Lüc Carl's Blog, page 22

YOU CAN'T HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT TOO

Are you working out so you can keep eating the same crap you always eat?

If you really love him, why are you still sleeping with another guy?

Did you buy running shoes to change your life, or to be able to eat more ice cream?

In life and love there are sacrifices that must be made. If you're sacrificing only to replenish the loss through another vice, why bother putting in the initial effort?

 

SHRINKAGE ON THE HIGHWAY

Woke up at 9:30 for an 11:00AM 13 miler. Checked weather.com. 17 degrees *Feels like 3 degrees. I stuck to the outfit I had planned to wear as I thought it may have been too much for 30 degrees but clearly we were far below that.

I busted out some hand warmers that have been sitting in my kitchen cabinet since last years Christmas stocking. (The reason I told you that is because I want to make it clear that hand warmers aren't something that I would go out of my way to purchase).

Nebraska sweatshirt, Jets hat, pants, gloves with warmers inside, sunglasses, small bottle of water, 20 bucks, and of course shoes, out the door I go to meet up with my buddy at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

My goal was 8 miles at or below 8:00, and the other 5 at whatever pace felt comfortable.

At mile 6.5 I opened my water to take a sip. It was half frozen. I spilled a little on my pants and was worried it would only make me colder, but it instantly froze and I was able to brush it off. I got rid of the water, upset that I had carried it for 6 and a half miles only to find out I couldn't drink it.

Mile 8 was our switchback. I'd decided to take a different route back than the way we came to keep things interesting. Which is why the switchback took place at mile 8 as opposed to mile 6.5. At the switchback, we turned around to come back, stopping for a couple of seconds just to catch our breath.

At this point, for whatever reason, my dick was instantly in severe pain. It came out of nowhere. I put my hand with the warmer in my pants to alleviate the situation, screaming at myself for never having purchased thermal underwear.

I have a circulation disease known as Raynaud's phenomenon which causes a decrease in blood supply to my extremities in cold weather. In the past it's only happened in my fingers and toes, now it looks like it was effecting my manhood. I stood there holding my dick on the West Side Highway. Screaming in pain, worried I was letting my partner down due to the break in the action. It was time to take matters into my own hands….

I took off my left glove and put it over my dick. I pulled my sweatshirt sleeve down over my hand, with the hand warmer still in my hand, and off we went. A half mile later the pain was gone.

All and all a kick ass day with all 8 of the fast miles coming at the beginning of the run, allowing us to trot home victoriously with disregard for our pace on the last 5 miles.

Thank you Saucony for making such nice gloves/dick warmers.

 

IT'S GETTING HOT IN FEBRUARY!

Stephen Pearcy is putting out 2 new hot sauces with a great friend of mine Chris Santos.

Chris can be found at either of his New York City restaurants; Stanton Social or Beauty and Essex. You may also find him on the Food Network's Chopped. What's more you just might find him on the back cover of the Drunk Diet upon it's release March 13th.

He's teamed up with Stephen Pearcy to release two new hot sauces next month from High River Sauces.

There's not many things in life that are better than hot sauce and Ratt.

"Detonator", a hot sauce to surely light your fuse. Perfect for chips, tacos, or anything that needs to be lit up.

"The Kill" BBQ, a tangy BBQ sauce to compliment any dish!

The two sauces will hit stores and restaurants next month!

 

FRIEND ENDS WITH END

I just recieved this message in my GoodReads.com inbox…..

Hello,

Thank you for your interest in friending me, but I'm looking for friends who read similar books to what I read, who have more BOOKS listed than FRIENDS, and who's main objective is not trying to sell me something.

Sincerely,

Patti

My reply was…..

Please! Buy my book! Pay double the price! I can't feed my children!!!!!!!

My question is…..

WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TAKE THE TIME TO SEND ME A MESSAGE TELLING ME YOU DON'T WANT TO BE MY FRIEND!?

#GoFuckYourself

 

3 DOUGHNUT SHOPS IN 1!

Last night I had a dream that I came upon a road-side doughnut shop that within itself had three separate doughnut shops. One for each different price range. Not necessarily dependent upon your own personal pocket, but rather dependent upon your one personal taste-buds.

The fancy expensive doughnuts had the biggest of the three counters, and of course the most impressive presentation. The to the right of the L shaped counter was the cheapest and smallest counter, followed by, in the corner, the mid-ranged doughnuts that had a slightly more impressive counter-top display case with some muffins available under the glass fronted counter.

I thought to myself, how could all three shops possibly stay in business. I asked a few questions and it was immediately apparent that in this one horse town, this doughnut shop was the biggest attraction.

I'm just lucky I made it out of there alive without eating a doughnut.

Even when I dream about doughnuts, my dream is to not eat the doughnut.

This is known as the Zen state of the Drunk Diet.

NEVER-ENDING DESTINATION

Out the door at 1:30pm. Brand new shoes. Dirty pants (laundry past due, it's since been sent out).

9 miles was the plan. Partner at my side. Feel completely comfortable with the attire I've chosen given this afternoons gloomy, rain free, gray/blue sky and current temperature. I in fact pride myself in nearly always making the right choices on what clothing to wear on each part of my body for any given temperature.

On the way to the Manhattan bridge, having not yet passed the Brooklyn bridge, I'm informed by my running partner that she needs to be dropped at the pharmacy towards the end of the run to pick up a prescription. No problem. We'll make the necessary adjustments as we go. I am the captain of the ship which I have appropriately name "today's run" and my loyal deck hand follows me as if I am the leader of an entire nation populated by only the two of us.

Over the Manhattan bridge we go. I rather enjoy the construction and the reversal of duty between the north and south side of the bridge from run to bike. They are now in fact bike and run. No matter, we ran both the bike and run sides, whichever they happened to be on this particular day. Down the decent, left turn in front of an 18 wheeler anxiously awaiting the light to turn green, which it just has, another left turn up the bike lane – across one, two, three, four lanes of traffic – another left turn in front of yielding traffic at which point i put up my hand to single STOP as my partner has dropped a few steps behind me but that doesn't mean that I am no longer in control of her destiny as I am, after all, at the helm of this carnival cruise of health drifting through, in the grand scheme of things, a very small area of land populated by so man which must hang their hat in the atmosphere of the 14th floor of their door man apartment buildings. Another left onto the bridge as we dash through the brisk January air of China town inhaling the vapors of all the MSG on our assent to the top of this monstrous man made bridge which eventually will take us back to where we began, making me wonder what's the point of such a grueling attempt at travel when the ultimate goal is, in essence, to return to the exact same place in which we started. A greyhound ticket would be a stay at the Soho grand compared to what we're putting ourselves through, and on that bus you might actually get somewhere other than the point in which you started. Nonetheless we push on, eager to return to each others appointed front door, key in hand, right back where we started.

I say to my faithful follower – "I've often wondered that if you lived on the Brooklyn side of this bridge, and your favorite chinese restaurant was on the Manhattan side of this bridge, could you in fact talk the delivery boy in to crossing said bridge in order to bring you your favorite feast?" She laughed as though I was the only human in the history of man that had ever thought such a thought. I pointed out the fact that I spent three and a half years taking delivery orders for a Mexican restaurant doing my best to make the patrons happy in exchange for a very nominal fee.

Approaching the crest of the bridge I ask her if she is ready. Insinuating that we're about to sprint to reach the top.

"Yeah"

"I said are you ready?!"

"Yes"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"YES!"

Off we go. Full speed. Staring at the peak of the bridge as if it were my mortal enemy, thinking to myself that that thought could not be farther from the truth. In fact, that bridge and I couldn't possibly be better friends.

An easy cruise down the decent of the other side back in to Brooklyn and I think to myself, fuck it, at this point the journey is my partners, so let's try a route we've never taken. (Generally, as a creature of habit, or OCD as you doctor may call it, I like to stick with the path more beaten. Beaten by myself that is.)

We reach the end of the bridge and find ourselves back in civilian territory. And it looks as though school has just gotten out. The chitter-chatter of urban children talking much louder than necessary about things that are incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't been in high school in recent years.

We make yet another left. Not exactly sure where I'm going and rather happy of that fact.

My compatriate says….

"I love running with you because I never know where we're going next."

"I hate to tell you, but I as well have no idea where we're headed next. I'm making it up as I go."

We laugh.

Before long we find ourselves at a park. My watch beeps to tell me we've reached mile 6. This park is familiar to me. I once had a friend that lived next to this park. I glance to my right and see a staircase and instantly get excited about taking it on. I make a right, holding traffic for my friend to follow. We get closer to the stair case. The park is on my left, therefore I look left. I see a larger staircase. Which gets even larger the closer we get to it. I can't stop staring at it. Without looking at her I say "we have to do it." She agrees.

We jump the 2 foot concrete wall surrounding the park and our speed increases out of anticipation as we approach the steps.

3 large tiers of steps. Very steep. Each tier consisting of at least 30-40 steps each. The equivalent of the steps in the Rocky movies. I know, because I have run up those steps myself in real life.

We approach the first step and I slow down a bit. I scream "Take two at a time" and off we go.

We reach the top, and can't help but stop to look around and admire the view. A few moments later and I point out the fact that I came in #17 in the world in the 2011 Empire State Building stair-climb.

"I'm going again are you coming?" I head back down.

We did the steps three times. The third time, my partner stood at the top. Admiring the view. A huge smile on her face. I, on the other side of the tower which must have stretched 200 feet above head, informed her that it was time to move on.

"Don't worry, we'll be back."

Off we went to find our destination, which we will likely be searching for our entire lives.

I DON'T ASK FOR MUCH

I give and I give and I never ask for anything in return! Please leave me a review of Tales from the Drunk Diet on Amazon.com.

I gave it to you for free! Please take 5 minutes to review it!

Thanks so much!

CLICK HERE!

YOU DO DESERVE IT, DON'T YOU?

With all this training you've been doing it's time to treat yourself to a massage. Go out and spend $100 for an hour. Your body needs to be kneaded.

Get yourself a sports massage. Deep tissue is not the way to go for an athlete. It beats the hell out of your muscles and takes a few days to recover from.

And if you haven't been training for anything other than the 12 ounce curl Olympics, fuck it, go ahead and treat yourself anyway.

GET TESTED

If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times, go to a real running store and get your gate analyzed by a professional.

Today #TeamDrunkDiet went for a swift 12 miler at 8:25 pace in the park. At mile 10 a young gentleman was just about to pass me and nearly ran into me.

"Excuse me" he said.

"No problem. You're welcome to join us if you want. 8:25 pace."

"OK great! I actually forgot my watch today."

An avid runner we all had much in common with, we enjoyed the 2 miles we shared with him. It turns out he worked down the street at Jack Rabbits, so after our run we decided to stop in to look into some new shoes. I knew I was over-due, but I didn't realize just how bad it was.

I hopped on the treadmill in the shoes I've been running in and I overpronated like a bastard, which is unlike my typical -fairly neutral gate. (See image below). After trying on a few different pairs of Stability shoes, I asked if I could try on a new pair of the same shoes I was wearing when I walked in. I did so and my overpronation was gone. Therefore, my shoes were so warn out they just couldn't handle any more running. I knew they had quite a few miles on them, but the damn things still look brand new. I kept putting off picking up new ones because, well, we all get busy.

I ended up settling on a pair of medium stability Asics GT-2170′s. This will be my first time running in anything other than a Nimbus and I look forward to it. That doesn't mean that I won't go back to a nice pair of Nimbus' in two months when it comes time for new shoes.

 

 

 

The left foot is neutral. The right foot overpronates, therefore needing a stability shoe to get the foot to run properly. It doesn't mean you're a mutant. It just means you need a different type of shoe.

[NOTE: Both feet will be the same on any given human. This image just made more sense than posting 2 pairs of feet. Then again, the 2 pairs of feet wouldn't need the disclaimer. Dumb-ass.]

I would also like to mention that the staff at Jack Rabbits is hands down the greatest you will ever find. They are really knowledgeable and eager to help out. They're so helpful in fact you will be questioning all the other retail stores you've ever walked into and to what they can attribute their incompetence.

THE CHICKEN OR THE GUITAR SOLO

The eternal question: Do we drink because we're rock n rollers, or are we rock n rollers because we drink?

"But baby, I'm a rock n roller."

Is it just another excuse to drink? Or was your Grandmother right…. Maybe it is the devils music.

I do not need any more reasons to get drunk other than the fact that I love to get drunk. Other than running it's just about the only thing that tones down my crazy. Rock n roll music is enhanced by the sounds of whiskey on ice. When I put on a KISS record it's guaranteed that I will immediately start looking at myself in the mirror, fixing my hair, and pouring myself a drink before beginning to dance and seek out a female like I am an archers arrow and she is the smallest red dot in the center of the target.

It's quite possible that my profound love for rock n roll and the bottle go hand in hand, but I'll be damned if I'm going to trade in my leather for tickets to the opera.