Tuesday, December 03, 1996

My First 50K Buckle (Part XXII)

The buckle looks like this. No shit.

Doppeldonger 50/50: My First 50K Buckle (Part XXII)

The gun went off. I was charging up Boner Cyn, arms churning and butt-cheeks flapping. Pretty soon the race was down to double digits.

At the first aid station (Chorizo Flats, 4.3mi, 1:20) I wrestled a lawnchair away from a very large woman in polyester tights and a "Lion King" sweatshirt. Her skinny wispy-bearded boyfriend "Nigel" who was wearing a Klingon Starfleet Academy jumpsuit was getting agitated, but fuck him! I was the ultra-stud gunning for my first buckle, OK?

I changed my shoes and re-vaselined my face. Now I was ready. The last foot-long chili-dog was history. My loins were girded. I was the Inner Warrior.

Here are some notes I made during the race, with my splits:

Chorizo Flats, 4.3mi, (1:20)

Wanker Hollow Pass 9.5mi

Mother's Lament (12.8mi)

Highway 69 Underpass (14.6mi)

Wheezer Creek (17.2 mi)

Brown-Eye Summit (20.1)

Bongwater Crossing (23.7)

Hellmouth K-Mart Parking-lot A/S (26.0003 mi) this is a popular drop-out place.

Night Naval Gunnery Range (28.1mi)

Norm's Place (30.3 mi)

Finish Line (31.00057823mi)
I'll be leading the "unofficial" training runs up here next year. This way I will be able to share with all of you everything I have learned from my very first 100.

Wednesday, November 13, 1996

6-1/2 Reasons to Be An Ultrarunner Guy

So, tired of those cute lists that people make? Thought you were. Too bad, here's another.


6. You can piss while you run.

5. You can piss while you walk.

4. You can make pretty patterns while settling the trail dust.

3. If you should find yourself standing and taking a leak, you can hold yr love-gun with one hand, and swill from your bottle with the other.

2. When you're done, you can scratch your ass with the other hand.

1. You can use the same hand that nursed your johnson to troll through the aid-station offerings, and nobody will ever know. Or vice versa.

1/2. After you are all through with any of the previous, and there is still a large hill ahead of you, you can still rifle your sinuses and dislodge those troublesome adobe trail-nuggets.

yrs ever devotedly,
mr trail safety

Sunday, September 22, 1996

This Is The Race [homage to Jim Morrison]

Your money's no good here. 
(With referential apologies to James Douglas Morrison, Francis Ford Coppola, and Don Knotts)

Black, fade in.
Night, in Wrightwood.

A young man is in a cheap motel. It is a motel favored by thrifty serial killers on a budget. The higher-priced motel favored by thrifty serial killers on a budget was booked. Solid. Even with the broken glass on the linoleum, somewhere. The cable there was better (but it cost $7.99 more), and you could get the Satanism Channel with the "I Love Lucifer" Marathon Weekend Special ($6.66). This motel had weary wooden floors, 33-1/3 watt lights, a sagging bed with the Great Rift Valley down the middle. Many romances had died in that divide. He could feel every one of them.

Our young man is getting ready. Ready for The Big Race. His attention is fixed on a goal far away. About 100.559596975 miles, but who's counting now, huh?...Familiar music is in background, becoming distinct. The words have changed. Do not pretend you don't remember. We come into the song somewhere in the middle, we don't have all night...but he will. We've all
been there...


"...The Runner awoke before dawn,
He put his shoes on.
He took some shorts from the ancient drop bag
And he walked on down the hall...
And he came to a door
And He looked Inside
"Yeah man?
"I gotta pee now..."
"I GOTTA (Apocalyptic SFX here) COME ON BABY......

(SFX: bumping, thrashing, man wrestling fire hose kinda thing)

Segue to:

(SFX: Water gurgling)
A guy is playing a sinuous melody line on an organ several rooms away. The fan windmills slowly overhead. Headlights from a passing car throws a pattern of venetian blinds in the room, a rickshaw passes by on the way down to Victorville. A medevac chopper is heard in the distance...)

"This is the race,
My only race, the race.
This is the race,
My only race, the race.
For every drink I've tried, the pace,
For all my batteries fried, your face,
No drop-bags I've not tried, the race,
I'll never look PowerBars in the eye,
Again, my friend...


Monday, September 02, 1996

An Ultra Modest Narration (1/42, XL)

A True Narration, by a well-known running personality.

Well now. I feel i can tell this story with a straight face and no need for superfluity. Yes. Other men have always wanted to know, and well, women are curious. Very curious. This is how i went from Couch-Pud to UltraStud.

Not long ago, I was running an acceptable pace at a prominent Rocky Mtn 100 in the alst month. I was running without socks. I was effluorescing due to slight inconvenience of giardia. The toe-jam was fragrant. the weather was perfect.

I was thinking about getting laid by a Dead-Betty back in town when I got through. I was saving my best story for her. She would turn me into the trailer hitch of C&W song. I had a modest collection of authentic ultra-adventures to narrate to a relay of respectful and worshipful acolytes. They hung on to my every word, only seemingly leaving me when I would make the garbage bag hanging off my butt hammer and rattle with periodic gusts.

But more replaced them. Their espect and ardor were incredible. They had read my posts to the UltraList. Consulting with my arch rival (Runner X hailing from a level and lackluster midwestern state (who was feeling the lack of a livestock salt-block he left in the airport [hah!]) I determined that my co-dependent polymers were in pretty good shape.

Then disaster struck! The 200lb test on my Deep-Vee buttfloss was fouled, and I entered the realm of Ring Of Fire! My doppelganger flatlander arch-rival laughed triumphantly, and brandished the Chili-flecked Vicks Bum-Rub in front of me. I was incensed! This was not sporting!! And race management didn't have any!!!

I was composing self-serving and witty posts in my mind to take the mind off the wisps of fragrant smoke that rose from my shorts. FInally, I was pulled from the course at the Fuego de Culo AS which wasn't marked on the course map. Just when things started to look good, my rival pulled off his shoe and said "Catch a whiff of this one..." when I

Next post: Making History Again: Bay To Breakers in under 24hrs

Tuesday, August 13, 1996

Nature Loves You Too

Hi there, Ultra-Kids! Have you ever wondered if Nature Loves You?

Sure you have. Don't be bashful. You have felt tired and cranky while you were putting in the Big Miles. You felt that nobody loved you and you were bored, thinking about ice-cold Cokes and soft beds. Air conditioning and power steering. You know what I mean.

But the world has expressed its love for you in a very special way. Have you ever thought about all those times when you were sitting in a NFS one-seater? Did you remember all those flies buzzing below you? Did you feel them bump into your bare bum? Were you upset?

You shouldn't be. They were there for you. They were expressing God's love for you. After all, 18 trillion flies can't be wrong, can they?

Well now. Have a real nice day.
mr trail safety

Friday, June 21, 1996

Test Your Meager Knowledge About...

…The Also-Rans Of History!

Now You, Your Family, and anyone in E-Z Reach can share The Awesome Majesty that is History's Glorious Pageant™!

Witness in spellbound fascination as we trace the glorious trajectory of this undeservedly obscure civilization. See their humble beginnings, described by famed archeologist Erasmus Binkster as “..Their moveable feast of culture was based on a simple take-out order...”

Our travelog will take you in the comfort of your squishy-butt armchair through the turmoil that eventually brought this mighty empire to its knees, when religious zealots passed Draconian decrees against compulsory mastication. From this mournful twilight we can see the emergence of the Metrecal Dervishes as they swept down like thunder from the far-removed Seven-Eleven Parallel.

This reclusive and mysterious culture are often confused with their more flamboyant and better-upholstered cousins, the Tuck-and-Roll Turks. The swansong of their once-dominant culture was best expressed in the haunting refrains of the ballad accompanied on the fretful Oud, where kohl- eyed beauties sang in their distinctive modalities...”Play It Again, Samarkand...”

In time, their lease expired, and their mighty civilization underwent a Massive Clearance Bazaar; where Everything Was Priced To Go, and They Were Blown Out To The Bare Walls. Their descendants were scattered to the Winds Of All Descriptions. Centuries later, blind buskers and minstrels still sing of the fabulous bargains. Various enclaves have survived in fringe markets, while the more successful have gone into syndication.

This Luxurious Educational Series is Available on Archival Quality BETA Format with Sensurround™ 78RPM Discs that fully capture the Majestic Cavalcade of Times Gone By. Order by post, phone or wireless. Operators Are Waiting!

Wednesday, June 12, 1996

Being At One With The Trail

Imagine being strapped to the roof of your mother's car. You are being driven through the countryside. Bugs stick to your teeth. Nobody wants to stop for ice cream. You have no control over the process. You are not yet a complete part of the environment.

Now the car arrives at a trailhead. You are left wearing two left shoes and a pair of extra-small "Batman" underwear. The shoes are sequined. The parking lot is full of Cub Scouts. You've gotta wedgie. They are paying close attention. You will be able to use all of your senses.

Now imagine stepping onto the trail. Before going anywhere, you are wearing welder's gloves and you need to thread a needle. You have been asked to complete an incomplete circumcision on an irritable, elderly bull elephant-seal. Think of yourself as the thread and the trail as the eye of the needle. Knit one, purl two. Do not deprive yourself of any of your senses by separating yourself from what's beneath your feet and ahead of you. Concentrate on neat stitches.

Feel! Feel the dirt! Feel the sun beating down! Feel the swarms of mosquitos and black flies as they make your acquaintance. Feel the pebbles in your shoes. Feel the polyandrous relationships between the chattering squirrels up in the trees. It is seemingly chaotic and formless. You'll adjust. You'll also get the big picture, just start with color number 22.

Process insights in your special state. I'll digress for another 50,000 words using another sport to describe this. Think of the first time you got drunk in high-school and wrecked your dad's Valiant. You will say to yourself, "...Now I get it!". At first everything is odd. Eventually it becomes integrated into your personality.

Now it's night time. How the hell did *that* happen? If you spend all day on the trail learning and working towards insight, by the time night comes, you will have a much easier time. Really, trust me! When you have lots of practice being one with the trail; shoes, shorts, and even flashlights become superfluous. When the light does come on, it reminds you that it's dark outside. You are in it and part of it. A smile appears. Somewhere.

Morning arrives. Are you face down? Sunburnt? Blistered? It's all part of the cosmic curve and, well, ...you know. You may surprise yourself, because you have become "One with the Trail". Heard tell this probably applies at track runs too.

Next Installment: The Tao of PowerBars When They're Shaped into Funny Little Talking Animals.


Tuesday, May 14, 1996

Summer School: 1996

Subject: Summer School

Knowing that one has to maintain job and interpersonal interfacing technologies to their optimum levels, the FUDD ENDOWMNT FOR COMPETENCE is dedicated to mainstreaming info-applicants in the manner to which they've become accustomed to. Therefore, LED's & Digitals, we proudly present...

Brief & Total® Success Immersion Weekends Offerings For Summer 1995, Updated and re-treaded for Summer 1996.

Held at the tastefully lavish and garish BoehnerDome ConventionPlex, 1133686 MilSpec Thruway, Hellmouth CA. (Just south of downtown off the I-666 Menendez Freeway, next to the Family-Fun Indoor Artillery Range).

These exclusive and highly successful weekend seminars are now within the reach of opposable thumbs like yours. Today’s recognized leaders will be on hand to lead the weekend workshops. Join us for some of the upcoming seminars!
•Genital Warts, Ethics and You
•White Guys Can’t Make Jello.
•Why Elle MacPherson Will Never Visit You.

Wm F. Buckley’ famous acerbic and cryptic Anglomania will be in full color and glory as he covers the full ultra-violet end of his spectrum as only he could! With featured guest speakers. •What Part of Oxymoron or Ennui Did You Not Understand
•Adult Action Videos In Esperanto.
•English As A Second Language For Native Speakers: Sen. Phil Gramm, guest host.
•Rhodesian BBQ Favorites
•Bruce Willis’ Manly Fondue Weekends

The prodigious output of one of Hollywood’s most visibly fascinating personalities is given the thorough scrutiny and attention it deserves. Reserve early, seminars fill rapidly. Nurses will be in attendance.

•Fade To Pink: The Sharon Stone Career Retrospective 2
•Elle MacPherson: Goddess, Vixen or Misunderstood Artiste?
•Wayne Newton & Jerry Garcia: “The 2-Drink/2 Hit Minimum” Road Tour. You get to guess which one's dead. Open book.
•Adult Infomercials: Virtual Interfacing (cyber-chat hosted by Traci Lords, 95¢ per min, 7 min. minimum). No refunds.

Here are courses that the harried executive will want to survey to keep ahead of the rapid advances available today.
•Palm-hair Re-foliation Strategies: Domestic or Imported?
•Penile Implant Strategies: Analog or Digital?
•Best Pick-up lines at Feminist Retreats. (Red-Man suits available for rental)
•Hot! Singles Ads in Literacy-Challenged Media.
•Empowered Boomer Weaselling.
•Making Your Own Raw Survivalist Lunch-Box.

Follow in excruciating detail the trials of the Information Nano-Era’s most livliest maturity-challenged Spokesperson! Numerous competent and voluble experts representing a variety of viewpoints will be on hand to share their knowledge. Classes cannot be audited, retainers will be accepted only in the beginning. All subsequent billing is by the hour. No refunds.
•Rhinoplasty, Fuzzy Stuffed Animals and You

The Huffingtons will again host a weekend leadership seminar based on their past-life accomplishments in California. Dates, times and topics to be announced as seminars fill. Large capacity (50,000+) facilities available.

This is your next-best chance to get in at Parking Level 86 (so to speak!) for the most dynamic and incendiary proto-thinkers of our epoch. Not recommended for those whose bladders are small or prostates large, and cash-flow restrained. Average class length 4-8 hrs, no intermissions. He has a lot of ground to cover!*
•Really Hot Boogie Bar Bands of the ‘70s
•InterActive Contributor’s Workshop
•Tom Clancy’s Lost “Sonnets For B-1 Bombers”
•Lo-Impact Extended Verbal Step Workouts.

Today’s popular culture need not be threatening. Skilled docents lead you through inter-active events and displays. See for yourself!
•John Tesh plays the Nirvana Songbook.
•Julia Roberts Reads Jackie Collins
•Victoria’s Secret Without Tears II: Hosted by Claudia Schiffer, with music by Yanni.
•Karaoke Skills Enhancement Workshops.

The Generation X phenomenon has captured the attention of Hollywood and Capitol Hill. This is your chance to “go online” and “score big, way big” in the emerging culture.
•Nose Ring, Tattoo or Bail Hearing: Which Comes First?
•I Kissed A Girl: A Trans-Gender Revelation.
•My Suffering: The Depeche Mode Songbook
•Martha Stewart’s Beano World

Back by Poular Demand!
•Pat Robertson’s Favorite Stag & Smoker Jokes
•Rush Limbaugh’s Ton-O-Fun® Aerobicizing Joystick Workouts.
• Rush Limbaugh's Really Bitchin' War Movies 'til Dawn.

•Meeting the SI Swimsuit Interfaces

*Corporate Rates Available. Special rates apply during peak holiday seasons. Some calendar days are blacked out at discretion of vendor. Your mileage may vary. Not to worry.Have a Nice Day!

Wednesday, May 08, 1996

True Spring Break

Koma bar, little tokyo, LA CA. February 1980.
Dear Editors:

I never thought I'd be writing to you about something like this. I always used to think that this happened to other guys. 

Anyway, I was out in Malibu on Spring Break several weeks ago from Rump-Roast College in Indiana. I didn't know anybody really so I thought I'd go to the beach and try my luck with the local betties. Things were looking pretty bad. It took a hell of a long time to park my dad's car, and I finally got a space hear a fireplug for ten bucks. Score! Then I nearly dropped the car keys into the urinal.

But anyway, I had just woken up from a nap when I felt eyes upon me. I turned around and saw the most awesomely stacked green-eyed blonde babe I had ever laid eyes on. I was drawn irresistably to her firm, swelling breasts and hard perky nipples which were insistently thrusting through her low-cut Pep Boys t-shirt. Her long, smooth tanned legs went from the ground all the way up to her incredibly tight little ass which was barely contained by a well-worn pair of cut-offs. Now I was Mr. Wood.

The possibilities flashed in front of my eyes. I saw myself tooling up the highway with my hair blowing straight back and my nostrils flapping in the wind, with this Nordic vixen whispering passionately steamy phrases in my ear. I could feel her fingernails raking slowly down my back, as she extracted her molten pleasure and the pain would be too thrilling for me to bear alone...

My breath was knocked out of me. Her low husky voice reached my ears over the slow dull pounding of the surf and my hammering heart-beat.

"Hey sport...did you know your car is being towed?"

(continued on page 450)