Sad Story

Al's taking a break from his witty little title thing ("unbelievab-AL") to report on this one.

Today, at the Olympic Men's Marathon Team Trials, Robert Shay, 28, dropped dead. Shay collapsed about 5.5 miles into the race in front of the Central Park Boathouse. Shay was a tremendously talented runner. Here's a blurb on Shay:

Shay was a favorite going into the 2004 trials but was hampered by a hamstring strain and finished 23rd. He was the 2003 U.S. marathon champion and was third at this year's U.S. 25K championships. He also won the U.S. half marathon in 2003 and 2004. He was the NCAA 10,000-meter champion in 2001, the first national individual title in track for Notre Dame.

Shay was the U.S. 20,000-meters (20K) road racing champion in 2004, making him a four-time national champion.

There has not been a report yet on the cause of his collapse. But this is a terrible thing, and I just wanted to post this bit on it.

More on Shay here.

Calling Damone

Al is the man who can hook your ass up for any show in the NY metro area. The dude lives and breathes the arena life. Back when Moveitfred was a young lass he used to drop his wad now and again on some passing fancy of a concert.

Some highlights from Moveitfred's concertized youth include Van Halen and Red Hot Chili Peppers at LA's small, rat-infested Troubadour nightclub, being in on a private show by R.E.M before they hit it big, braving the Long Beach Arena to see The Time and Prince as prolly the only white dude in the audience, and sitting next to Valerie Bertinelli at an Elton John show back before she got fat and we, ahem, knew about Sir John.

The lowlight of Moveitfred's concert past was likely the stirring combination of Christopher Cross and Fleetwood Mac at the Hollywood Bowl. Jeeeezus, what was Moveitfred thinking. Had to have been some surf-infested blond involved in that equation somehow.

Anyway, back on point. Al continues to pound out the concert scene to the tune (pun intended) of two or three shows a week. You name it, Al's got the seats and a lighter at the ready.

Al can also hook a brother up with any ticket in town.

So Moveitfred is making a public plea to Al. Can you hook a brother up with some tix? Moveitfred ain't talking about some reunion of aging 80's rockers, he needs some seats for the next wave, the new thing, the up-and-coming.

Moveitfred needs tix to Hannah Montana, bro. Daughter is busting Moveitfred's chops to go. It's the rage. This is bigger than Moveitfred. Every freakin' pre-teen girl has got to witness this Billy Ray Cyrus spawn. Please, help a bicoastal out, man. It's the least you can do.

Fredtastic-AL

In which AL explains what a DOUCHE Fred is


If you are like me, you've been waiting and wondering "where, oh where, can poor Fred's post be; oh where, oh where can it be?" I mean, Fred wow-ed us with his prowess at the Halloween Party where he wined 'em and dined 'em and even woo-ed 'em a bit.




Fred told us how his unparalelled party performance led to Craigmeur permission for this last Sunday. Logically, we were waiting for his stunning sideline pics and thrilling color commentary. But nothing... we waited. And still nothing...we waited.

Finally, I could wait no more. I approached the legend and asked the age old question, "what the fuck Fred?" Fred told a tale of terror, horror, and mayhem. Lock up your children folks, and drape your shawls tight about you. This one's a doosy. (By the way, how the fuck does one spell "doosy?")


The wind poured across the brutal steppes of New Jersey, driving snow and sleet mercilessly down upon our hero. (Ok, this was an out of season ski mountain and it was sunny and cool, but go with me.) Fred pulled his trusty steed out of the stall (Yanked the Zank outta the Yak rack) and set out to explore the wild wilderness that was the Craigmeur course.

As Fred motored through a practice loop, he made a startling discovery: the course would call for riders to transition from the upper mountain to a lower section by navigating class 5 rapids, crossing a chasm akin to the Grand Canyon, and braving several South Central backstreets (gats a-blazin'). Fearless Fred propelled himself over downed trees and glacial erratics, past crackheads and slowly cranking crossers. At some point he felt a rumbling from deep within the earth. It was a quake, and Fred's keen senses could tell it was a big one. He careened down the trembling terra (not so) firma trying to find stable ground. But there, ahead of him! A damsel in distress. She'd fallen during dismount and was still clipped in with one foot. The earth was open before her and the land fell away towards the open maw. She would certainly be swallowed. Brave Fred flung himself into the hole, spreading his 7 foot 7 inch frame across the opening. The maiden used our bony buddy as a ladder and climbed to freedom. But the ground grabbed up our Fred. He was chewed up by mud and gravel (and even some concrete). She dug to save him, but it was too late. He lay, broken and battered, the victim of an act of god.



In the end, Fred would rise from the ashes like the Phoenix.


But a painful bruise on his vulva would keep him from racing.

Sniff. Hang tough brother. We're with you.

Hell on Earth

Well the Family Fred Halloween Bash hit the fan last night and went off without major tragedy or loss of life.

The guest list included nearly 100 of the most preeminent adults and children in the greater Long Island region. In other words a fucking mob scene here at La Casa de Fred.

The forecast called for heavy rain which would have added to the disaster of upwards of 50 candy-amped kids tearing through the house. Luckily the Gods were gracious once again this year and kept the precipitation to an on/off again drizzle. Kids stayed outside and some of the drunk parents were even able to coax up a huge bonfire with the help of a can of lighter fluid. This gave the kids a chance to chase each other around the yard with burning sticks. Nothing but good, clean fun here at Party Fred.

About half way through the evening one of the hotcake moms in attendance began invading Moveitfred's egg space with a slurred dialog about whether or not Moveitfred ever imaged his life turning out "this way"--suburban address, packed house of other minivan families and kids, soup, men holding wine glasses, a "craft table" out back. In other words, a complete catastrophe. (Moveitfred thinks there were ulterior motives to this intimate exchange, but that's for another time).

Here's the thing. First off, Moveitfred jacked off big time for about the first 30 years of his life. This current situation, Moveitfred believes, is simply a swinging of the pendulum. Nothing to stress about. It's all a big game of balance, man. Next, Moveitfred has learned there are ways to negotiate these tragedies. Last night was a perfect example.

See all this, Moveitfred means ALL this, got Moveitfred on the wife's good side. Moveitfred was a Host-fucking-Master last night. He served cheese and crackers, led packs of kids through the Haunted Room of Death, introduced Dr. Igor Von Choppingblock and his blood-soaked skit of horror, replenished the soup, circulated the estate with idle chit-chat bullshit, even...poured wine.

So long about midnight as the freds were helping the last of the tottering, drunk parents find their kids Moveitfred's wife embraced Moveitfred with heartfelt thanks for all his help. That's when Moveitfred pounced:

"Gee, thanks honey. Say, y'know how the kids have soccer all day on Sunday? Is there a chance you can handle it, cause, y'see, there's this cross race in Jersey...."

Moveitfred scored the big win on that one. He got the ok, roared into the office, powered up the Gateway, and sneaked in with his reg just before the deadline for the Craigmeur on Sunday. Nice.

Red Shorts

Please help Moveitfred. These same red Oakley mt bike shorts keep coming up on one of those Quick-buy-it-now-cause-we're-gonna-put-another-piece-of-shit-up-for-sale-in-about-three-minutes single item web deal sites.

Please vote and help Moveitfred decide:

____ 1. These shorts rock. Nobody wears cranapple red--Moveitfred will be peeling chicks off his svelte physique wearing these.

____ 2. I've seen you, Moveitfred, and these shorts, although dapper-dandy, are not you. Wait until the same model comes out in Madrid Stone or Morning Eggplant.

____ 3. These shorts are ugly as hell, but who cares when you're out in the woods.

____ 4. Moveitfred is an idiot. These shorts are stupid. Why do I waste my time coming to this blog?

Cold Titties

Moveitfred got out on the cross bike for a couple of hard workouts these last two days. A little cool out there, huh? Finally some fall weather here in the NE.

Yesterday Moveitfred did an epic three hours. Charged some hills, rode over to the local beach and plowed through the sand for a spell, then visited ghetto cross course and did a final 40-minutes of redlining. Got rained on several times, and by the end of it all Moveitfred noticed a perceptible chill in his frontal region.

Moveitfred is very sensitive, and even the slightest drop in core temperature is cause for alarm.

But Moveitfred went home and had some warm tea and split pea soup, and although he suffers from a mild tingle in his throat today he thinks he will be OK.

Hey, thanks for reading.

This Is Some Scary Shit

Moveitfred Is Ready To Kill Someone

Out here in Suburban Hell there seems to be this new fucking annoying holiday trend going on.

Ghosting.

Yes, that's a verb. To begin, how fucking annoying is that?

For those of you lucky enough not to know, here's how it works:

Some fucking cheery family gets together and fills a bucket with candy and other annoying shit. Then they print out/photocopy the same fucking note that everyone else seems to be using. Says something clever like "Boo! You've been Ghosted! Now it's time for you to Ghost two other families in the neighborhood!" They tape the note to the bucket, put on dark clothes, creep around the fucking neighborhood and up to your door, drop the bucket on the front step, ring the bell, and run like hell.

Family fred has been "Ghosted" the last two nights.

Time to set the traps and put an end to this crap.

patriotic-AL

Al Discusses the Olympic Marathon Trials and a Sunday Race

2 Sundays from now is the NYC marathon. As part of the marathon weekend, the Olympic Team Trials for the Men's Marathon will be run on Saturday through NYC. Al will be in attendance. This promises to be an awesome event with many of the world's best marathoners in attendance.

Al will be out there yelling. "Go USA!"


This week has been a good week for me with running. I worried I might not recover well from last Sunday's race. But I feel good. I've put in about 30 miles this week. Tomorrow, I'm running a 5 mile race with the LIRRC again. I'll show up early and take a 5 mile run for warm up. Then I'll race the 5. I'll see how I feel, but I plan to run 7s. Maybe I'll push a little faster. Play it by ear.



AL UPDATE:

I ran a 34:55 for the 5 miler. So I paced out at 6:59, almost precisely what I was looking for. All my miles were about 7s, no great variation. I finished about 12th or so (yeah, yeah...not a large field and no real elite runners. And fuck you.) :)

Weekend Plans

Crossers from around the globe are once again converging at the center of the universe (the East Coast) for a weekend of racing at Granogue and Wissahickon.

Not Moveitfred.

He promised the Mrs. he would devote the entire weekend to prepping the house for the annual La Casa de Fred holiday Halloween bash next Friday (replete with spooky music, haunted environments of blood and gore, and soup) for the upwards of 500 guests or howeverthehell many people the Mrs. invited THIS YEAR.

(the white space is for you to draw your own picture)

Get this. The Mrs. flipped the freak out when Moveitfred expressed a desire to just go to some little neighborhood race in Jersey on Sunday morning. JUST Sunday morning. NOT the entire weekend in DE and PA. Holy craps.

OK, aight. So Moveitfred will stay home and mow and clean and assemble and bake (yes, Moveitfred bakes one wicked-ass apple pie, dogs). Cross On brothers and sisters.

Moveitfred understands Al is buying a new house this weekend. Here is a picture. Needs some updating, but overall a good snag in Moveitfred's mind.

Moveitfred understands Heywood is on yet another vacation. How's things in Frisco, Wood? Get to that restaurant in The Castro you like so much?

Tacky to Nasty

Heywood arrived home after a long 48 hours at work, eager to hit the trails for a few hours. The weather forecast called for a possibility of rain but if one were to look out the window you could not tell. Clear skies, crisp cool air, and the smell fall. What a glorious day it appeared to be! So Wood lubed the chain, filled the Camelbak, pumped the tires up to 42 lbs and started riding to the trailhead.

The terrain conditions started out superb. Kinda tacky from the rain Auburn received a few days prior. Heywood was able to take most turns at a pace much faster than normal. The tough technical descent, no problem. The climb along the Confluence Trail which usually requires a dab or two, aced it. So far this ride was flawless in the eyes of Woods. While approaching the top of the climb, a few small drops started to fall from the heavens but he was able to make it to the top and hit the first few double jumps before the cats and dogs came out to play.

Someone with a Doppler radar decided it would be funny to put a red colored storm cell right over the trail Heywood Jablome was riding. The trail started getting real sloppy and mud was flying all over the place. When looking down, Wood realized he had the wrong tires on. The WTB 2.55 LT is great in the hardpack but gum up pretty darn fast when things get swampy. Not the tire of choice in wet conditions. With this tire in the front, traction was very hard to come by. While attempting to ride up an off camber rock with a drop off the side when whamo! The front wheel slid off the rock and down the little drop. Wood broke his fall with his ass/hip area and came sliding to a stop. When he looked down he noticed to things:
His new Smarty SL Crank Brothers pedal had snapped.
Wood’s shin appeared to have a grapefruit mounted on it.

This disappointed Wood to no end. Shouldn’t pedals be able to take more than one big crash before breaking into a thousand pieces? Second, why was there a large fruit on his leg?

Wood managed to limp his way to the Chef’s house where Mrs. Chef gave him some counseling that will probably do no good. The Chef eased Wood’s pain with milk and cookies and things are all good.

A few of Moveitfred's favorite things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Red, white, and blue USPS packages from E-Richie tied up with tape and filled with all kinds of cool shit

These are a few of Moveitfred's favorite things

Glocie Convention

Let's get this one out of the way first:

Moveitfred is an idiot.

There. Not that most of you didn't know this already, but just in case you're new to this game. And fahk, couldn't at least one of you cheapskates have thrown down a couple of bucks for some of that Gloucester venue chowder so Moveitfred could drown his sorrow?

OK, so post-Gloucester Moveitfred needs to cover a couple of things. First, Moveitfred feels like he knows what a Trekie convention is like now. Moveitfred couldn't turn two steps in the crowd without intruding on some other blogger's personal space. Some were balanced on 4-inch clogs to give them a more, ahem, imposing vertical presence [Litka]. Some were amped up so high on "the bean" that Moveitfred felt his hair stand on end when he got too close [Meg]. Some were clearly so deep into "the program" that they were able to score a podium finish in those huge fields of like, what, 500 racers [CTodd]. Still others were leading great packs of baby blue crossers like this little place on earth was the Promised Land [Zank]. And finally, some were decked out in such horrendous attire that Moveitfred can only say they looked like giant orange Yetis that wrought fear in Moveitfred's unstable constitution [G].

Moveitfred knows that other bloggers of renown were mixed in among the masses. Are there any crossers who do not blog? Sheesh.

Live long and prosper, Bloggers.

Moveitfred has one other issue to discuss. Where Moveitfred is from (i.e. Civilization) when a sign on the road indicates that there is a McDogalds or SubwaySubwaySubway off at the next exit, one need only pull easily off the highway for a short distance, inhale processed food of choice, and easily re-enter the highway in order to speed on one's way.

Moveitfred had the same experience on two different occasions up in the back woods of northern Mass. He spied a tempting list of confections on a highway sign only to pull off onto a vast, winding, vapid wasteland through dark, foreboding forests and then be dumped out at the end of it all into some grey, clapboard neighborhood with no indication whatsoever which way to go to get the fat fix. Moveitfred was looking for Faith with the Pink Ribbons to ask for directions.

On one off-ramp Moveitfred was able to find a McDogalds after driving about 5 miles west, only to then discover upon backtracking that there was no ramp back onto the 95 South. Talk about a fahking one-way ticket to hell--flame-lit rocky alter or not.

Now, if you've been able to hang on so far with this horrific blending of Star Trek and Hawthorne let Moveitfred simply end with a few images from an epic day. Looking forward to an early arrival and two full days next year.

Spectacular day on the water

A #1: I heard Heywood might be here.

A #2: Is that him coming around the corner?

G--Fahking track star in the sand


CTodd making everyone hurt up the hill

Kreb in the house

Robin over the boards

Zank feeling the pain of being half-way through

Bessette stretching out her lead through the sand

Alie Kenzer picking a line down the hill

Meg getting it going tight and fast


Tim Johnson chasing after rolling a tire


Powers leading the front group through the sand

renewab-AL

Wherein AL discusses his return to racing


Today was a good day for running. The morning was crisp and cool and sunny...the perfect fall day. All month I've been thinking "when can I race again?" I've been rehabbing this calf injury and hoping to see some real progress. Last week was the first week that I felt whole, and I pushed it a bit: I logged 35 miles and did some quick days. I felt I was ready for something more. I contemplated running the Staten Island 1/2 marathon, but that seemed too much considering how long my injury down time was. Instead, I chose the LIRRC 10 miler.

The course was, basically, three loops around the mostly flat Eisenhower Park. We started at 9 am with a nice light breeze and 55 degrees. I felt good from the start; it was one of those races where I had to hold myself back, not gallop ahead. I told myself I'd just run nice easy 8s. But it was just too great to be in a race again, and I felt too good. I didn't want re-injury, but 8s were too slow. So I said to myself, ok run 7:40s . That plan worked, mostly, but I kept holding myself back as I was a bit worried. But all was good...
1) 7:30
2) 7:30
3) 7:40
4) 7:46
5) 7:42
6) 7:45
7) 7:40
8) 7:40
9) 7:35
10) 7:07

Total: 1:16.02

A nice little addition to coming back and feeling strong: I placed 2nd in my age and 6th overall. (Obviously, the field did not include any elite runners and no records were set. Still nice to get the little ribbon.)

Nice to be back and I feel good.

Fred-o is up at the G-spot or G-ster (whatever the fuck it is). KICK ASS FRED!!! Say hi to Solo and all for me.

imbroi-AL-ed

Wherein Al comments on Marion Jones.

It's one thing to be a cheating cock like Big Head Barry.

It's a whole other thing to absolutely fuck your team mates like Marion Jones.

I know many of you will argue that they're all dirty, so screw 'em. But let's just sit with this a moment. Imagine for a second that you are a world class runner and you get assigned to this relay as part of the olympic team. Imagine--hard as it may be--that you are a clean, honest competitior. And imagine the 4th leg of your relay turns out to be super studette Marion Jones.

Fast forward a bunch of years and your medals are being stripped from you because that absolute animal that anchored your relay cheated. (Again, someone you were simply assigned to run with.) Maybe I'm simple, but I'm seeing this as plausible. And it sucks.

Li'l somethin' for Marion:

More Cool Shit

With special appearances by Heywood, Moveitfred, and Mrs. Moveitfred:

Whitmore's Day 1/Women's Field

It's all about the call-ups

Whitmore's Day 1

Random Whitmore's Pics

Have you heard this one?: These 3 Belgians walk into a bar wearing red jackets...

"Moveitfred's head tube is about this big, atmo."

Sandy, off-camber, wicked corner of death.


Here's the thing: Meg don't give a shit if the course is taped or not. She's going to kill the off-camber turns regardless.

Some riders get all the fans, atmo.

These guys run up hills.

So do these guys, but they add into the mix huge horsepower on the flats.

option-AL

Al offers a choice...

The other 2 boys have given you quite a bit of content on the Whitmore this weekend in the Hamptons. I thought I’d offer an alternative to all the cyclocross content.

First…big ups to our boy GVB who completed his first marathon!

Next…

This weekend was also the Chicago Marathon. (Al ran the Chicago in 98 in 3:20 and small change.) This great race was hit by a heat wave. And I’m sure you all know that a competitor died. (There’s been a lot said about this tragedy. Al will refrain from talking about proper training and fitness prior to such an event.)

Instead, let’s focus on the amazing first place finishes on the Men’s and Women’s side

A) Here’s what not to do……..

Adriana Pirtea (22 years old and having NEVER run a competitive marathon before) finds herself passing #2, Berhane Adere, and in first place. Adere is having problems from the heat and seems down and out. Pirtea continues to run well in the lead. Then, 1/2 mile from the end, Pirtea decides to Cadillac a bit. She's near the finish and figure that she'sblown by Adere (a seasoned competitor)...she feels she’s got the win. She takes the final turn and starts high fiving, doing the old “look at me, I’m good.” The dumb bitch never looks back. Meanwhile, Adere has gotten her shit together and is pushing her her emaciated ass through one unbelievable final push. Consequently, she dusts Pirtea just yards from the finish. Ni-ice.



B) In the Men’s side, Jaouad Gharib from Moracco and Patrick Ivuti from Kenya had the greatest finish in Chicago marathon history. This was an absolute duel over the last mile and a total photo finish. Ivuti took it by a nose.




Big shout out to the other two boys. Nice work!!!

Whitmore's Cyclocross Day 2/Elite Men

Moveitfred's daughter working the camera over the elite men's field on the log run-up.

Whitmore's Cyclocross Day 2/Elite Women

Compton and Bessette making the sandy corner that ate up Moveitfred look easy.

The WORLD CHAMP!

On October 4th, Heywood Jablome landed on the local landing strip near Fred’s house for a week of family time, sightseeing, and most importantly, racing/watching the Whitmore’s Landscaping Super Cross Cup held in South Hampton on Saturday and Sunday. Such an amazing experience for all who were able to attend this fabulous weekend at the races. Of all the highlights running through Wood’s head, one STICKS out further than the rest.

On Saturday, the three-time world champion Erwin Verveken took 1st place after a tremendous battle with Barry Wicks and Ryan Trebon. Marvelous race! After the awards ceremony, except for a handful of racers, the venue cleared out very quickly as if the Mets just lost their 5th straight home game. Fred and Wood were two of the few remaining because of a dinner date with none other than the talented Meg and her husband JD. But before dinner, the two had to hit the showers (not together).

When entering the locker room, it appeared they were alone except for one person in the shower. Standing next to the showers, Wood and Fred started to disrobe when the curtain was pulled back and out comes the WORLD CHAMPION ERWIN VERVECKEN dripping wet and smelling wonderfully clean, as Fred would later describe him to Wood. And for the record, Wood was not to impressed with what he saw. So with the champ drying off, Heywood jumped into an open shower stall. Apparently, Fred thought this was a wonderful opportunity to congratulate the champ on a spectacular race and thank him for flying to the USA for this race. Erwin, being very humble and polite began to ask Fred about his race. “How did you do,” and “are you pleased with the results,” Erwin said. Yes, the WORLD CHAMPION ERWIN VERVECKEN asking FRED about his race. WOW!

After Heywood was entirely clean, he stepped out of the shower to witness something offensive to the point nausea. As Erwin and Fred were wrapping up the conversion still stripped down to the BONE, Erwin stuck out his hand for a shake. “Friends don’t shake, they hug!” said Fred as he spread his arms apart. With Erwin being from Europe, this didn’t bother him one bit. They approached one another for the hug, body parts freely dangling about. While holding this long embrace, their meat swords where battling it out below the belt. This is the most disgusting gesture Wood has ever seen. Fuck those Europeans are just as strange as the New Yorkers. YUCK!

Heywood retreated to the toilet area to puck his guts out.

Wood waited until all parties were dressed before he said a peep.

Heywood sez:

ATMO!