Guests: Peter Cortner (Dag Nasty), Bevan McShea (The Phoenix Veil) and comedian Rachel Bensen!

Topics: Female Comedian Problems, Bobbleheads, Hobo Overkill, Comforters, Bad Roommates, Annoying Marathon Runners, Popcorn Cooking Tips, Cheap Trick, Fugazi, City Gardens, Punk Shows, First Punk Bands You Loved, Dinosaur Rock and Bands You’ll Always Go See.

Playlist: “Dag Nasty,” “Under Your Influence” and “All Ages Show” by Dag Nasty. “A Novel Idea” and “Fathers” by The Phoenix Veil.

Play Now: http://www.usedwigs.com/pod/podcast95.mp3

iTunes: Download, Listen and Subscribe

Links:

• @rachelbensen
• The Gerunds
• The Phoenix Veil
• Rock-afire Explosion
• Descendents in Philly
• Bun E Carlos Coffee
• Fugazi
• Bad Brains
• Randy Now and City Gardens
• Scott Reynolds
• JFA
• You’re Gonna Miss Me
• Toy Cannons
• Damon Hamilton Project

I’m not the most educated runner, I kind of pride myself on a makeshift DIY method of training. I glance at Runner’s World every month, but mostly I just run a lot, sometimes far, sometimes not, and base my training on feel not on rigid schedules and special diets. That said, this homemade method has served me well in the past. Today, not really. And by not really, I mean not at all.

This past week I was battling a little virus. I get this insidious bug once a year—every Spring, never fails—and I get to enjoy my insides exploding through a couple of my body’s holes for a captivating 24-hour period. Yucky stuff. The bug wanted to party for more than 24 hours this time, and I had the accompanying nausea all week and spent a good bit of time getting some quality reading done in one of the smaller rooms of my house, if you know what I mean.

Let’s stop here for a sec, be warned, this little story center around some GI problems (diarrhea and it’s good pal vomit). Now most runners don’t mind a good poop story, as long as it doesn’t involve the public witnessing them pooping. Don’t worry, that unpleasantness did not befall me either and I will not be too graphic with the rest of the details.

By Friday night I was feeling better, jut a little nauseous still, but as soon as I pulled into Belmar, NJ (my hometown), the ocean air must have cured me because on Saturday I felt fantastic! Birds singing, sunny skies, coffee tasting great, the whole nine. I was concerned though about the weather report which I was checking all week like a loon. The forecast for Sunday morning into early afternoon was cloudy and low 80s. Not ideal, but better than 90s and sunny. Like most weather reports, this was a complete lie! I wanted to punch the sun.

On Sunday morning I got up at six so I could be at The New Jersey Marathon in Long Branch , NJ., 7:00am. Normally I eat like a Clydesdale a couple hours before the race (Runner’s World told me too), but I had no appetite and could barely get down two bananas, a half of peanut butter sandwich and a granola bar. To make matters more concerning, the attack of my little brown friend returned, like 5 freaking times before the race. I should have known then, my day would not go so smoothly. Listen to Your Body! A good runner would have said, okay, no go, wait until the next race.

Fast forward, race begins at 9:oo am, already hot, high 70s and no real breeze. By mile 5 it was incredibly hot, by mile 10 my calves quickly cramped up into these softballs of pain. Okay, I have very small legs, so let’s say “golf balls of fiery agony.” Well hello, dehydration.

By mile 12, lots of internal grumblings hit hard and I felt an eruption was near. At this time, the classic Golden Palominos song “Dying From The Inside Out” (featuring Bob Mould) sprung to mind, so I hummed a few bars to keep me distracted. Distraction did not work and I made an executive decision.

Bail on the full marathon and exit at the half-marathon finish. The course was a 13.1 mile loop so the finish and starting line were the same for both races.

So I exited at half marathon finish, got my medal and made short work to a Port-a-John, or Johnny-on-the-Spot or Cap’n Jack’s Plastic Crap Palace, whatever they call them know.

I spent exactly 22 minutes in the turd box (I know this because I was staring at my Nano’s clock) and it was not pretty. Even with all the vomit and poopies, I kept it incredibly tidy. You should know that about me, always very tidy… and prompt (I’m good to have at parties).

I exited and plopped down on the grass for about ten minutes and actually felt pretty good. I think we all know that extremely fake feeling of “good” after a nice throw up session. This false feeling of comfort led to my next bad decision.

First bad decision, running the race.

Second bad decision, rejoining the race.

Yup, I ran down to the boardwalk a few yards after the finish line and hopped back in the race. Guns a blazing! Let’s finish this damn marathon! You can do this! Let’s go Stupid Face!

The night before the race I was chatting with my cousin-in-law Dave and he asked, “Can you just do the half marathon if you’re really tired?” I kind of scoffed and said I would not opt for that. This hubris must have angered the Distance Running Gods and they made damn sure the final half of the 26.2 race would be hellish for this half-baked runner. Actually, forgot sunscreen on my arms and legs, so I was fully baked.

Back to the (in)action, The next 6 miles were okay, but by mile 19 my toddler calves shriveled up once again. It got up to 92 degrees. Also, Long Branch must have an old blue law banning shade trees or anything that could possibly emit sweet sweet shade. An umbrella hat would have been welcomed. I saw five runners receiving medical treatment along the way and most of the others were not looking so chipper, me included. Lots of “Can you believe this heat!” banter.

The cramps were pretty painful and this is when I switched to a new stride—a more compact stride—which I used for the next 8 miles. You know that song on Yo Gabba Gabba called “Baby Steps”? Yup, looked pretty much like that. I was a slow-mo Gene Gene the Dancing Machine shuffling fool.

I drank all the water offered and all the Gatorade offered (after the tenth cup, pretty gross!), but I could not shake the cramps. Nothing helped. So I plodded on, two tiny steps at a time.

The fans at the race were awesome. Lots of “You look great, keep going!” Now on my best day, I don’t look anywhere near great. So these lies being spewed by these sweet and peppy folks were very transparent, but fully appreciated. Also, be careful people, lots of little boy fans along the way request hi-fives. One little thug almost took off my arm with one. I was very mad at him, but had no energy to scold him.

So I was feeling crappy, especially thinking about my wife, two kids and my Aunt Mary who came to cheer me on and expected me earlier. I ran my last two marathons at 3:40 and 3:52 so they were expecting me around then. Luckily at mile 24ish I saw them on the boardwalk, they were heading back, too much sun for the little ladies. I gave them a quick rundown and waddled down to the finish line. Hooray. Done.

Upon completion, that not-so-fresh feeling returned in full force and I enjoyed some dry heaves while waiting to cross the street to get my sweat ass back to my car. For some reason, there were NO water bottles at the finish! Good Lord organizers, that’s Marathon set up 101! And no bagels! I had to buy a warm juice box and a bottle of Foodtown water from a dirty water hot dog vendor. Deelish.

Due to the 10,000 runners and fans, everything in Long Branch was blocked off, took me a half hour just to leave town. Got back to Belmar, Kelly took my older girl to visit sick relative in hospital in Philly (get better sweet Josie!) and I packed up my toddler and the dog in my car to drive back to Philly. Could not eat much, still a bit woozy. So we’re on the road and then….

What, more vomit? Yes silly, but not mine.

Had to stop three times for little Oona on our two-hour trip home.

• First stop: Needed help with her juice box. Stupid straw.
• Second stop: She took off her diaper claiming she had a big poop. Nope, just pee. Did not have a diaper so I swaddled her in a clean pair of my underwear. Kelly had all the clothes in her car.
• Third stop: About a half hour from home, Oona threw up goldfish (snack, not the sea creature) all over her self. I pulled over, cleaned her up and now had her dressed in one of my tee shirts and another pair of underwear. She looked kind of cute. She approved of the the new duds.

So we finally got home, I put the baby in the bath water, hosed down the baby seat, loaded up the washing machine and reheated some old pizza. Not the best end to a crazy day.

My little dream was to finish the marathon in decent time and then enjoy a whole Mike’s Sub (mixed cheese, extra tomatoes) on my front porch in Belmar with a big ol’ Pepsi followed by a Dogfish Head 60 Minute. Kids playing on the lawn, Kel reading the paper… Normal Rockwell sitting there painting us…Oh well, the best laid plans…. My super wife did bring home a large milk shake for me tonight. Yum Yum! Feeling better now, typing away and even laughing at today’s many mishaps.

It’s trying times like these when you learn a lot of about yourself. Today, I learned that I’m an idiot.

Okay, excuse fest is over, time to find some ointment to take care of these rashes. Happy running!

More Running News

• Ultra-Marathoner Admits He Just Hates His Family
• Man Beats Cancer, Completes First Triathlon Viewing

“To be completely honest, I despise running, HATE IT! Competing in these insane 100-mile running races all weekend long and all the training that goes with it is utter torture,” said ultra-marathoner Marc Skednick of Philadelphia as he applied super glue to a heel blister the size of a plum. “That said, I continue to do it because I hate spending time with my family a thousand times more than competing in this ridiculous sport.”

“My strict training method consists of running about 20-to-30 miles a day in preparation for my weekend races that take place twice a month. As you can see it doesn’t allow much time for me to spend with my nagging wife or bratty kids. … actually, it leaves absolutely no face time for me and my family. I’m really not sure what the 12-year-old looks like now. Or is she 14? Not sure, anyway, gotta motor…” Skednick finishes tending to his wound, slowly gets up and continues his daily run as the clock strikes 10:45pm.

The 6-foot-1, 135-pound Skednick runs for a few hours before and after work and usually eats all his meals while running. In keeping with his family-shunning ways, Skednick makes sure to take off his Bluetooth before a run just in case a family member might want to get in touch. “I pretend to need ‘total concentration’ while running, so I ask my family not to call me.”

When asked if he misses seeing his daddy, Skednick’s 10-year-old son quickly responds “Do you want to play Guitar Hero? Or go kill some ants?” before he darts into the other room to punch his sister in the back of her head.

His wife Nancy puts her husband’s hobby into perspective, “It keeps him happy. He sure seems to love it!”

The long-long-distance runner describes his upcoming 135-mile event, “Like most of the races, this one is in the desert, about a million degrees. I usually puke on average about ten times a day from dehydration and exhaustion but that doesn’t deter me, not even the hallucinations can stop me. It’s sooooo much better than watching dance recitals and soccer games.”

“I’m motivated by that ‘Not-seeing-my-family-high’ that many runners get after logging in a few miles on the pavement. It makes all the leg cramps, eroded cartilage, third-degree sunburn, pants crapping, and the intense stabbing pain that jets up through my spine every time I begin to move my feet all worth it.”

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Favieri, an avid football and NASCAR fan, completed watching his first televised triathlon only 3 months after getting a clean bill of health from his doctor.

“I took it slow at first, only watching the swimming part for a few minutes then I’d turn it off and take a nap. I’d then watch another triathlon and try to make it through the bike leg,” Favieri said as he adjusted his flannel pajama bottoms and propped another couch cushion behind his head.

“My friends thought I was crazy. I mean, this isn’t fun stuff and takes a lot of determination and focus. It was pretty exhausting, plus, knowing that you are only one of a select few doing this makes it even harder. But I persevered and started getting into it and understanding the mentality it takes to finish. I got in the zone and started enjoying it. It must be like one of those ‘runner’s high’ I’ve heard about. Really awesome!”

Defying the naysayers made this personal triumph even sweeter for Favieri. “Two years ago, my doctors thought I was a goner, but I beat cancer and proved them wrong. I took that defiance and never-say-die attitude into the basement with me when I started training. A lot of my pals thought there was no way I could watch an entire triathlon without flipping on something else and getting distracted, especially with all those Real World marathons on at the same time. It was tough; I love when those kids scream at each other and eat bugs and stuff.”

On a late August Saturday afternoon with temperatures at a cool 74 degrees (air conditioning setting), Favieri completed his viewing in just under three hours and even watched all the commercials. “The commercials were tedious and I almost bailed, but you gotta be a 100% committed, or just don’t do it at all.” He then cooled down by watching an hour-long Bowflex infomercial.

Now realizing the world has much more to offer than the same sports he watched for hours on end, Smith now changes the channels with an open mind and stops on such exotic fare as Tour De France, indoor lacrosse and women’s 9-ball billiards. “You really learn a lot about yourself when you expand your horizons and your TiVo programming choices.”

Taking advantage of his new lease on life, Favieri now gets up at 8:45 a.m. every morning – an entire 45 minutes earlier before the cancer diagnosis – to get in some viewing practice before he starts the day.

Asked if he’d attempt another one soon, Favieri replied, “Definitely, I think I’m getting addicted. But I am hoping there is some sort of ‘fantasy triathlon league’ online, you know, to add some extra interest.”

Favieri takes a moment to reflect.

“I just don’t want to live my life saying ‘I wish I watched this or I wish I watched that,’” the cancer-survivor relates as he wipes a tear from his eyes and opens another can of beer.

“There’s a great big world out there for me to experience. On TV.”

Jeff Lyons
Education Reporter

More News:

• Dismissed Reality Show Contestant Vows “This is the last you will see of me!”
• Ultra-Marathoner Admits He Just Hates His Family
• Useful Noncommittal Responses
• Multicultural Guest Service Enhances Suburban Parties
• Philly Signage: Alien Barber?