After much thought and no action, I have finally realized that the only way to revamp this blog is to start writing -- oh yes, and to change the name. Baseball blogs are a dime a dozen, as are blogs specifically on the Braves; and sometimes I have nothing of substance to say about baseball, anyway. In fact, from the looks of this blog, I don't have anything substantial to say about it for weeks at a time, and this is especially true in the fall and winter months.
As a result, the subject matter of this blog is about to broaden, still to include baseball on occasion but also to deal with other subjects such as politics and running. Indeed, it was my involvement in the sport of running that inspired the blog's new name, Smell the Clock. Perhaps I should explain:
There is a half-marathon that I run every year in Greer, SC. The course is surprisingly non-hilly for the Greenville area, but one of the obstacles one encounters along the course is a fast-food restaurant called The Clock, located on the side of the street at about the twelve-mile mark, that emanates a strong smell of frying chicken that under any other circumstances I would find quite appetizing but have a hard time stomaching after twelve miles of half-marathon-pace running. I had mentioned the smell to my wife after first running the race, and after I finished it the second time she asked me: "Did you smell the clock this time?" The more I thought about it, the more I find it an apt metaphor for running as well as for other aspects of life. Now sometimes when I'm nearing the end of a race, I think to myself: "you can smell the clock now. You are almost there."
I decided to make this phrase the new name for this blog yesterday morning, while running the brutal Paris Mountain 20k for the third time. I was considerably warmer yesterday than it usually is on the day of this race -- too warm, in fact, to run 2.5 miles straight up a mountain and 4 back down, only to have to deal with several more miles of rolling hills before dragging wobbly legs and a sour stomach across the finish line. As I approached the final 2 miles, well off my PR pace, I caught the lipidinous aroma of Pete's, a diner similar to The Clock, and thought again about my Greer half-marathon experience. I knew that a name would come to me eventually, and that it would probably come at a time when I least expected it. And there it was. And here it is.
