Showing posts from 1997

New Year's Ultra-Rezzos for '98

That time of the year, again.

This is when all good ultra-Bobs and -Betties look deep into their psychic drop-bags and take inventory of how They Can Do It Better Next Year.

Mr Trail Safety has done some preliminary research, and is happy to share out the results. Here's his Up-Close & Personal Resolution List:

1] I resolve to have the Victoria's Secret Gals as my crew and pacer for all runs and races over 26.2 miles. They will be dressed in "Sport-Appropriate" attire, consisting partially of fuzzy mules/or 4" Chas Jourdan heels, wee aprons so as not to stain them with Gatorade, etc; large silk turbans and dressing gowns when it gets below 60. They will be provided with satin-covered pith helmets and SPF-69 sunblock during the summer months.

2] I will high-step it over Katherine's Pass in Utah leading a brass band. The humble procession will conclude with a shaman swinging a censer and a chain-saw. Which one will be smoking the most?

3] My Ensure shots be fo…

There Is No Finish Line

[first inflicted on an unsuspecting audience in 1997]

We arrive at a resting state. Objects have assumed their entropic limits. The green Tassel-headed Korn anticipates its mortal end before the sharp knives in the harvest time. We are now, of course, above THE FARTRESS OF SOLITUDE.

Our Tortured Young UltraRunner sits and ponders the spectacle before him.

He is wearing his Hat. It shades his fevered brow from the Brightness before him. All of his silver and bronze buckles, the plaques, conspire to refract the piercing brightness of the track-lighting from their awesomeness. He should be happy, but his countenance is furrowed. He is wrestling with the weighty thought that at the End of The Last Great Race, There Is No Finish Line.

He hadn't expected this. He expected a round of thunderous applause at the AC100 awards ceremony. All he heard was the pounding of distant surf when he put the milk carton up to his ear. He had his speech ready, trimmed it down to a brisk 14 minutes. He inclu…

Idle-Hour Aid Station Update

Greeetings, Kampers!
Yes! I am now the Idlehour CP captain. As befits other Mr Trail Safety endeavours, this will be the "Tough Love" aid station. The following changes will be made:

1] All cots will be retrofitted with #10 galvanized nails, in a proper upright grid formation on 1" centers.

2] All chairs will be removed except one, and that will be re-upholstered in "Mexican Security Baroque" ie broken beer bottles

3] Any runner entering whining will be forthwith encouraged to leave the AS under their own power. Inspirational literature will be read aloud. A 10' bullwhip has been ordered for this incentive.

4] Those runners who insist on arguing with the AS captain or crew will get their coffee thru the business end of a nozzle, administered to the suitable interface.

5] Any runners who whine really hard will see their worldly efffects dispersed to the roll of dice at the foot of whatever cross they bear.

I think these will make the IdleHour Aid Station an instan…

Low Sperm Count & You: Real UltraFacts

Mike S* has stated a pressing concern:

People, people, people -- we've mentioned many ultra dangers today, but have (perhaps purposely) ignored the most serious of all: low sperm count. Men -- it's unspoken presence surely torments us all. If I understand correctly, after finishing Bull Run, I was probably only half the man I used to be. Is that right?

Mr Trail Safety will now present some straight facts regarding Low Sperm Count:

Mike, give yourself a hand and rest easy. A lo-elevation 50 like BRR will not deplete your precious bodily fluids to that "red-line" state.

With sufficient rehydration and optimal visual/tactile stimuli, you will maintain a sufficently fresh genetic inventory. Truth be told, the little wigglers will be a more virile and vigourous crop than what you produced in your sedimentary former lives. You're likely to produce more hale and hearty offspring with monster quads now than you were before. Consider this to be pre-natal conditioning.

But to a…