Iron Dog Valentines

The Iron Dog Challenge of 2009 is officially in the books, and you'll be happy to know Todd Palin and his partner finished the gruelling race, 6th overall.

After one week of being away from each other, this is how the Governor of Alaska greeted her athlete husband on Saturday, 14 February.



It must've been one heckuva Valentines.

Go Canada!

The Christmas-centric "Juniors" hockey Championship held in Canada every year, features the host nation versus the ever-elegant Swedes in the gold medal match. It's one of my favourite tournaments, and one I dearly miss as my cable providers no longer have the Centre-Ice NHL package, which always had it as a bonus.

Watch Live Here
Live Ticker Here

(Starts 19:30 EST)

Incidentally, that's a great resource for all your live television needs. I was only told about it today!

"Anything Can Happen"

Words to ring in the New Year, courtesy of Comeback Player of the Year, Dolphins quarterback, Chad Pennington.



Speaking of which, why has no one congratulated us Miamians on our remarkable turn-around this year -- after going 1-15 last year, and more stink emanating from that locker room than from a tuna trawler...to being this year's AFC East titleholders? Hmm? Hmm?

I haven't liked a Dolphins team so much since, oh, I don't know. Since at least Dan Marino was 40 lbs heavier and didn't have hair-plugs.

GO FINS!!!

Wartime Golfing

That's President-Elect Obama hitting the links in Kailua, Hawaii, where he and his family are spending twelve restful days this holiday season. I do not begrudge him his golf. In fact, I'm glad he plays it, since I don't play basketball and now feel I have at least one sport in common with him.

But you know, the much maligned President Bush admitted he gave up golf because it was unseemly for the US President to be golfing in war-time. Liberals derided him at length for this admission. Nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture.

Do you think President Obama will make that "sacrifice" when his turn really comes? How about any sacrifice, if not golf?

I don't see it happening.

P.S.: The veteran of many a golfing tutorial, I know his downswing looks great in this photo. I wonder what his handicap is. I think my personal best was 12 (from the ladies' tees, though).

Notice anything else? He swings Lefty, like me. I'm naturally right-handed, but whenever I need two hands on sporting equipment, like bats or clubs, I favour my left side -- like Bob Charles and Phil Mickelson.

In his case, he is naturally left-handed, so he doesn't have that mirror effect.

Joe Goes Rogue

Vice-President-Elect Joe Biden seen attending the New York Giants v. Philadelphia Eagles game, overnight in Philly.

Nice sweater.

Sarah At Joe King's Shoe Store

What with the sudden national fame of the ultimate "Joe Six-Pack", Joe the Plumber, it's only fitting that another Joe makes an appearance in these photos.

That's Governor Palin taking another shopping break, but in the less girlie confines of a running shoes store -- Joe King's in Concord, New Hampshire.

The Governatrix tried on several pairs before choosing this orange and grey number.



I have to find out which type of running shoe she chose, though I know she made a point of them being waterproof to withstand the snow of Alaska (I didn't care for that remark, actually. She should've said "the snow of Washington").

Accordion Face

Oh my goodness. Poor man. That's Samuel Peter of Nigeria receiving a ferocious punch from Vitali Klitschko of the Ukraine.

I like boxing, but I could never allow a son of mine to be one...

Small Hiatus

I am taking a leaf from my Eurotrash background, and taking it easy in August.

Quite sure I'll be on Sundries to Fisk the Opening Ceremonies for the Beijing Olympics, as I did for Torino, but I'm concentrating on my athletic hobby at present, so blogging will be light.

Just to remind us what to expect, comes this blogpost entry from British journalist-marathoner, Tom Fordyce. I heard him on NPR's The World today.

He tried to recreate the experience of what those brave men and women will do in Beijing -- run the marathon in perhaps the most ghastly polluted city in the world, save Cairo.

Here's an excerpt (warning: not for the faint of heart, or those unused to hearing vivid accounts of spitting).

Beijing

Don't worry about the pollution, the Beijing authorities have been telling us.

Factories will shut down. Cars will be taken off the roads. Skies will be seeded with silver nitrate and clouds conjured away to leave the air perfect for the world's athletes.

That's the theory. Happy to lay my lungs on the line in the name of unscientific research, I decide to head out into the city on a long run to test conditions first-hand.

The initial signs are disconcerting.

As I jog down the stairs and out into Monday morning, the concrete tower-blocks of the Green Homeland Media Village are shrouded in what looks like a heavy autumnal fog.

Even with the sun completely hidden away in the grey blanket up above, the heat is intense.

Traffic is roaring by on the Beiyuan Lu expressway, soldiers in pale khaki shirts and white gloves marching in rectangles around the security barriers. I wave at a group of staring schoolkids and head south towards the Olympic Green.

Five minutes down the road, my t-shirt is already drenched, hanging heavy off my shoulders.

It's 9am. At this time of day, the Olympic marathon runners will still have seven or eight miles to go.

The triathletes won't even be starting the run leg of their races for another three hours.

I pass a woman whose mobile has an Axel F ring-tone and realise that my throat has started to feel sore, as if I had a cold coming on.

Maybe it's the road I'm running alongside, I think, and head down a side-street in search of a patch of greenery.

Another five minutes down the line, there's a strange lumpy feeling halfway down my throat. An old chap watering a freshly-planted verge hawks up a fat lump of phlegm and flobs it expertly into a plant-pot.

When in Rome, I think, and spit into the gutter with relish. The metallic taste in my mouth remains.

It's not easy working out where to go. The haze obscures anything more than 100m away. I've picked a bad day - today the BBC reading registers 292 micrograms of particulate matter per cubic metre (the World Health Organisation target is 50).

I'd planned to aim for the Bird's Nest Stadium 5km away, but there's as much chance of me spotting it in these conditions as there is of me doing the pole vault there in 10 days' time.





The road stretches into the gloom, the two dedicated Olympic lanes completely empty of traffic while buses and bikes fight for position in the other lane.

"One world, one dream," read the banners flapping from the lamp-posts. My map shows a large park off to the left, but everywhere you look are tall fences and short officials with strict instructions to keep you out.

At the halfway stage, my eyes have started to feel gritty, as if I'd been out all night in a club full of smokers. Three weary-looking blokes slumped on a bench ni-hao in my direction as I rub my eyes and I ni-hao back.

The stinging in my throat gets worse as I head back north, the Bird's Nest lost somewhere in the smog.

Towers of apartment blocks loom slowly out of the mist. Young blokes on mountain-bikes pedal past while shouting into mobiles, which at least makes me feel more at home.

Every now and then a solitary soldier stands on a small plinth, staring into a seemingly random direction with a blank expression.

My lungs feel half their normal size. No wonder an asthma sufferer like Haile Gebrselassie decided to sack off the Olympic marathon, even though he's the world record holder.

The only other time my lungs have felt this bad was when I got stuck behind a brigade of belching buses while foolishly cycling down Oxford Street.

By the final few miles I'm dragging my legs along like sandbags. There could be several reasons for that - seven hours of jet-lag, the cannonball-like lump of egg-fried rice lodged halfway down my digestive tract, a delusional attitude towards my own fitness - but I've also taken it incredibly easy.

How much worse would I be feeling if I'd really opened the lungs up and got my heart-rate going?

At the end I'm coughing like a 20-a-day man. It's like I've borrowed the lungs of my colleague Ben Dirs - and if you've ever seen Dirsy trying to walk up a flight of stairs, you'd know that's a very bad thing indeed.

Goodness. What kind of sport have I gotten myself into?

Running Gear

I had made an impromptu request over at Althouse regarding running shoes.

I received a comparative avalanche of replies! I'd like to thank some of those who each told me the exact same thing: head to this or that (online) shop.

Paddy O, Dog Wood, Hoosier Daddy, thanks for the advice!

I know José is a jogger, but I'm more interested in long distance running for next year.

My dream has always been to enter the Flora London Marathon, ever since a cousin of mine did it for charity (she finished very decently, timewise, at that).

Let's see if I can't top that, one day!



Thanks for any tips, either for running, workouts, or tennis.