February 23-24, 2013: Hardcore Ski in Killington, VT

I decided to go skiing one more time before I start my intensive 8-month dickhead marathon training. No women, no cry: girlfriends were left home for this occasion (mine must be steaming reading those lines). The dream team was comprised of two top-notch arseholes: my Ironman-finisher, heartbreaker French friend and myself. We wanted to ski hardcore, and we did. The rules were:
- You do not take pauses / catch your breath
- You do not slow down when there are huge hideous orange "SLOW" signs OR little kids OR waffle huts, you ACCELERATE instead
- You use the lifts as efficiently as possible a.k.a. use "singles" lines / cut people off / be a true mofo
- You ski as hard as if there was a grilled baguette with Nutella and a glass of Coke at the bottom of the trail (or a WALMART if you're American)
- Only one 30-min lunch break is allowed, pee / poop / diarrhea included.

After 6 hours:
3 falls
1 collision,
5 goggle fog removals,
1 argument with a random guy,
1 weed smoke filled gondola,
1 cheeseburger and fries,
1 large Coke,
1 talk with a former Time reporter who photographed Chirac and interviewed this "dumb and arrogant Ségolène Royal",
2 congratulations about France attacking Mali (no kidding)

Needless to say, we nailed the mountain - see pics below.

1mi = 1.609km, capice?

What we've skiied on Sunday (basically the entire mountain)

Back to the hotel, a extensive, awkward, borderline homosexual guy stretching session took place. Picture below shows what it did NOT look like:

Call on me. Funny, when I go to the gym, it looks nothing like that either

ALRIGHT folks, tomorrow is my first day of training, gotta roll.

February 19, 2013: Registration Fuckery

I'm sure it was just a simple, normal Tuesday for most hard-working Americans (both of which I'm not): filled with morning coffees, road rage on the daily commute, and tweets about everything in between.  Y'know, the usual mundanity and tedium. However, this was not a "normal" Tuesday for me by any means.

I spent the majority of my day clashing in a battle with INTERNET, that machete wielding bastard that Al Gore created (50 sec).

The official registration time began at 1 PM EST, and within 90 seconds, the whole fucking site was down. Like, you're the website controlling the Chicago MARATHON. Open to anyone and everyone. Accepting only the first 45,000 applicants. Are you really surprised by the deluge of prospective runners, all psyched to finally have a legitimate excuse to shirk their quotidian database-analyzing tasks at work?

Yeah...I'm going to need you to get back to calculating the damping of that high-structure beam....oh, you're signing up for the Chicago marathon? Sure, take your time!

It was such an epic failure that many unimportant newspaper websites decided to report on what they referred to as a "technical glitch."   "Pathetic, Easily-Preventable Technological Catastrophe Reflects Poorly on Modern Day Society"  would be more of an apropos headline. Or at least use the term "travesty." Because that's what it was.

If we can get the late Tupac Shakur to perform 15 years after his death at Coachella via a bone-chillingly realistic hologram, can't Active.com figure out how to collect a bunch of sets of numbers and letters in an organized way, without the entire site pitifully crashing into a calamity far worse than what we witnessed with the Ural Mountains meteor? 

Anyway, after several at least 800 futile attempts to register, I began to realize I didn't even want to run  the fucking thing. But I WOULD NOT be made a mockery of, especially by a shoddily developed website resembling shit I could have easily made in my 2003 "Basics-of-HTML" high school course. 

Well, you're probably wondering:

Did you sign up? 

Are you running?

 Is all hope lost?  

Should I subscribe to a more boring marathon blog written a girl running for homelessness or animal cruelty?

Read it and weep, bitches.

See ya in Chicago, mofos.

February 17, 2013: Let da bitch know

Today I officially informed my girlfriend of my "serious" intention to run the marathon. Despite the fact that I was in her bed when I decided yesterday, she thought that these were just whimsical musings brought on by Nutella intoxication and icona pop.

When she saw my Amazon purchase for a marathon training guide, it became all too real. A self-described "psychopathic, attention-whore," my girlfriend struggled with the concept of an eight-month training program. Immediately, she launched into her passive aggressive, pugnacious tendencies.

Who would have thought this $11.99 purchase would lead to this?

This was the least violent of photos, too.

She knew this marathon would affect our relationship on a grander, horological level. Hours upon hours were to be lost running, researching, obsessing, and complaining. 

Then I called her a "selfish, unsupportive bitch." She then rolled over and napped. And then we ate chips and sandwiches.

February 15, 2013: Decision Day

Today I decided I wanted to run the Chicago 2013 marathon. Not for impoverished children in Africa. Not for cancer. Not for AIDS. Because I'm bored. And I'm a dickhead.

I made this decision whilst eating Nutella and listening to an awesome dance song in my girlfriend's humongous California King bed. See photo below & song here.

Needless to say... I'm fucked

The following blog will provide a disturbingly honest peek into the trials and tribulations of my training for my first marathon, which will take place in a mere eight months.

Relevant Running History: I've only run one 5k race in my life. And I was almost beat by a guy wearing a 50-lb reindeer costume.

Cours Forest, cours. Did I mention I was French?