But first, some updates. I’ve been letting my life proceed onwards without documentation because writing is hard. Here’s what you’ve missed (or not, if you get my updates on the book of faces. In fact, if you feel you need more BFJ more often, go ahead and friend me. A search for “Josh Sutcliffe” oughta do the trick):
I used the Crooked Road 24-Hour Race for a long run, and kind of felt like a jerk. I’m loosely following the Hal Higdon Advanced 2 Marathon Training Program in my effort to beat ac on his home turf at the Umstead Marathon March 2. Wow, that’s a lot of links. Be sure to click them all. Anyway, Hal said I should run six miles at BEAT AC pace on Saturday, followed by thirteen easy miles on Sunday. I just merged the two together at Crooked Road. That means I was plugging away at a sub-seven pace for six miles around a one mile loop filled with runners pacing themselves for an all-nighter.
Worse, I got it in my head that it would be “neato” to finish my training run while leading the race. I took a bit of a break after mile sixteen or so, due to a gastrointestinal disagreement with m&ms. When I resumed I asked if I was still in the lead. “Nope, but you can catch him!” said the timers/organizers/great people. At lap twenty I asked again, and they said “He’s just ahead of you! The guy in all black!” I went zooming by, thinking surely he heard that. Hoping I merely made a social faux pas instead of messing up his game plan, I finished my last lap. He went on to run many more, probably wondering why I was such a dweeb.

Above: A Dweeb. Wearing the very nice Moc3s in the cold. Do not judge this product by the Dweeb wearing them.
Photo by the great Frank Lilly.
I paced friend Tamara and wife Iris for a bit after that, getting in a total of a little over twenty-six miles. I feel like that distance means something, but can’t quite put my toe on it. I know you’ve been busy reading all the links I’ve provided, but you really should read the wife’s race report of Crooked Road. That’s a smart lady I got there; strange why she married me. Everyone has their lapses of judgement from time to time.
Hmm, this is getting long. Hope I have time for the Oatmeal bit.
I was sent a pair of Vibram Lontra Five Fingers. That’s one sturdy shoe! And expensive! Possibly the most expensive shoe I’ve ever owned, come to think of it. I like to think it’s there way of saying “thank you” for their prolific use of the line I coined, “Less Shoe More You.” I’ll wear them for a trail race (another link for you to click! Run at the Rock) in a week and a half and let you know what I think of them.
I won the inaugural Turkey Day 5K in Martinsville! Iris placed second in her AG!
Photo by the wonderful Diana Haynes Martin.
I ran really fast, then not so fast, then somewhere in between, then I finished. Hal told me to run three miles at BEAT AC pace. If I run Umstead that fast, I will beat the pants off of everybody.
Speaking of pants, I recently ordered some form-fitting running pants. Iris won’t let me wear tights. She says I’ll get beaten up. I think she doesn’t want me to wear running tights because they would make the ladies swoon. Am I right ladies? Ladies? Why are you snickering/vomiting? Anyway, the pants (one Mizuno and one Brooks) are nicer than those swish-swish pants I was winter-running in before. I seem to be less tolerant of the cold this year. Not physically so much as mentally. I’d rather be warm, and am clothing myself accordingly.
Hey, did you hear about that Patrick Sweeney guy finishing the Chimera 100 in eighth place? As the title of his post says, he ran with no training, no crew, wearing Luna Sandals the entire mountainy way. Goddamn, I’ve done nothing with my life.
Know what? The oatmeal lesson will have to wait. This post is too long as it is, especially considering all the link-reading you just did. Until next time, enjoy your feasting, friends! That is, enjoy your feasting, friends, not enjoy your feasting friends. I mean, enjoy their company, but don’t feast on them. And if you do, for goodness sake don’t enjoy it. Cannibalism should be experience with at least a twinge of guilt, don’t you think? Okay, stopping writing now.

Oatmeal? Grains are the DEVIL. That is all.
Ok maybe not: NO MEN IN TIGHTS! If you must wear tights throw on a kilt over them for pity’s sake! *runs away trying to suppress snickers and vomit*
No oatmeal content at all?! That does it, I’m unfriending you!
Oh, and congrats on that race win thing. I bet you didn’t even eat any oatmeal before that race!
Cutting boards and aprons? I love it! And, way to go on your victories, Josh and Iris! Whoooaahhh!
Ha. Still waiting on the actual instructions. Though I’ve quit eating grains. I guess food porn is better than no porn? Which is what you actually offered here.
Wait. Never mind. Forget the whole thing. I don’t see how I can fix this.
I never considered the possibility of erotic oatmeal. The world is such a big place. PS, Erotic Oatmeal is going to be the name of my next band. Hey, do you play bass?
I stick around for the oatmeal bits and get bupkis? Just goes to show you can’t trust these barefooters. Congrats on the race. Cheers!
I’ll write a post about oatmeal, but you still might think it’s bubkis.