The 11 Challenge

I got this idea from Viper over at The Booze Hounds Inc., who stole it from tough guy Steve Stenzel. The game is to do 10 push-ups, 1 sit-up. Then do 9 push-ups, 2 sit-ups. Then 8 and 3, 7 and 4. Shall I go on? OK, 6 and 5, 5 and 6, 4 and 7, got it? No? Then it’s 3 push-ups and 8 sit-ups, 2 and 9, 1 and 10. And do it as fast as you can. That’s 55 each. In good form.

So far my fastest is 5:55. The push-ups are no problem, because I weigh 93 pounds. I’m very light, due to my helium pectoral implants. The sit-ups require a little cheating by the end, cheating meaning using my arms in front of me instead of lacing the fingers behind my head. Speaking of cheating, the actual workout is called the 21. You do 20 push-ups, then 1 sit-up. then 19-2. etc etc. That’s like 200-something each. Sure I could do that. Within a 24 hour period, maybe.

That makes me wonder what would result in better fitness: daily fast 11s or 21s done over a long period of time? And what does this have to do with barefooting? Well, it’s cold and windy outside. That’s what.

Rocking the Red Headband

The blowing pants isn’t from running speed. It’s wind. Hate the wind. Note my cellphone in my right pocket. That was in case I wanted to order a pizza or something.

All the other laps of the Valentine Massacre Marathon Relay were in aqua socks, but more importantly, they were in my MadMayo shirt.

gameface ON.

Shopping tip: you can get camo gloves for practically free at the end of hunting season.

Anyway, I was so busy talking to barefooter Allan Buccola (he did three laps shoeless) that I almost missed the baton hand-off. In between laps I was wearing a fleece pullover, so when I saw MadMayo Misfit Blair turning the corner, I tried to quickly take it off. I got stuck. I contorted my torso in spastic heaves and jerks, only tightening my straight jacket. Panic set in, not only in me but in the spectators who were surely wondering weather to call an ambulance or the cops as I thrashed about hither and thither. Meanwhile Blair was just standing there, baton in hand, unsure of how to deal with the scene my wardrobe malfunction created. “uh, would you like me to go next?” asked MadMayo Misfit Lori, who understood my fit was not cause for concern as she, being a mother, has experience with children.

I then realized Blair had not crossed the timing mat, which meant my drama was going on HIS lap time. I immediately relaxed, took my time, and slowly wiggled out of the pullover. Unfortunately the MadMayo shirt went with it. “Well, since I’m stripping…” off came the socks and shoes.

Blair, or Mr. Dena Harris, made the cool baton.

And that was that. It was very fun, I expect to do it again. Next year, I’m bringing chap stick.

Stupid wind.

MadMayo Misfit Massacre

Here’s the write up I, uh, wrote up of the event for the News and Record.

I ran three laps in the aqua socks and one lap (#2 of 4) barefoot. I met fellow barefooter, Allan Buccola, a manlier man than I who did three laps barefoot. I put the shoes back on because my still-not-completely-healed toe got scratched up a bit. A preventative band-aid would have probably permitted me to run all four without shoes. C’est la vie, etc.

Pictures to come later. Gotta go walk the beasts.