Lüc Carl's Blog, page 8

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF SALAD

Instead of Wendy’s spending big money on advertising their new salad, wouldn’t it make more sense for a big chain corporation to open a salad specific “fast food” shop?

Every Chipotle, a corporation owned by none other than McDonalds, has a line out the door of people ready to spend their hard earned money on mass produced Mexican style wraps. Somehow all the while promoting a healthy lifestyle by announcing the manageable amount of calories in these bigger than your face platters. Of course what they’re not telling you is that they’re loaded with enough salt to make you bloated for a week even during heavy running. As Americans we’re not concerned with salt. We’re taught that the calorie is the enemy and that “diet” is good for you. Salt is something that will possibly give you a heart attack, but we can deal with that in our later years.

While I’ll admit that I do live under a perpetual rock of rock n roll and purposely shelter myself from the absolutely mind-numbing pathetic-ness the world is going through in this day in age, there quite possibly may be a chain style salad joint that’s sweeping the nation without even my knowing it. But mark my words, when someone comes up with the right way to market said salad shop, they will become wealthy beyond their imagination.

In order to make it in the food business, the food you’re slinging must become popular. Subway and Chipotle are making a killing off of preservative, salt filled, inexpensive crap that the untrained eye sees as “good for you.”

Why not make actual healthy food popular, rather than pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes?

LUCCARL.COM

In 3 weeks my website will be all new. Prepare for the future Lücaholics! Take your vitamins and say your prayers because Lücamania is sweeping the nation! 

SIT AND BE FIT

I’ve just discovered Sit and Be Fit and I’m obsessed. Ok, so I kinda want to bang her.

DOWNPAYMENT BLUES

One of the very few benifits of being poor is being able to write songs about it. Once you become rich and famous, you can’t write songs about being broke anymore.

Check out this little gem.

 

SUGGESTED READING

Appropriately timed, David Davis’ book Showdown at Sheppards Bush highlights the ups and downs of the 1908 Olympic marathon. A time when distance running was all the rage. Anyone that could run for more than 1200 meters was considered superman, and these young men were running for 20+ miles several times per month. Of course once something becomes too popular, it changes the whole damn shit house.

Join in the fun of the early 20th century running craze in this well put together book that you will finish before the main characters get to the finish line.

DRUNK DIET OLYMPICS

DRUNK DIET RESCUE TEAM

Needless to say it was a weird day. The start postponed by my own tardiness; a member of the team had ventured off with some other runners assuming he had missed me, not knowing that I was taking my sweet time to come downstairs to join in on the run. He ran with the new team for 2 miles until they decided the new guy was an unwelcome intruder. So he turned back to where he came from which happened to be where I and another team member were still standing there waiting for him like a couple of lost children.

We made our way towards a fourth member of the team who was patiently waiting for us outside meeting poing B for todays run. He was to be joined by two other members of the team, both of which over slept due to drunkenness and/or sinus congestion.

Two miles later, the 4 of us made our way to the park. Although we paid it no mind, we quickly realized there was a sanctioned race going on. We joined in the festivities and asked a nearby runner the distance of the race -5K.

As the finish line of the actual race neared, we had no choice but to turn up the heat and race through the tape to get our picture taken by race photographers. As we made a U-turn and continued our lap of the park, we laughed and tried to catch our breath. Sprinting through the false finish line had taken quite a bit out of our motley bunch of distance runners.

We continued around the park. Still laughing about our pirate finish among hundreds of other runners who had quite possibly never run such a distance in their lives. Rejuvenated, we still had nearly a dozen miles left to go.

It wasn’t but a few hundred yards further until one of our gang pointed out a leisurely runner that looked to me like he may have suffered from a spinal cord injury at some point in his life. My attention drawn to him, I thought to myself, “This is why I do this. So that a guy like that with all his downfalls in the world of fitness, can still get out there and feel like he’s accomplishing something. Knowing that a man of absolute physical capability is not wasting it away sitting on a couch.”

I smiled.

Knowing that if this man and I were friends in real life he would love to hear my stories of accomplishment, as would I of his. He trotted along. Almost at a shuffle. Bent over at a near 90 degree angle much like the hunchback of Notre Dame. I thought nothing of it as I cheered him on for what should have been a mear few footsteps in my weekly long-run. Then it happened.

He hunched further over and slowed to a crawl. Moments later he did a face plant into the pavement. As it turns out he wasn’t running with a handicap, he was running outside of his means. He crashed to the sidewalk, using every last ounce of energy to prevent himself from hitting his head.

We stopped.

He was out cold. Unresponsive. One of our team members hesitantly called 911, wondering if it was the right thing to do. What if he got right back up in 5 minutes knowing full well that this was something that happens often? Was 911 necessary? It didn’t matter.  A mans life could quite possibly be in our hands and we weren’t about to take any chances.

A crowd gathered.

A couple of other runners ran back to the finish line which we so amusingly just ran through moments earlier, hoping to find a paramedic or a way to contact one.

The 55 year old black man in the Thelonious Monk shirt laid there lifeless. Breathing, shaking, scaring us to the point where we couldn’t decide weather we should be worried or frantic. My being trained in CPR didn’t make me any more comfortable in this situation, I never thought I’d actually have to perform it on a human. It wasn’t long until he began responding. Answering yes to the repeated question “Do you want water?” On a day with 80% humidity and his being 45 pounds over weight didn’t make it to difficult to believe that he was simply over-heated. Luckily, it seamed, this was the case. We asked him what his name was and where he lived and who he lived with. It turned out he lived nearby with his wife Judith. We asked if we could call his wife. He said yes.

“What’s the password on your phone?”

“Jazz”

We began to laugh in relief. Partly because his Monk T-shirt and the phone password were just too good to be true, but mostly because he actually knew what his password was.

Some 20 minuts later 2 ambulances showed with paramedics possessing a seemingly nonchalant attitude. Although it was fairly easy to concieve that their lives consisted mostly of crack heads and destitue, unappreciative assholes; things were different on this hot, humid saturday afternoon. This was just a guy who decided to make a change in his life. Perhaps to impress Judith, or maybe because his doctor told him his cholesterol was too high. Whatever made him get out there and run that park in his Monk T-Shirt with his Jazz Blackberry was something that the 4 of us, who had another 12 miles to go, could relate too. Regardless of our level of fitness, we’re all runners and we can relate to each other about wanting to make a difference in our own lives by kicking as much ass as possible.

As Terence was taken away on a stretcher, dazed and confused as he waved goodbye and thanked all of, apologizing for the hassle, we were happy to see that he was alive and well to run another day. Even if this was the first day he’d ever ran, I couldn’t help but think he’d get back out there soon. Hopefully with a better game plan and a bottle of water.

TOO HYDRATED TO GET DRUNK

When it comes to drinking the night before a run, the main thing to remember is to stay hydrated. I find that one glass of water for every 2 drinks well for me. Of course, when you’ve got that much H2) pumping through your veins it’s damn near impossible to get your blood alcohol content high enough to get a buzz going. I prefer to think of beer as desert on the days before the big runs. Chocolate mouse isn’t really my thing I prefer Budweiser. Just remember that if you’re starting to feel nice, you probably need to drink more water. There’s always time to get wasted after the big run. (Which of course is no way to start a healthy recovery, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Cheers.

Happy running!

WHY DO RUNNERS DRINK SO MUCH

Reason number 324: Running makes you crave carbs.

Running burns carbs, beer is filled with carbs, running makes you happy, beer makes you happy. It was meant to be.

*Note: See “What The Fuck Is A Carb” in The Drunk Diet.

Let’s not over think it here, train hard, drink smart, do yoga so you can run and drink more. It’s that simple .

 

SHE’S GOOD AT BEING BEAUTIFUL

While on a run I often encounter “photo-shoots” in this wonderful city called New York. 9 times out of 10 I’ll roll my eyes and think to myself, “that’s just some asshole with a camera doing his best to bang a chick that’s way out of his league.”

As far as the models go, let me get this straight, you think you’re so beautiful that the entire world want’s to see what you look like in 12 different outfits? Where do you get off??

Self centered, daddy issues, insecure.

This particular girl though, at least in the few split seconds she came into my view, was absolutely breathtaking. Tall, stunning, physically perfect. I thought to myself, what else could this girl possibly do for a living? She’s much too attractive to be a cashier at Target. Her check out line would be longer than anyone else’s and she’d have to do three times as much work just because every average joe would want his chance to talk to her, seeing that she’d be forced to listen.

I came to the conclusion that it’s quite possible that the thing she’s best at in life is being beautiful, and isn’t that what jobs are all about? Do what you’re good at. If you’re good at being beautiful, run with it. If you’re doing it because your daddy never loved you, get over it and go work at Target.