I've been trying to run lately. I say "trying to run" because, when it comes to the actual act of running, I haven't been doing it all that much. I think it has something to do with the hills. I ran one block towards Santiago the other day and I nearly collapsed. It would seem that my running stamina holds at about five minutes. I think it takes me about the same amount of time to put on socks and tie my shoes.
I'm not sure how I became so unfit, but I remember being able to run for an hour on the treadmill. Maybe it's because running on the treadmill affords you opportunities like simultaneously watching Star Trek. It was only when the hour episode was over that my brain jolted awake and realized my lungs had been very, very angry for the past half hour and were consequently planning to leave through my gaping mouth. Shocking realization that it might just have been mild hypnosis that allowed me to run for longer than five minutes in the past.
I think the problem is that when I'm outside, I have no idea how long I've been running because there's no timer in front of me and there's nobody telling me how many miles I've covered or how many calories I've just lost. That was the greatest part about the treadmill. The sense of accomplishment: 300 calories! There's nothing like putting a number to productivity. But the only accomplishment you get when you're running outside is scenic. You realize you're running past the park, and you think, "Yes, very nice, but I could have taken the bus." And my problem is that I'm picking all the wrong landmarks as goals. Like KFC. Not only is it a mere block from my apartment, I ended up getting a two piece dinner and walking home. It could be that going out to run is in itself inimical to my health.
Nevertheless, while "trying to run" the other day, I felt that maybe the problem was that I needed new shoes. Yuri had mentioned that I shouldn't be running in my old tennis shoes because they weren't giving me the proper support and cushioning. It was only after she mentioned this that my feet started to hurt and I became incensed with the idea that what I needed to bolster my running performance was a pair of new runners. As we all know, when you suck at something, the solution rests in buying more specific apparel.
I went with Dave to Big 5 Sporting Goods yesterday, which is exactly as dimly lit and seedy as it sounds. The salesman, a guy my age with equine overbite, was standing in front of the shelf of shoes and obviously did not want to be there. Dave and I were discussing types of running shoes and here was this guy, obscuring 80% of the running shoes with his penumbra. I walked up to the wall of shoes and craned my neck to see what was behind him. Only then did he grudgingly shift his weight, sauntering over a few feet. I saw a pair of Spalding running shoes for twenty-five dollars which interested me. With literally no one else in the store, he had his back turned to me, looking in the direction of the basketballs.
"Could you get you me these in a size ten?" I asked his shoulder. I thought of not bothering him but my running performance was at stake here. He turned around and grunted something optimistic. While trying them on a few minutes later, I realized that I had never owned categorical "running shoes". I wore basketball shoes and cross trainers my whole life; these felt weird. Dave said they're designed so that your feet can 'breathe' when you run. I think I need something like that for my lungs, but I suppose one of us might as well be breathing. Excited about my bargain purchase, I brought them home, intending to run later in the day. I imagined flying over hill after hill for hours and hours.
Several things got in the way, like napping. And, frankly, after eating Taco Bell, I really didn't feel like it. Maybe it wasn't the shoes.
The Mailbag
Dear Adrian
Holy crap man that last one was so long I drooled on
my keyboard. And your basically talking about fish
the whole time. Since when have fish been f unny?
Yo're slipping!
Daniel, Sachem Head
Dan, is Sachem Head where you're from, or is it an unfortunate nickname you acquired when all the kids lined up to hit you during recess? Anyway, I think the problem here is that you're drooling period. I'll tell those kids to lay off you next time.
8W, Adrian, whatever
It doesnt matter both of you are stupid. What the
heck Tofu isn't cute? SO WHAT? You make no sense.
Sally, (No City)
Dear Sally,
I think you and I need to get to know each other better.
Yours truly,
Humour
Adrian,
I'm very upset that you're not smarter. Vegetarians
have so much more to eat than tofu and nuts. I was
going to say "a cornacopia of stuff" but I didn't
want you to confuse cornacopia with corn. But we eat
that too. Anyway, I'm sick of reading your
[expletive]. I've read your site for months and
you've already dis'd vegetarians 3 times.
By the way "ichthyoid" isn't a word.
Alexander M., Ontario
I never said that vegetarians were stupid. 80% of the vegetarians I know aren't stupid. But let's not get too close; I wouldn't want to put anymore strain on that curve. Seriously, though, I've never really dissed vegetarians. I just thought it was interesting that we're so different. By the way, ichthyoid is a word, but I'm having trouble finding "cornacopia". Is it a 'u' or is it just you?
It's funny to me when rappers try their hand at the type of commentary that's really beyond their means of experience or understanding. Like when Canibus tried to tell us that, in fact, the world wasn't three-quarters water. He took an entire verse to explain that when you put a few ice cubes into a glass of water, the water rises; he theorized that because there's whales and fish in the sea, the ocean's water level rises and falls depending on that number -- which would only make sense if we didn't take into account how much water we're actually talking about. This ingenious idea is actually rooted in displacement, of which, had Canibus known the word, there might not have been a song at all.
See, the idea behind a rap song is attitude and little else. Intelligence needs only to be feigned. Sometimes I wish certain rappers would just stick to telling people how great they are. Rappers biting off more than they can chew is kind of like actors who take public stances on political views. As if acting gives them some kind of intellectual edge where people should follow their decisions for reasons more than just because they have superstar clout or play a doctor on TV. When rappers are confronted in interviews that they don't know what they're talking about, they always recoil and stick to the heart of the issue: Their heart outside the issue. "This is what I was feeling at the time, man!" Makes you wonder whether it's important for your feelings to be grounded in the right facts before your message goes triple platinum.
This past summer, I was rapping with some of my old friends from Rexdale. In the middle of one of the freestyles, Reggie came up with a brilliant monologue that ceased to rhyme, but carried with it all the heat of conviction. He was tired of vegetarians looking at him funny for eating a burger. (I'm not sure when this actually happened, but, judging from Reggie's throbbing forehead veins, it happens a lot.) At the end, we all laughed when he chided an imaginary vegetarian bystander to, "Be a man! Eat cute animals!"
Incidentally, this summer, I made two vegetarian friends. To me, this is incredible. Not that I have friends, but that they're vegetarians. I could be a vegetarian if it included eating beef, pork and chicken. But, because they frown at that, we seem to have so little in common; sometimes I wonder if my life doesn't revolve around how great meat is (my favourite movie scene of all time is in The Matrix, when the guy's eating steak). I think they secretly look at me in disdain that I could eat furry creatures with feelings, while I look at them with pity that they're scrounging around life eating tofu and nuts.
But, to be honest, I have struggled with my insatiable appetite for meat. And when I think about it, I wish there was another way. I'm not just writing this because I'm afraid I might have a band of vindictive, vigilante vegetarians reading. I feel bad that pigs are really smart and loving creatures; I get sad when I hear about the living conditions of cows and chickens. As if to comfort me, people tell me they're specially bred to be eaten. But that doesn't make me -- or any particular animal on the wrong side of the fence -- feel any better. It really makes me sad.
And, to demonstrate how crass I am in these types of moral struggles, I found my hand digging itself, with profound contemplation, into a bag of shrimp crackers.
For a second I felt worse, but then I remembered that both my vegetarian friends eat fish. Why is that? I ate another handful of shrimp crackers with new resolve. It's because no one feels bad eating fish. Besides, I thought in between chews, nobody seems to care whether shrimp is bred specifically to be eaten or not. Green Peace has kept decidedly mum when it comes to the cause of shrimp. I could be wrong, but I don't think any of us really care about their feelings; with the thought we lend to shrimp, you'd think the whole reason they exist is precisely so that they be eaten.
Though I think I felt bad about eating fish once.
I was on a cruise, and in the dining room. I'm not sure what cruise lines think being on the water has to do with gorging myself with food, but I'm not complaining. The room was an extravagant affair with golden chandeliers and windows stretching from the floor to three flights above. People turned to ooh and ahh the dolphins who, at the spur of their curiosity, leapt in lazy half circles above the water, following just behind our ship. We saw the sun setting to the glistening of their slippery backs and the playful splashes of waves. At this point, I couldn't shake from my mind that I had ordered the salmon. I suppose the peak of irony happens when you watch this kind of spectacle with deep appreciation, wiping your mouth to wave at the dolphins while simultaneously wolfing down their less cute ichthyoid brethren.
I realize that comparing fish, dolphins and shrimp is incorrect because I'm basically classifying fish together with mammals and crustaceans, but the whole point is that I'm eating something that moved and had a life before it steamed on my plate beside the parsley.
And, to me, swordfish, marlins, and dolphins -- they're all about the same to me. I can just imagine a grilled swordfish wondering why dolphins aren't getting the brunt of the spatula. The problem is they haven't boosted their public image. They need to rescue drowning kids, land a primetime TV slot, hire an agent. That's what Flipper did. He took one for the team. What's socially uncontested in terms of dinner fare works proportionally against how cute that particular animal is. (Unless you're Reggie, whose mantra goes to show that he himself is just socially contested.)
But then I got to thinking: Tofu isn't cute. And how convenient is that? What was at first noble to me about vegetarians now seemed like a concentrated attack on plants. While Green Peace protects cute baby seals at the Pole, no one's saving thousands of stalks of broccoli from being cut at their throats. Someone needs to fight back against this travesty. Someone needs to record a rap song.
With the right attitude, it could go triple platinum.
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