With all the early hype over the 2008 presidential election and the fact that most of the world is waiting nervously for us to regain our sanity, it should be no surprise that the '08 campaign is getting lots of ink overseas as well. Yet as far as I know, only one fictional take on the race is currently in print, and it is unique one, to say the least. Simply entitled First Lady President, it is the brainchild of Indian author Inder Dan Ratnu, an erstwhile poet and dramatic interpreter of Winston Churchill's speeches who takes time out every now and then to write alternative histories and fantasy recreations of key events in American politics, including Alternative to Churchill: The Eternal Bondage (in which the Axis powers win WWII and Churchill becomes an underground resistance leader) and The Ultimate Defense (which illustrates what might have happened had Bill Clinton come clean with Congress and the public about the Lewinsky scandal).

For the sake of disclosure, I have worked with and for Inder at various times during the past several years, and even printed and distributed a dummy run of an earlier version of First Lady President in the states. Yet I have no financial stake in it, and call it to the reader's attention primarily for its exotic appeal and offbeat nature, not to mention that of its author.

Anyway, for those reasons alone, I would recommend giving it a look. Those who do will immediately notice two things: 1) English is Inder's second language, and  2) his portrayal of American politics and culture is a bit, um, fanciful. There are actually several websites devoted to this book: here's another. So if you're interested in what's out there on the fringes of this campaign, check one of them out, or maybe even place an order if you want a one-of-a-kind souvenier of the 2008 presidential race.

Posted by MHB at 7:11 PM EDT

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The title speaks for itself. It was a nice one, I might add. As usual, I had a list of things to do today, and I pretty much did them all except for two: play guitar and work on some paid assignments for which deadlines are looming. That's a quality performance for me, even though I really should have written something for money today. Instead, as I have done several times in the past couple of weeks, I decided to blog for nothing instead. Well, here's to nothing.

My first order of business this morning was a ladder workout at the track, consisting of 200-400-800-1200-800-400-200, with 1:1 recoveries on the way up and 2:1 on the way down. It wasn't a particularly tough or intense workout by any means, but I am still easing back into speedwork 2 1/2 weeks after a marathon, and so I wasn't looking to do any more. I felt comforatbly fatigued at the end, and stretched my cool-down an extra mile to practice running on fatigued legs.

Upon reading this blog, one might assume that I have lost interest in politics, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. But lately I have experienced great difficulty any time that I have attempted to sit down and write about politics in anything resembling an articulate manner; for when I think about the state of this country and the world, my mind is seized with fury and words that faciltiate polite, cogent discourse elude me. In fact, even impolite words often escape my mind's grasp when I am in such a state, which anymore is quite often.

You know that things are bad when you are reduced to taking solace in the natural demise of a public figure who disgraced himself beyond repair years ago and has been slowed by ill health for quite some time now. Yet I refuse to entertain any feeling of guilt for it, for Jerry Falwell was a dangerous fascist who did irreparable damage to American society by exploiting the intellectually and emotionally vulnerable to advance a retrograde, theocratic political agenda. Even the corporate stooges from the mainstream news media are having a hard time saying anything nice about him.

Posted by MHB at 10:59 PM EDT

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I meant to post this last night, but when faced with a choice between blogging and watching Ray Davies on Austin City Limits, I naturally opted for the latter.

In short, I ran like crap. I've got an entire sack of excuses with me -- it was 70 degrees and humid, I had been ill with some strange crud for half a week, I ran a marathon two weeks ago -- but the bottom line is still that I ran like a big, steaming heap of shit. I went out hard, had nothing left for the big hill that made up half of the last mile (and don't think I would have had much more if I had gone out easier), still thought I might have a chance at a sub-40 at the top of it, and found out quickly that I had nothing left in the tank. Then I turned into the final straight that was the last .10 to the finish, where last year I had seen (but not smelled) the clock and executed a vomit-inducing kick to the finish that got me in in 39:58. I found out later that I got third in my age group. I was there when the awards were handed out, but I hadn't bothered to listen, as placing was the furthest thing from my mind.

But this year, there would be no heroics. I did manage to hold off a couple of runners who were closing in on me at the finish, and also not to barf, both of which provided me with a measure of consolation. My finish this year got me ninth in the 40-44, despite being only 23 seconds slower than I was last year when I got third. My time last year would have gotten me -- you guessed it -- ninth this year as well.

My wife also wasn't feeling well, and as a consequence did not run well. She was consoled later when she discovered that she had not finished last as she had assumed, and that her time had somehow not been recorded in the results (chip malfunction?). Plus, like all the women in the race, she got a carnation, which is bright red and coming out well in the vase upon our mantle.

Posted by MHB at 11:09 PM EDT

Updated: Monday, 28 May 2007 8:14 PM EDT

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I think I might be getting a cold -- or something. My head has been stuffy for two days, my colon has been doing jumping-jacks, and my easy 3+-mile run this afternoon felt almost tough at times. Normally I wouldn't care too much: a couple of days off from running and/or work would bring some much-needed rest time even if the cause were a head full of bad-tasting crud. But I have a race Saturday morning -- a race that I will still run as long as I am not feverish, but that I dread like hell running while sick. It is an 8k for a local battered women's shelter, and even though they already have my money, I will do it even if I have to hang back and pace my wife. That is always an option, one that I wouldn't really mind; but if I can make a race of it, I will.

For now, I've taken a couple of shots of Zicam up each nostril and resolved to fight the illness with all the mental and physical energy that I can muster. I just wonder how much that might be at this point.

Posted by MHB at 10:43 PM EDT

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Change -- in running, in politics, in life -- can be a good thing, a vehicle of renewal, revision, reform. Yet in these times, change too often occurs for the wrong reasons, or for no reason at all, wreaking havoc upon innocent lives for nothing. I'm not just talking death and destruction here, although there is far, far too much of that. I'm talking about the niggling little changes that pick, pick, pick at our quality of life day after day after day: those that may not knock us for a full loop, but nevertheless leave us frequently fighting for our balance. And too many of these changes are precipitated by our corporate overlords, who then blame us for our difficulty in adapting to them.

Yes, change is frequently good, and more frequently bad -- like the ominious changes taking in place in my sinuses right now, three days before a race; like the wretched decline that our country has taken in the past six years under the Bu$hCo regime; like the slow but steady decline of mental health in South Carolina and, consequently, of my own job satisfaction.

By the way, I took a day off from running today. It wasn't entirely planned, but I knew that I would not do much today, and the beer I had with a friend after work plus the tofu Philly cheese steaks (yeah, I know, but it's not so bad) that my wife and I had for dinner sealed the deal. I needed a break after that botched, excessively fast tempo run I did yesterday. My back was sore today, in part as a result of that run, so I didn't even do any ab work this evening. I had work to do, anyway: work on resumes, applications, finding e-mail addresses, thinking about what the hell I would tell someone in an interview, things that I haven't had to think about in years.

What was I saying about change? Some people relish it. I can only take it in small doses, and preferably on my own terms. Thus I find this entire process absolutely loathsome.

Posted by MHB at 10:33 PM EDT

Updated: Thursday, 10 May 2007 11:14 PM EDT

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Tonight I read a blog written by one of my coworkers, who is also an artist, but not a writer. He admits to a certain long-windedness and a stream-of-conciousness style that I don't find offputting at all, and is fact is quite engaging, kind of like listening to him talk. His entries are almost always intriguing, often insightful, and just as often quite funny. Anyway, he blogs nearly every day, sometimes at length. And again, writing is not his primary creative pursuit.

Sad to say, it is mine. And I don't do it enough. So I've forced myself to do it tonight, if for no other reason than to give documentary testimony to the fact that I have nothing to write.

So there you are: another one among hundreds of thousands of useless blog entries about nothing that no one wants to read that were posted before midnight EDT today.

And now I must take leave, for Jon Stewart is on. Adios.

Posted by MHB at 10:44 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, 8 May 2007 7:51 PM EDT

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I realize that lately I have been writing only about running, and that this blog was supposed to have a broader outlook, but running is the most enjoyable and one of the most stable things in my life right now. And besides, as far as know, no one ever comes to this blog but me. So if anyone does read this, know that if you return, you'll probably just see more subjective bullshit about running.

Yet I cannot go without mentioning that Bush's approval rating finally broke through the 30-percent barrier this week. I"ll let that one speak for itself.

One thing that I felt compelled to do after last week's marathon was to make sure that I didn't have to get up early on Sunday for once; so on Saturday morning I went to the track to do my first serious workout since Nashville, a mile breakdown on a wet track that was tough, but left me feeling good afterward and not sore this morning. For those who do not know, a mile breakdown is a step-down workout consisting of a 1600, a 1200, an 800, a 400, and in my case, an all-out 200 at the end. It's designed to be a short, hard workout with a shorter recovery than a conventional speed session, as it only calls for 2.5 miles of hard running (plus a 200, the way I do them). The reps are usually run at 5K pace or a little faster. All my reps were within training range according to the McMillan calculator I just ran on my 5-mile time a couple of weeks ago, but most were on the fast end (7:19; 5:26; 3:30; 1:43; :43). It felt good to be actively training again, and I hope that my surprisingly quick marathon recovery combined with some smart training will allow me to parlay my marathon fitness into a few good race times in the coming weeks.

Posted by MHB at 10:55 PM EDT

Updated: Monday, 7 May 2007 9:08 PM EDT

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Around the 19-mile mark, I hit the wall. This is what I get for not doing more long runs, I thought. I had walked through all the water stations, even the early ones, and thought that those would be all the walk breaks I would need. But I hadn't planned on these temperatures, so at around 19.3 I did something that I had never done before in a marathon: I walked on the open course. It was only a few steps, and I got back into a 10-min. pace pretty quickly; yet it was but a hint of things to come. I walked again at 20 miles, this time for nearly a tenth of a mile.

For the next half-mile or so I managed to run, but everything below the knee was one big ache, and even the liberal stops at the water stations hadn't been enough to keep me hydrated. But by the 21-mile marker I was beginning to feel a little better, and I gathered enough strength to begin running again. Actually I was running quite well -- back down to a 9:30 pace and feeling for a while like I was going to take it on home in that fashion. Within a half mile, I went from feeling that way to resolving to take another walk break at the 23-mile mark. I thought I would never get to it. "Heckofa job, Brownie," I said to myself. "Two 18s and a 16. Way to get in those long runs."

I started thinking seriously about finishing times. I had planned on a 4:10-4:15 finish, which was still within reach at 24 miles: but I had not begun to anticipate how tired I would be in the last 2.2 miles. I was more tired at the Spinx last October, but it was a different kind of tired this time. Dehydration played into it, but it was not the main culprit. This was a wheezing, slumping, aching, blurry-visioned, how-much-further-dammit kind of tired. After my first marathon a couple of years ago, I was tired mostly from the knees down. Now I was tired all over, and in no shape to do much more than put one foot in front of the other. I always adjusted slowly to the warm weather, and as most of my long runs had been done in temperatures that hovered around freezing, I hadn't had much of a chance to adjust; but this was the first time that I had dealt with that in a marathon.

When I rounded the bend past the scrapyard and headed toward the stadium, the roar of the crowd and the sight of the 26-mile marker inspired me to pick up my battered feet and run it in. I must have looked kind of bad after I entered the triage chute, as one of the medical guys asked me if I was OK. I was, but damn, was I tired. My feet had never been so tired, and my stomach was churning so badly that I wasn't able to get anything down but a few bites of a doughnut and about a third of a banana. I felt like crap, but I was done. After picking up my gear, I made my way toward the reunion area, stopping along the way to lie down for a bit in the New Balance tent.

My finish time was 4:20:22 -- my slowest one ever, but the first that I have run out of town, and in temps 30 degrees warmer than those to which I am accustomed. Yet I still managed to log sub-10-minute splits, which was adequate consolation for me, as I had once pondered that mark (a little over 4:22) as a rock-bottom goal, and had wondered a couple of times in the final miles if I would make it. My wife finished in just over six hours, her first full marathon, surprising me by finishing quite strongly despite going out much harder than she should have. I don't know how she did it, because I was totally wasted and had still missed my time goal by five minutes. But by the time we walked back to the hotel, I felt reasonably well, due in large part to the high of having finished a marathon and the added high of having someone around to share the experience with. Of course, as the beginning of this long, multi-part story indicates, our celebration would have its limits. No matter. It was still the best time that I've had in a while.

Posted by MHB at 10:03 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, 8 May 2007 9:06 PM EDT

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At around 7.5 miles we began to emerge from the neighborhoods, and the already-crowded sidewalks became more and more packed as we went down Music Row. People were everywhere: on the streets, on the steps of buildings, hanging out of windows and leaning from overpasses. The concentration of bands along the course increased until one could get just out of range of one band before beginning to hear the next one up ahead. It was the craziest thing I have ever experienced as a runner. Only the slow onset of fatigue kept me focused upon the task at hand.

Ahead were a couple of low, long hills, which kicked the fatigue up another half-click. Then around the bend came a welcome break: nearly four miles of mostly downhill and flat, into a park and along a levee beside the Cumberland River. As we descended the hill into the park, I saw six nuns high-fiving runners on the left side of the street. What the hell, I thought. With a lightness of mood that I rarely achieve these days outside the confines of a road race, I went down the row, slapping hands with them all. High-fiving nuns: that's new. The day just got a little weirder.

By by halfway point, I was somewhat more fatigued then I had hoped to be, but was still running well, so I wasn't terribly worried. The run down the empty levee was eerily quiet compared to the cheering throngs we had encountered most of the way; but before long, I heard a roar up ahead, and soon was back into town with the crowds and the bands to provide distraction and positive energy. But the temperatures had gotten warmer, and all that concrete intensified both the warmth and the blinding light of the sun. As we moved along the opposite side of the rolling street that we had come down, I passed my wife as she approached the 11-mile mark.

"You're just a few minutes behing a four-hour pace," she yelled over to me. Having realized that a sub-four was out of reach, I nodded and told her to hold steady. A couple of minutes behind her, I saw the 5:30 pace team come up the street. Oh crap, I thought: she's going way too hard.

Still more to come ....

Posted by MHB at 10:17 PM EDT

Updated: Monday, 28 May 2007 8:12 PM EDT

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OK, that took longer than I thought.

Anyway,it shouldn't have been any surprise to me that Nashville knows how to throw a party. Granted, my wife and I missed all the evening's festivities because we were just too damn exhausted to do anything but drive out to the Olive Garden for dinner and drinks, then go back to the room to sit up in bed and watch the Braves game on TV. I was out like a light by a quarter to nine, a half-empty beer going flat on the nightstand beside me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should write about the race.

Actually, I'll back up to the day before. The expo was at the convention center downtown, about a mile around the corner and up the hill from our hotel. We drove up there first, only to discover about halfway there that we had forgotten our confirmation sheets. We were pretty pissed at ourselves and each other until we realized that there wouldn't have been any place to park anyway; so when we got back to the room, we decided to walk back up. Not a bad decision. The walk was uphill, but was a good way to work out some nervous energy before trying to sleep that night. We were both worried when we walked into the convention center and saw all the people -- thousands of them -- going in and out of the expo; but despite the crowds, it was one of the quickest, most glitch-free packet pickups that I've ever done. We breezed through the expo, and back to the room to get some dinner and rest. I went to bed at 9:00 CST, 10:00 by my internal clock, and got my usual fitful pre-marathon 4 hours or so of sleep.

The next morning at 4:30, we left the hotel to walk the half-mile down the street to the Titans' stadium, where we would catch the shuttle to the start in Centennial park near Vanderbilt. We were among the early arrivals, and it was still dark when we got there, so the scene didn't look too crazy. But as the sun came up and we started moving toward our start corrals, I began to realize just how many people were there. Thirty thousand, the paper would say the next day. On the way to my corral, I used the porta-potty for what would turn out to be the last time. It was still an hour till the start.

That was a mistake. By 6:30, as I started to feel a little twinge in my bladder, I walked around the row of porta-potties and saw lines of 60 feet or more in front of each of them. OK, I thought, this is not optimal, but I can handle it. There will be porta-potties somewhere along the course, and it worse comes to worse ... well, you are wearing wicking shorts, and it is a marathon, and no one is going to smell very good at the finish line.

Such was my state of mind and body as I began my first out-of-town marathon. Once I started running, however I quickly saw that the discomfort was bearable, for a while anyway, and thus did not alter my stride. Then at around the 2-mile mark, I saw a row of porta-potties in a parking lot to my right. The stop took me 30 seconds. Problem solved. Time to get down to enjoying the race.

The first miles of a marathon are easy, as people try to hold back on their paces and save their energy for later when the running gets really tough. And as three times as many people were running the accompanying half-marathon as were doing the full 26.2, I wound up running in a cluster of mid-pack half-marathoners running 9:30 miles and telling some interesting stories. We went through some ritzy neighborhoods where people were sitting in their yards drinking beer and wine and eating cheese. All kinds of people of all nationalities were out in the adjoining neighborhoods. A large grassy lot backed by a line of trees provided an impromptu toilet for a few guys who apparently had hydrated even better than I had. At the next water station I was once again made aware of the enormity of the event, as I waded through sticky puddles of orange peels, bananas, and Accelerade. For a while I ran beside a large African-American man with a cleanly-shaved head. He was wearing a red shirt and a yellow half-marathon bib, and stood out among the hundreds of runners around me on the street for his sheer size -- about 6'4'' with arms as big as my legs. I found out later that he was Eddie George.

More later ....

Posted by MHB at 9:20 PM EDT

Updated: Sunday, 27 May 2007 10:23 PM EDT

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