Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Runners Vs. Joggers

Tonight, I did my first outdoor run since the Drumstick Dash 10K back on Thanksgiving.  Since part of my family celebrated Christmas over the weekend, I got the chance to try out the my new gear, including the bacalava I got from my mom and the sweet long-sleeved top I got from my sis. 

Now, for those of you who live outside of the Twin Cities or Minnesota in general, you may not be aware that it's been a little snowy here recently.  Aww, who am I kidding?  Old Man Winter is beating us like a red-headed stepchild. Most of the roads are plowed, but a good chunk of the public sidewalks haven't been hit for a while.  So, the footing is pretty bad.  I only averaged about 10:30 per mile.  But, with all the huffing and puffing at least I knew I was getting a good workout.

I stopped at a gas station at the half-way point in my run.  First, I needed to get some cash from the ATM (I like to multi-task with workouts whenever possible).  Plus, I needed to de-fog my sunglasses.  While I waited, I started to chat with the attendant.  She said, "You must be a jogger, huh?  You look like you're a jogger.  My sister is a jogger too". 

We chatted for a couple minutes longer, but man, for some reason being called a 'jogger' rather than a 'runner' really got to me.  Of course, I didn't correct her because I live in Minnesota, so I'm a classic passive-aggressive.  Read: I won't say anything to your face, but I'll gladly rip you anonymously on the Interwebs when I get home.

For some reason, the word 'jogger' conjures up images of pudgy middle-aged men in sweatsuits shuffling around the neighborhood, or trendy moms pushing giant 4x4 strollers while yakking on their Bluetooth.  I'm a RUNNER man.  Runners are machines.  We're speed machines.  We're Energizer Bunnies in sneakers. 

I don't know.  Should it have bothered me so much?  Probably not.  What do you think?

In any event.  I bid adieu to my buddy at the gas station and headed back home through the snow.  When I got home, I snapped a few quick pics.

Here's one of my bacalava:
As you can see, it keeps me plenty warm.
This is not to be confused with baklava:
I do NOT suggest wearing this on your head to keep warm.

Incidentally, when I did a Google image search for bacalava, the first result was the following image, which begs the question: what possible circumstance would require you to wear a bacalava while topless?
I can't imagine any practical use for this outfit.
I also grabbed a shot of my new long-sleeved top:
Pasty Skin + Sweaty Ta-Tas = Super Sexy
That's all for now.  I'll be back shortly for a mini-special on indoor cycle training during the winter months.



  1. Dude,
    I'm on board. There's not much worse than being called a "biker." I'm a cyclist. A biker wears leather, has a beer belly and gets in bar fights. I wear spandex, shave my legs and can spend more money on a set of wheels than I paid for my first car...oh wait, uh...maybe I shouldn't be so quick to point out the difference.

  2. Stay warm out there dude. That balaklava will help.