I've Never Met Stephen Spada, But I Don't Like Him!

This past weekend I ran the 'Run for Green' half-marathon in Davidson, NC. I've run this race three or four times now. It's a pretty challenging course. As I often tell people, you never know how hilly Davidson is until you run 13.1 miles of it. I also say things like "the person who laid out this course is clearly not a runner." These things are mildly funny.

If you read my prior post, you'll know I just turned 47. And, if you read another previous post, you'll know that I ran a 5K race in summer 2010 in the exact same time I ran a 5K in summer (well, late spring) 2008. Honestly, I think only nine people at most have read my posts, so most likely you have not read these posts (unless you're my one and only follower, Autumn (thank you, Autumn)). There's another post about how this blog is a test of the theory that one can blog and absolutely noone will care.

Anyway, I ran the half-marathon in one hour, forty-three minutes, and nine seconds. In 2008 I ran the same course just 41 seconds faster than this year. Actually, in 2007 I ran the course over three minutes SLOWER than this year. I'm getting faster.

Of course, at 47 I have no chance of winning this thing. Last year the half-marathon was won by a 15 year old. This year the 5K was won by an 18 year old, and the first place female in the 10K was ONLY 13! According to some research, probably done at MIT or Harvard, the peak running age is 27 (coincidentally, I ran 15 minutes faster for a 1/2 marathon when I was 27 - that will be the subject of a future post).

This brings me to Stephen Spada. And Bobby Aswell (who I know a bit from the Davidson Area Running Team). Stephen Spada is 45. Bobby Aswell is 47. These two guys won the half-marathon and 10K races, respectively. What's up with that? It's not possible. They must have pulled a Rosie Ruiz. That's the only explanation for their victories. The other possible explanation is that they're better runners than I.

You might think I'm happy that a fellow middle-ager won a race. Well.....I am. Congratulations Stephen and Bobby!

You Cannot Be Serious

I turned 47 a few days ago. I'm not saying I'm Jack LaLanne or anything, but I do run 14 (and increasing) miles at a time and keep myself in pretty good shape. Historically, if anyone expresses surprise at my age it's because they think I'm a few years younger than I am. I don't think I look like I'm 35, but maybe I could pass for 40. Or at least 44.

So much for that. First of all, banks suck. Especially big corporate banks. But that's another story. Today I was looking at my bank statement online and I noticed a $10 service fee for the use of our overdraft protection. Then I noticed another $10 fee. Then another. Thirty dollars in overdraft protection fees in a week! We've had overdraft protection for fifteen years, use it often, and have never been assessed a fee.

I know, we shouldn't need overdraft protection. But it's there, and sometimes in kicks in. I own my own business, and I don't have my paycheck set up on direct deposit. I pay myself when I get around to it (frequently when I get an overdraft protection notice in the mail). I know, I'll try harder.

Anyway, I was really pissed when I saw those service fees! I was sure we'd received some letter disguised as junk mail and there was some notification about it, but come on, this is 2010 and why don't they e-mail these things?? Or blog about it?

So I took my indignant self down to the Davidson branch of Wachovia. When I walked through the door I noticed a small sign "still #1 in customer satisfaction." 'Not for long' I thought to myself.

The 30ish customer service rep motioned me into her cubicle and asked if she could help me. I'm sure she wished she hadn't asked. I was polite, but I firmly recited my objections to the fees and the way they notify customers of changes to the fee structure (I even threw in something about the Pony Express being out of business).

I could tell I was going to get nowhere. Finally I asked if there were any ways to avoid these fees (other than being a bit more on the ball with our checking account balance), thinking that perhaps if we maintained a higher balance in our money market or put our kids up as collateral we'd qualify for some type of free (as if anything is really free) checking.

This is where I got really mad. The customer service person looked at me - admittedly a bit sheepishly as if she knew she was potentially about to put her foot in her mouth - and said "well, you might consider the 'Crown Classic' account. If you keep a $1,000 balance in all of your accounts, there are no fees." Well, that sounded good to me, so I said I was ready to sign up. "I'll just need to verify that you're at least 50" was the response.

You cannot be serious! Are you kidding me? 50? 5-0???? I mean, you really know how to make a guy feel good. A friend told me I should have said something like "when's your baby due?" as a comeback. Wished I'd thought of that one.

When I look in the mirror I don't see 50. Sure, I see tired at times, the hair is getting more silver in it, I'm not getting any younger. But I'm not 50, and I'm pretty sure that customer service rep knows it now. We ended our meeting with her suggesting that I watch my account more closely for the next 3 years, then come back and sign up when I reach senility and I won't have to worry about fees because there won't be any (I made up the senility part).

I guess I need to bring this back to running somehow. Since I picked up my running about 3 months ago, I've dropped 15 pounds. Yes, that's great. The only drawback is that my babyface is going away and being replaced by something gaunt and apparently aged. I told my wife this evening that I was either going to stop this running nonsense or get some Botox.

I can have it both ways.

The (Weight)ing Is The Hardest Part

An ad for a Wendy's Frosty (capitalized out of respect) motivated me to write this post. I saw it today, and immediately wanted to go get one. I didn't.

So, I should be happy about my restraint, right? No, not really. I mean, I really wanted it. I was lusting for it. Like Jesus said, if you lust after it, it's the same as doing it. So, sin committed, I should have got off my butt and driven down to Wendy's.

I don't really have a love affair with Wendy's. I do recall that after I finished my final final exam at Vanderbilt, I celebrated the end of my formal education by going to Wendy's, eating a triple cheeseburger, and then going back to my apartment and sleeping for 24 hours. But, when it comes to fast food I'm more of a McDonald's person. I especially like the salads. Just like I especially like the interviews in Playboy.

I'm weighing in just under 200 pounds now. Actually, I'm weighing in at just under 89 kilograms, having switched the scale to kilograms because double digits were more appealing than triple (there's that triple thing again). The downside of kilograms is that it's twice as hard to lose 1 kilogram compared to a pound.

Back in 1992, which I would consider my running prime, I typically weighed around 180. If I was really putting in the miles and eschewing the calories, I could get down to the high 160s.

So today I'm carrying around an extra 20 pounds. The obvious analogy is that I'm carrying a bowling ball around my stomach (and I would guess that most of my extra weight is in my stomach). It can't be good for my running. Or my knees.

My goal then for the rest of September and October is to lose 10 pounds, and get my weight down to about 85 kilograms. I'm going to start my diet in earnest tomorrow. Then I'm going to take a break on Saturday for my birthday, then I'm going to start again on Sunday.

Until then, I'll see you at Wendy's!