Life As An Award Winner

One of the benefits of being the one and only winner of The Kronsky Lifetime Achievement Award for Excellence in Being a Human Being is that you get to spend your afternoons and evenings enjoying beir from this cup...

My Apologies

As most of you know, my blog is very raw. Some folks might even say extremely raw to the point of being a bloody mess. Sometimes the rawness gets away from me. It was arrogant of me to think I could intellectualize using such rawness, because I realize that there's no intellectualizing such rawness as that is so emotionally charged.

So, I apologize for my comments regarding my good, sweet, clean, dear friend Rhip Cadams. He does not hate babies or old folks, and he even loves his friends who often spend their time milking the state of Texas' unemployment system instead of working and contributing to this free, capitalistic society. I feel dreadful about this. So very dreadful, and raw.

If You See This Guy...

Punch him in the nose for me. He hates babies, old people, and folks that collect unemployment.

Hello, Gawd? Is that you?

Gawd's Country a/k/a J.C. a/k/a Dead Heart a/k/a Taco a/k/a Teqastechman came to visit last weekend. As most of you know, he is very loud, and by that I mean uncomfortably loud. So, now I am enjoying the silence that I only get when he is absent from the state.

We went to the bar on Thursday. We went to the bar on Friday. We skied Vail on Saturday, traversed the Minturn Mile, drank a few cold ones at the Beaver Ponds (that's what she said), drank a few more at the Saloon, and then hung with the Cookies. And I tore up Gawd's state issued credit card. Allegedly.

Quiet everyone. Just sit back and enjoy. Silence.

Running & Being A Historical Saint

Today, I received a package in the mail addressed to "the worst attorney in Colorado a/k/a Gerald "The Bear" Oliver" from, um, chuckle, cough, clear throat...Shelton Law. The proprietor of that fine, profitable establishment is my good friend Greff Felton, a/k/a The Historian, a/k/a The Great Sheltano, a/k/a The Tiny Fists of Fury, a/k/a 5k.


Anyway, the package contained two books. The first, which has received numerous recent commendations, was Born to Run, the story of a tribe of running folks located deep within the bounds of Copper Canyon in Mexico. The second is described in the book's forward as "The philosophical bible for runners around the world." It is aptly named Running & Being. Despite the additional, unnecessary commentary on the exterior of the package, I very much appreciated my friend's generosity.


My Friend's Bible

Anxious to see what The Historian and many others found to be so inspirational, I quickly delved into the Bible at lunchtime today. While it seems appealing, I can hardly read the text as the highlightings of a young, impressionable 24 year old graduate of one of our country's most devoutly baptist institutions dot the landscape.

Enjoy.







To those that know him, I ask you these 5 questions:

1. Is he an artist?
2. Has he lived authentically?
3. What is his true religion?
4. Is his life unlived?
5. Is he a professional with clean, small white hands?

Well, I don't know the answers to these questions, but I know certainly that he is unique. While he may never be a Kronsky Award Winner, I love him dearly. So, let us raise our glasses of Freeheel Lager to Shelton, that beautiful bastard!

2010 American Berkebeiner

Back in Ought Nine, while visiting the Vatican, Beth was approached by a kindly, meek almost papal man, who indicated that he was a lieutenant in the Italian Army. He also stated that the Italian Army, Snake Division, was seeking a representative for the 2010 American Berkebeiner and wondered whether Beth would be interested. She told the man that she did not know how to skate ski, but the young man was undeterred. He reiterated that he was merely following orders. Over many beers and a glass of cognac or two, she accepted the invitation and promised to serve the Italian Army as only she could.


In uniform

Though sponsorship came easily to Beth, my attempts to procure a deal were proving difficult. Indeed, my agent demonstrated his overall worthlessness, again. I guess he is busy with his more important Canadian Football League players. Anyway, eventually, I landed a deal with a small company named Molteni Arcore headed by a Belgian fella named Eddy Merckx. I don't know much about him, but I know his son, Axel, was a decent professional cyclist. Eddy, too, like so many others, violated the rules of nicknames, as he constantly referred to himself as The Cannibal. Grotesque, I do say!

Several months later, after learning how to skate ski, we found ourselves in Hayward, Wisconsin on Thursday,February 25, 2010 with Tracy, John and Mick. John and Mick graciously asked us to stay at one of their client's houses on Lake Round.


The Crib


The Crew on the ice in back of the haus


What the? A giant muskie in the middle of town? Welcome to Hayward and the Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame


Packet pickup at the Telemark Lodge in Cable


Pre-race meal. Not sure if this is Olympic approved, but a man's gotta eat.

Getting ready to do battle. For the Italians!







And we are rolling...








A nun on the course? God save us all.

To the house


The finish...did the Birkie create that forehead? Taco, do you have a roll in the operation of that race?



Vikings in 2010? Really?


Post Race, Wisconsin style.








Final thoughts...Beth and I skated the entire time together, which was, in the end, the best way to do it. I must say, I am really proud of Beth!