JonahWeiland.com

Well, I’ve got shin splints.

As some of you may know a couple of week backs I declared on this very site I was tired of being a fat ass. I began walking regularly and during my walks I would occasionally jog. As I found myself getting stronger I would increase my jogging time. Two weeks into it, though, the front of my lower legs started to really hurt. On Monday when I walked I couldn’t jog at all. The pain really sucked. Being someone who knows less than he should about such things I didn’t know what was going on. I talked to some folks and they thought it was Shin Splints. So, I looked it up online. This site explained it best:

Anterior shin splints

Often these occur on both legs. They are seen in circumstances in which an individual is just beginning a running program, excessive downhill running, and engaging in sports requiring rapid starts and stops. These conditions cause damage to the tibialis anterior muscle, resulting in pain.

Yeah, this is absolutely what’s going on with me. According to the Web site I should double or tripple the time between workouts. I walked today, Thursday, so I should take off Friday and probably Saturday, resuming things again on Sunday. In the mean time I’ll concentrate on free-weights and upper body. Here’s some more information on shin splints that’s helpful.

In addition to just too much working out this may be related to wearing the wrong shoes. Previously I was walking with a pair of Skechers that most likely are inappropriate for exercise. So I purchased a pair of New Balance 609’s that are pretty comfortable.

That being said, when I did go walking today I saw He Who Is The Real Jogger running in the park again. This time he was wearing, I kid not, dark green cargo pants, a white polo-style shirt and nice shoes, obviously not approrpriate for jogging. This guy is for real.

I’m down to 220. Not sure if I’ll make my 210 goal in 4 weeks, but I’m seeing progress and that makes me happy.

Way too busy these days, unfortunately, which means the blog doesn’t get as much attention as I’d like, but I had to pop in real quick to comment on the Clippers season opener tonight.

First off it was nice to see Andre Miller play. The guy was acquired by the Clippers from Cleveland for Darius Miles and tonight the Clippers played their opener against Cleveland. Darius looks great and the fans were REALLY supportive of the guy. He’ll be missed, but Andre Miller is who we needed to get over the hump.

Second, Michael Crozier, my Clippers season ticket mate, got us ninth row seats tonight. Actually his friend Julie gave us the seats (THANKS JULIE!!!!) We’re up in row 1 of the promenade, so we’re nromally on the upper level. Those are $22 seats. But tonight we sat with all the rich folk. So we sat in the $120 seats and this way the players could really hear us when we bitched them out (BTW, Tyrone Hill of the Cleveland Cav’s is one ugly mofo!).

Third, as usual, lots of stars in attendance. I saw that Malcom in the Middle guy, Penny Marshall, Billy Crystal, Randy Pfund (ex-Lakers coach), Jim Hill (CBS 2 Sports Guy) was walking around, Elliot Gould (who every time I look at him he’s eating and looks unhappy), some former baseball player whose name I forget, director James Brooks and a few others. The only regulars out of that group are Malcom and Penny Marshall. Gould will show up at 10 games maybe. The others are pretty sporadic. Crystal used to go much more often.

Finally, and most disappointingly, there’s no chance of a Clippers perfect season. They lost to the Cavs tonight 96-94. Fuckers. BUT, there are some new members to the Clippers Spirit squad whom I very much am in love.

It’s a good time waster: Bush Speech.

Later I will share with you the story of one of the worlds great morons and he lives in Orange County, the home of the World Champion Anaheim Angels.

First off, I don’t recommend you watching the latest film at BMW Films then go driving immediately afterward. Terribly dangerous.

Today I was driving the streets of the City of Angels and after about five minutes it began to feel like I was in a video game. Cars would randomly dart in front of me. Retards would pull over, park on the side of the road, open their doors right as I’m about to run into them. People would dart out of driveways without looking to see if anyone was coming. Pedestrians would cross the street randomly, seemingly just to fuck with me. The number of times I honked my horn was astounding. It was like driving in a video game.

So I said fuck it … if they want to play me like it’s a video game, game fucking on.

The Volks becomes a Dual-Shock Analog controller and the game has begun. This ain’t no fucking trial run, I’m in the race and my name rhymes with Andretti. I dart in and out of traffic, making my move to the front, distancing myself from the assholes. If I see someone driving aggressive, I break off some of that Phil Jackson Triangle Offense. You gonna go 50 in a 35? Fuck you, this motor’s got turbo and I’ll use it on your ass! The car loves the tight turns, red lights are orange and hills are approached with an increase of speed in the hopes of achieving air. It’s like that scene “The Rock” where Sean Connery drives the Lotus, or was it a Ferarri, through the streets of San Francisco pulling some righteous air. The sun roof is open so that I can flip the bird to those I pass. It creates a bit more drag, probably slowing down the car, but not enough to make a difference. The bald bastard in the Porsche (one of those where the wing on the back of the car goes up once they hit fifty-five like the car is growing a boner) decides to race me. He knows his car can beat mine easy, so he shows the size of his dick and takes off. Dumb twit forgot that he doesn’t know how to drive and spins out at the first corner. I pass him blasting a bit of Louis Prima and all he can think is this is the weirdest movie moment he’s ever experienced. The bastard’s just been beat by a dude in a Jetta blasting Louis Prima.

Then I remember that while in the game if you crash, you get two more lives and don’t have an insurance deductible to deal with, but in real life if you shit on a brick you get to clean up the mess yourself. I slow to 35, relax my grip on the steering wheel and take a deep breath.

Driving in the real world isn’t like driving in a video game. It’s better.

Frighteningly busy right now, so no crazy stories, weird observations or funky links right now. So tired.

Was reading through Charles Bukowski’s “Hollywood” the other day and came upon this quote:

“Money is like sex. It seems much more important when you don’t have any.”

I love that quote. It’s good.

If you live in the New York area pick up a copy of the New York Post, turn to page 52 and check out the big ol’ picture of Aquaman and the Flash. Check out the caption.

Or just go to this page and click on the picture: http://specialsections.nypost.com/news/nypost/travel/20021022/p52.asp

Odd thing: The image of the woman at the bottom of the page is NOT taken by me, yet I’m given the credit. Odd.

I have two friends independently picking up copies of the NY Post for me, so I’ll definitely have a hard copy.

So for just over a week now I’ve been really focused on exercise and getting in shape. My most immediate goal is to hit 210 lbs by November 23rd. As of this morning I weighed in at 222, so I’ve lost an whopping one pound since last week, but I didn’t get fat in a week and don’t expect to hit my goals in a week either. So I’m still a fat ass, but I’m working on it. I’ll keep you posted.

The immediate affects of this exercise regiment stagger me. In the first seven days I walked 6 of them and did light free weights on 5 of those days. I’m already seeing recovery times from exercise decrease and my ability to jog more each day is surprising. The burn felt in my legs at the beginning of the walk takes longer and longer to get to, and once it begins it ends faster. By the fifth day the burn didn’t feel as bad either. It’s mostly my shins and calves that burn, not the upper leg. I rather look forward to the burn.

Already I’m seeing small changes in my body, how my clothing hang and how I feel. I’m sleeping heavier and don’t need my 7:00 nap anymore. It’s odd how the expenditure of more energy actually creates more energy.

So that’s the exercise update. The real story is something else.

When I go for my walk/jog I trek over to a park about 2 blocks west from my apartment. The park has a nice, long jogging path that lots of people use, so it’s perfect. In one week I’ve noticed a good deal of regulars and I’ve come to discover He Who Is The Real Jogger.

He Who Is The Real Jogger is not myself, there with my sweat shirt and sweat pants with no logos and beat up walking shoes who after one sustained minute of jogging is bent over at the waist, ready to puke, wondering how people sustain a jog longer than a minute. I curse them all as they pass me. “Fuck you.”

He Who Is The Real Jogger is not the guy who wears the Nike Swoosh hat, the Addidas T-Shirt and Reebok sweatpants with a brand new pair of jogging shoes talking on his cell-phone to his agent, producer, acting coach or what the fuck else.

He Who Is The Real Jogger is not the guy that shows up wearing a Los Angeles Sparks sweatshirt and sweatpants every time, sometimes two, three days in a row (I’ll allow for the possibility that he works for the Sparks, but you still look like a retard).

He Who Is The Real Jogger is not the guy wearing a tank top and shiny shorts that are frankly too loose, causing mothers who brought their children to the park to play to dive for the cell phone to dial the 911 to report the sighting of a sexual predator in the park.

No, those aren’t He Who Is The Real Jogger, but I have discovered who is.

On Thursday of last week I was walking up the part of the jogging path that parallels the street. At the same time a guy quickly pulls his car over to the curb. He turned off the vehicle, opened the door, hopped out quickly and began stretching. The man was wearing a button up shirt, corduroys, a leather belt, some sort of patterned sock (the guy’s pants were flooding a bit) and psuedo dress shoes (leather jobbies). He stretched for maybe a minute, then got to it. He began jogging in the opposite direction of myself (I was taking a counter-clockwise approach, he went clockwise). He must have passed me three times while I was walking. This guy was so compelled to jog, the process called to him so loudly, that he didn’t stop at home to change clothes to look cool or feel more comfortable or whatever before his run. No, not this guy. He saw the park, pulled the car to a quick stop and began to run. And run. When I finished he was still at it. This guy was all about the activity, not the experience or story. The guy was focused on one thing only. This guy is He Who Is The Real Jogger and I salute him.

Either that or he’s just a complete shit-brain that doesn’t know better to change out of cords and put on proper shoes like any normal human being would.