children are encouraged to think whatever kinds of wonderful thinks they can imagine.

Overall, the musical was exactly what you expect from small-town theater productions: big on charm, shallow on talent, but a nice enough way to spend an afternoon. Our family went home happy, and I didn’t give the story much thought for the next few days.

Then on Tuesday I started exchanging e-mails with a training partner of mine. He was forced to sit out a 10K last weekend due to injury, and he told me he was going to take a few days off to recover.

The first e-mail exchange went like this:

Me: How are you feeling? Still injured?

Him: Still injured. Very very depressed. Angry.

And after I read his reply, a funny thing happened: I immediately thought of the Cat in the Hat.

Just prior to the close of Act 1 in Seussical, as all of those awful things are happening to Horton, the Cat in the Hat starts singing a tune called “Think of How Lucky You Are!”:

*
When the news is all bad,
When you're sour and blue,
When you start to get mad
You should do what I do-

Tell yourself
How lucky you are!

When your life's going wrong
When the fates are unkind
When you're limping along
And get kicked from behind
Tell yourself how lucky you are...

Why decry a cloudy sky
An empty purse
A crazy universe?
My philosophy is simply
Things could be worse!

So be happy you're here.
Think of life as a thrill
And if worse comes to worse
(As we all know it will)
Thank your lucky star
You've gotten this far...

How lucky you are!
How lucky, how lucky you are!

*
So I copied and pasted the lyrics into an e-mail, and sent it off to him. I also wrote: This song probably doesn’t help, but your depression reminded me of it. Hope you’re feeling better soon.

Right around that time, it also occurred to me that it might behoove me to take my own advice every now and then. I need to remember how lucky I am.

I’ve spent the past few posts around here acting like Hamlet over a situation that countless people would love to have as their primary problem in life: the difficulty of doing back to back races. More accurately, fantastic back to back races. In the grand scheme of things, my dilemma is about as significant as a speck of dust on a clover in a field of clovers 100 miles wide. But because it’s my problem, (and for that matter, my blog), I’ve managed to make it sound like a two-act tragedy in the making.

Until now, that is.

I’m reminding myself of how fortunate I am simply for the ability to participate in endurance sports, let alone to enter and travel to big races. I’m thankful that my job hasn’t consumed my time and energy for training (at least, not yet). I’m lucky that my family tolerates me running and riding to the far reaches of Monterey County when I could be spending my time more productively at home.

And I’m grateful for everyday I get to spend in the beautiful area I live, doing the things I love, with the people I adore.

Yes, some things will continue to be difficult, and tough times of one sort or another certainly lie ahead. But sometimes we need a reminder of how much we have in relation to how much we lack. And if that lesson has to be delivered by a 6-foot cat with a striped top hat for me to understand, so be it.

On the athletic front, my friend is still out of commission for a while – perhaps including the Big Sur Marathon. I guess it takes more than a cute little song to fix a serious injury. He’s still depressed, but we’re optimistic that he’ll bounce back soon.

As for me, I’m going head first into the grinder. The workouts for the next several weeks get gradually tougher as my body gets progressively more weary. I’ll continue to stress out about completing all the training I’d like to without going over the edge and injuring myself in the process. Just because your mindset is changed, that doesn’t mean the sport gets any easier.

It just means I’m through griping about it.

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Three Reasons

“Give me one reason to stay here – and I’ll turn right back around … “

- Tracy Chapman, “Give Me One Reason”


I mentioned that there were some more tangible reasons (you know, besides me being an idiot) for signing up for this April’s Big Sur Marathon, despite the fact that it’s a mere six days before I race one of the most challenging triathlons in California. So if you’ll indulge me, I’ll spell everything out here.

On that note: if you don’t happen to like large doses of overwrought, self-serving introspection … then maybe this isn’t the post for you. Feel free to click to another blog now – no hard feelings. See you next time.

(waiting … )

Is anybody still here? OK then – on with the post. In regards to the opening quote - I’m doing Tracy two better. My justifications for running Big Sur fall into three distinct categories. And when I say distinct, I mean it – these three categories have almost nothing in common, except for their collaborative influence on my decision-making process.

**

1. Ego

I’ve mentioned many times how Big Sur has always been my favorite race. It’s also the biggest event on Monterey’s running calendar, and to some degree, locals use it as a measure of whether someone is a “real” runner. It’s almost always the first question people ask when somebody finds out that I’m a runner: have you run Big Sur?

I usually reply that yes, I ran the race last year. And I like saying it, sometimes for no other reason than to validate my status as a runner. When pressed, I’ll say that I’ve run it a handful of times – and that’s usually enough to satisfy anyone’s inquiry.

What I almost never say is that I’ve run Big Sur 11 times, and 10 times consecutively. However, just because I don’t volunteer this information, that doesn’t mean it’s not important to me. I love knowing that I have a longstanding history with one of the most difficult marathons in the country - and yes, that’s basically an ego thing.

If you had asked me three years ago about my lifetime goals in running, my first answer would have been, “Set the record for running the most consecutive Big Sur Marathons.” I still have that notion in the back of my mind, although it’s going to take at least a few more decades to accomplish (There are about 30 “Grizzled Vets” who have run all 21 BSIMs, and they drop ranks even more slowly than Supreme Court justices. One guy even did the marathon on crutches one year. This isn’t exactly a group that is getting soft as they collectively age.).

Then again, I totally anguished over this year’s race, and sometimes when I think about this particular goal, I feel overwhelmed with guilt. I fear becoming one of those runners who just enters the (quite expensive, by the way) race each year not out of enjoyment, but merely because he’s a slave to the streak he created. So I honestly don’t know whether I’ll see this goal through or not. For now, the streak stays alive one more year.

Of course, the other noteworthy lesson to this little story is this: I’ll never be happy.


2. Professional Duty

It occurs to me that I may have mentioned this once or twice before – but I write a running column for the Monterey Herald. In that capacity, the Big Sur Marathon is a frequent topic of my writing.

Each of the past two years, I’ve written preview articles before Big Sur, and “insider” race reports afterward (like this and this). And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would be somewhat difficult to write about a race that I didn’t actually witness or participate in. Call it a reporter’s intuition.

Due to the point-to-point course on California’s narrow Highway 1, it’s nearly impossible to casually drive or ride along the course during the race. So if I wanted to write about Big Sur, I had two options: 1) Wake up at 3:30, get on a participant bus to the start line, stand around in the cold until the start, wait for an hour to ride a staff bus to the finish area, then hang around killing time until the runners started arriving, or … 2) Just run the dang race.

I don’t have many responsibilities as a writer, but I feel that reporting on Big Sur is one of them. Besides, if I didn’t do it, I’d risk disappointing the 10 to 15 readers who regularly follow my column. The lesson here: I have a hard time saying “no”.


3. Spiritual Calling

This is another topic that I keep close to the vest; but I’ve always felt a strong spiritual component to my running (and triathlon) exploits. There are so many parallels between the Christian walk and athletic training – and the marathon race in particular – that they are simply too numerous to mention here. But I contemplate them frequently, including almost every time I’m running.

At one time in my life, I thought it was my calling to share these concepts with other runners, and use the Big Sur Marathon as an outreach device to help other athletes experience the spiritual power and wonder of this activity I love so much. So I organized prayer services before the race, and lobbied the marathon board to allow a pre-race benediction to be spoken at the start line.

(And yes, I fully recognize the paradox of me speaking in spiritual terms about a race that I recently referred to as a booty call. Can we all just agree that I’m a complicated guy, and not try to analyze it any further? Because I’m afraid of what we might uncover.)

The outreach was a decent idea, except for one thing: I was terrible at it. After a few years, it became clear to everyone involved that I just didn’t possess the dedication or passion to make it successful. So I eventually folded my tent and didn’t bother trying anymore.

But one thing remains from that initial dose of inspiration: the pre-race benediction. At the last 4 Big Sur Marathons, I’ve had the privilege of reading it over the PA system just prior to the race. The gesture is fairly well-received, and the marathon board even gets e-mails about what a nice touch it is. I don’t really take pride in too many things I’ve done, but as far as my accomplishments are concerned – as crazy as it sounds - I’d put this one-minute prayer up near the top of the list.

And sure, if I decided to skip the race, I could just ask someone else to say the benediction, and it would probably work out fine (even better, maybe). But over the past few years, I’ve come to feel like that one minute is my small contribution to the race, and from a selfish standpoint (that ego thing again) I’d like to maintain ownership of it for a little while longer.

I don’t even know if there’s a lesson to be learned from this - except that if you’re looking for someone to lead your revival, I’m probably the last person you should ask.

**

So there you have it: my basis for running this year’s marathon. And it only took 1300 words. (Believe it or not, this is the edited version.)

The truth is, none of these reasons would have compelled me to throw my hat into Big Sur on its own. But collectively, they generated enough interest and longing that I just didn’t have the heart to sit out this year’s race.

Of course, all of these factors will still (presumably) be in play next year. Will I make the same decision about the 2008 race? I honestly have no idea. For now, I’m just trying to make it through the next few months of 2007 in one piece.

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Idiot Update

On the off-chance that you still have any shadow of a doubt regarding my idiot status, I have a brief update to report in regards to the previous post.

(Also, on a related note: I’ve examined that mistress analogy from about 100 different angles by now. This seems like a good time to finally put the thing to rest, doesn’t it? I’ll try to lay off it from now on, I promise.)

Anyway, no more than 48 hours after I described how – due to my presumed entry in the Big Sur Marathon - I was limiting myself to the Olympic distance triathlon the following weekend at Wildflower, a situation arose that a more sensible person would probably have avoided.

Here’s the short version: when some training partners backed out of their commitments to race at Wildflower, I had the opportunity to switch my entry from the Olympic distance to the long course. That would be almost double the distance, on one less rest day.

A smarter person would have politely declined. I, on the other hand, jumped at the chance. So now I'm on the hook for a hilly marathon and a killer half-Ironman within six days. And yes, I’m planning on racing both of them hard. It’s not exactly the intelligent decision, but it’s mine.

A short while ago, I left a comment for Stronger that said, “Wildflower doesn’t care if you’re sad.” It occurs to me now that Wildflower doesn’t care if I’m stupid, either. The course won’t have any mercy on me just because I’m fatigued from a recent marathon.

Yes, I made a scheduling decision that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone – but now there’s nothing to do but prepare for the tasks at hand. I will say this: it’s been a long time since I’ve taken on a challenge of this magnitude. While I’m not fearful, doubtful, or overly anxious about the situation, I will admit to being … I guess “concerned” is a good word. But “excited” is another. And all of a sudden, I’m very, very focused.

The morning after I switched races, I was on my bike at 5AM for a 40-mile ride when it was 34 degrees outside. It was - by far - the coldest weather I’ve ever ridden in (Colorado readers, feel free to laugh now), and there's no Earthly way I would have dragged myself out there if not for this predicament I've created. But suffering through the cold while climbing a 1400-ft hill in the dark just felt like the proper way to kick off the hardcore training period that lies ahead.

Afterwards, the ride certainly hadn’t made me any less stupid, but it did help me feel slightly more prepared. Between now and May, it’s a compromise I’ll gladly accept.

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Big Sur Booty Call

"Well it winds up broken up, really such a shame -
But why not take a chance, everything's a game -
And it don't stop, hooking up, nothing's gonna change ...

Consequences are a lot but hey - That's the way things go ... "

- The Offspring, "Hit That"

**
Long term relationships can be complicated things. Especially if you’re trying to develop one while simultaneously extricating yourself from another.

For example, allow me to describe a situation that might sound familiar. Maybe it’s even happened to you, or to someone you know.

Let’s say you were in a long-term relationship – like, more than 10 years long. Then after a while the whole thing felt unsatisfying, the spark gradually faded, and you found yourself incredibly attracted to someone else. You finally decided to leave your first love and run away with your mistress. Ever since then, it has felt like the best decision you ever made.

But neither of you relocated, so you still cross paths from time to time, and you have a lot of mutual acquaintances. It’s awkward at first when you hear people talk about your first love, and realize that she’s not really part of your life anymore. Gradually, however, your feelings soften, and you don’t have any lingering resentment when her name comes up in conversation.

Sometimes you even see her in the company of others, or look at old pictures of the two of you together, but there aren't any hard feelings - and you can still appreciate her for the beautiful person she is. Plus, you’re still very happy with your new relationship, so you don’t really have any regrets about the way things turned out.

Then one spring afternoon, you see your first love in the grocery store, and she looks drop-dead gorgeous. You start chatting and laughing and catching up on things, and the banter reminds you of how much fun it was just to hang out together back in the day. You remember all the good memories you shared – and you realize that you’re still very much attracted to her.

You think about her for the rest of the day. Later that night, you send her a text message: Can I come over? And before you even get the reply, you’re packing a small bag to take with you, because you know what’s coming: OK.

So you go ahead and get your booty call – but afterwards, you’re not sure what to make of it. Does this mean you’re back together? Are you going to have more rendezvous like this in the future, or was it just a one-time shot for the sake of nostalgia?

The only thing you’re certain of is that it makes your current relationship – which, just to re-emphasize, you are extremely happy with – a lot more complicated. You’ve always understood that you can’t devote yourself to one love if you’re fooling around with another – but (since, by the way, you’re an idiot) that didn’t stop you from trying, and now you’ll probably have to learn it the hard way.

All of which serves as a very long buildup to a somewhat (by now) obvious announcement: I’m signed up for the Big Sur Marathon this April. I’m also the guy who is eternally torn between his mistress and his first love.

This is the analogy I’ve beaten to death, including at the end of last year when I walked away from my identity as a marathoner, and declared myself a dedicated triathlete. Ever since then, I’ve been incredibly satisfied with the decision.

The first public display of this new affection was when I signed up for the Wildflower triathlon in May. I’ve never raced at Wildflower before, because the race is always a mere one week (or less – six days for the long course race) after the Big Sur Marathon, which is the race that I’ve done more than any other - more than 10 times - and the one that has come to define my running career over the years.

This winter, my spark for running Big Sur faded somewhat, and for the first time in over a decade, I seriously considered sitting out the race. However, I signed up for the Olympic distance at Wildflower (instead of the long course) to leave myself the option of entering Big Sur if I warmed up to the idea later.

Because even though I’ve given up serious marathoning, I still live on the Monterey Peninsula. I still run with my local training group. I knew that as the winter months came and went, I’d hear an increasing amount of comments and conversations about Big Sur than I could count. And I knew I’d probably feel an occasional longing to return to my former love.

As Big Sur drew closer to selling out, I had a decision to make. I thought of all my great memories there, and realized I was still attracted to it. I knew that once I saw preparations being made during race week, the marathon would be too enticing for me to ignore. So I plunked down my money and signed up for the race.

(There are also a couple of other, more practical reasons for my entering Big Sur – which I’ll discuss in a separate post soon. They’re fairly significant, but don’t fit as well with this whole warped analogy thing I’ve got going here. Bear with me - I’m trying to steer this bus in just one direction today.)

However – just to re-emphasize – I consider myself a triathlete now. And I’m extremely happy in that role. My biggest priorities for the year are to have two strong triathlons (Wildflower and Vineman), and any other success would be gravy. I wouldn’t give up this mistress relationship I have now for anything in the world.

But on the last the Sunday in April, I plan on making a booty call at the Big Sur Marathon. And afterward, things are bound to get complicated.

I know this, because my training schedule has already become tricky, trying to manage all of the workouts I need in order to properly prepare for each race. Look at my race calendar on the right: I don’t do many races each year, so I take them all fairly seriously. The idea of training through a race doesn’t fly with me – for reasons I’ll talk about another day. (See - still keeping the bus straight!)

During nearly every workout for the past several weeks, my thoughts have dwelt on Wildflower, and how I can have the best possible race there. And I know that racing the Big Sur Marathon could wreck my chances of performing well at Wildflower. There’s simply no rational reason to think I can devote myself to both events as much as I’d like to.

But since - as you must certainly know by now - I’m an idiot, that’s not going to stop me from trying. Sometimes I just prefer learning things the hard way.

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The Music Post

Administrative note: it’s very possible that I’ve gone completely out of control with this whole "long introduction" thing. This post started off as a precursor to a story about the Big Sur Marathon, then took on a life of its own. So the Big Sur post will wait yet another day.

Not only that, but I actually had a couple of other “intro” items that I never got around to mentioning. My thought process is like a balloon that has been inflated and then released before it is tied – flying all over the place, changing directions at random, and difficult to follow until it exhausts itself and spirals downward onto the floor. Sometimes I just marvel at my own lack of direction or focus.

Anyway, once I finally settled down, I decided to leave this as a stand-alone post, rather than subject anyone to 3000 words all in one sitting. You can thank me later.

And if you're checking here for my reaction to recent news about a certain former pop princess: I have officially lost all hope. After this news, I'm now designating February 17, 2007 as the day Britney's recovery efforts crossed the point of no return. I simply can't hold out hope anymore, so I'm done with her. She broke my heart - and she's dead to me now. She's my Fredo Corleone.

But enough wallowing - it's time for the "post that wasn't meant to be it's own post". Don't say I didn't warn you.

***

OK, I’m back in the saddle. More accurately, I’m back on the laptop, but that phrase doesn’t have quite the same swagger to it. Last week was a tough one, but I guess one sure sign that you’re still alive is when you get the feeling that life is passing you by – which is exactly what I’ve been feeling over the past few days. I need to catch up on a few pressing concerns before we get to the real post.

First, I’m somewhat dumbfounded by Sports Illustrated’s decision to put Beyonce on the cover of its swimsuit issue. Even if you can set aside the crazily contrived “music issue” theme that ostensibly justifies the decision, think for a minute of the other models. Can you imagine their response?


Before you answer, consider this: most of these girls are 20-something year-olds who have scraped and clawed their way for ten years or more through the world of professional modeling, habitually starving themselves and otherwise trashing their bodies with cigarettes or hardcore drugs to stay thin. Their sense of body image is permanently distorted, and they’ve undergone plastic surgery and/or developed eating disorders from their ongoing desperation to be sexy and glamorous. It’s not an understatement to say their ambition frequently causes them great physical and emotional suffering.

Finally they’ve had their big break in becoming an SI model - but they know that the majority of those girls are tossed to the curb in 2 or 3 years, with a new crop of hotties ready to take their place. They have a very limited time frame to gain enough name (and face/body) recognition to continue a lucrative career after the SI gig is up, otherwise they’ll have to fight their way out of the trenches all over again. The easiest way get that recognition is to be selected for the cover. Every single model knows this – so can you picture how contentious and catty the situation gets in the weeks leading up to publication?

Now imagine that after weeks and months of these girls climbing all over each other and nearly killing themselves to rise above the crowd, an editor sits them down and tells them that the cover model is … a pop music singer who is already rich and famous. Do you think there weren’t some tables knocked over or chairs thrown through windows after that announcement? (Granted, it might have taken three or four of them combined to knock over a table or throw a chair, but you get the idea.)

Think of it like a championship track meet: after making it through the preliminary rounds, quarterfinals and semifinals, the remaining 10 sprinters are preparing for the 100-meter final, when the meet director comes over and tells them they’ve decided to award the title to Donald Trump - because he’s very well known, and more people might tune in to watch if he’s involved. Would anyone be shocked if that director got an immediate beatdown from the runners? And would anyone think it wasn't justified?

There’s no question that Beyonce moves the needle when it comes to popular interest, and will certainly help SI sell a few extra issues. In fact, the trickle-down effect of her stardom is mind-boggling, as I found out first hand last week.

The day that Beyonce was announced as the cover model, I received almost three times as many hits to this blog than I usually do. Almost all of the extra hits were from Google searches with the word “Beyonce”. (Additionally, I realized just how many times I’ve written about Beyonce here. Um ... wow. Maybe my wife had a point when she brought this to my attention several months ago.) Many of the Google hits were image searches, which led me to conclude that the secret to gaining high Internet traffic may be much simpler than I realized.

I’ve always thought that readers are drawn to various blogs by thought-provoking content and high-quality writing; it turns out that all I really need to do is post a couple of Beyonce pictures. If doing so generates a lot of hits, and increases the number of people coming through my cyber door, I figure I'd be foolish not to take advantage and try snaring some new readers.

Anyway, it’s not like I’m completely going against form here. I mean … I write about musicians from time to time, right? If Sports Illustrated can have a music issue, I see no reason why Running and Rambling can’t have a music post.


So that’s the post you’re reading today. And Beyonce is my featured model. In the spirit of pandering to the masses, I’m giving the people what they want. If your sensibilities are offended, I suppose you can send me a nasty letter to the editor or cancel your subscription to my blog … or better yet, just check back here later this week, when I’ll have a more substantive post for you (that is, as substantive as they ever get around here).

Finally, to anyone who has stumbled across my blog while searching for Beyonce: welcome to Running and Rambling. Take a look around, and stay as long as you like. Enjoy the Beyonce pictures. Then feel free to return anytime, and read my writings about running or triathlon training, or whatever crazy notion crosses my mind. Who knows, some of them might actually be interesting.

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