Would Lance Armstrong Enter a Political Race?

He seems to have all the skills and to be veering in that direction, reports the Dallas Morning News. I'd vote for an Armstrong presidency, if only to see the Olsen twins as co-First Ladies.

2007 Chicago Marathon Women's Finish

Lost in the story of marathoners melting down in the Chicago heat was the amazing finish to the women's race. Romania's Adriana Pirtea thought she had first place sewed up — and then Ethiopia's Berhane Adere said, "Oh no you dihn't, girlfriend." Never give up.

New York City Marathon Report

The story of my race report exists entirely in comments directed to me that I either heard or imagined that I heard from a handful of the million or so spectators lining the course from the southern edge of Brooklyn through Central Park.

BROOKLYN - MILE 10
"You look GREAT!"

QUEENS - MILE 15
"Good job, runner!"

THE BRONX - MILE 20
"Well, you're doing it..."

CENTRAL PARK, MANHATTAN - MILE 25
"I swear you are almost done..."

No celebration at the overcrowded finish line: Just a sigh and shake of the head. I dug deeper than ever before to run a near-PW time. Overall, I would summarize the New York Marathon course in one word: LOUD. My goals for future marathons include running faster on a quieter course.

Everyone is asking whether I saw Katie Holmes. No, but if I had I'm sure she would have been impressed to learn that my cousin and I envisioned her playing the lead female role in our failed screenplay. This was pre-Tom Cruise weirdness and based soley on her performance in Wonder Boys - I have never seen Dawson's Creek. Here is the New York Post's photo gallery of Katie running New York and Tom's bad bowl haircut.

Burning Questions

QUESTIONS
1. Did video really kill the radio star?
2. Is it a sin to kill a mockingbird?
3. Did Oprah kill the marathon?

ANSWERS
1. Official cause of death was choking on someone else's vomit.
2. Yes, absolutely. Who did a mockingbird ever hurt?
3. Salon.com handles this one.

Movie Review: Hell on Wheels (2005)

Rating: 4/4 water bottles
(German with English subtitles)

If your idea of a perfect July morning is putting rubber to road and hammering out a half century at first light so you can get home to watch the end of that day's Tour de France stage live — or if you just like watching the Tour and always wonder when the riders pee — you need to put "Hell on Wheels" (Höllentour, or "Hell Tour" in the original German) at the top of your Netflix queue.

The movie's billing as a documentary tracking the German Team Telekom through the 2003 Tour de France does it an injustice by not hinting at its powerful visceral impact. As the centennial celebration of the Tour, the entire 2003 race took place inside the borders of France. The cinematography features the stunning French landscape as the ideal backdrop for the extreme drama of that year's tour. But for every wondrous aerial shot of the Alps we also see bikes being scrubbed, tender bodies being massaged, butt gel being applied to shorts, road rash being "scraped" off skin, and an ambitious domestique stuffing seven water bottles down the back of his jersey. Realizing that the Tour is holy, the filmmakers also know that God is in the details.

The focus of "Hell on Wheels," is on the journey, not the destination. Unless you already know that Lance Armstrong collected Tour victory number five, you won't even know who won the race, which was one of the most eventful in recent years. But you will be enveloped by the majesty of the Tour in ways you hadn't imagined.

At the center of the movie is long-time champion German sprinter Erik Zabel, just beginning his descent from glory, and his more workmanlike friend and teammate, Rolf Aldag. The race doesn't go well for Zabel, who in one weak moment asks, "Why didn't I become a surfer?" I've definitely never heard of 'ocean rash.'

Reclining in his hotel room bed after a brutal day in the Alps in which he has taken over temporary possession of the polka dot jersey for best climber, Aldag gazes at and literally caresses the jersey. "Every spot on this jersey probably cost me a year of my life," he says matter-of-factly. "And there are a lot of spots on it."

Also getting ample screen time are Armstrong, Jan Ullrich, Tyler Hamilton (riding courageously with a broken collarbone), a baby-faced Alexander Vinokurov, Richard Virenque and Andreas Klöden, who rode several stages with a broken tailbone.

A grizzled Team Telekom trainer who looks every bit as wise as his 60+ years would indicate reveals the essence of the movie while delivering a soliloquy on suffering: "Suffering can be negative. If you try to suffer for its own sake, that's unhealthy. … But when you talk about suffering that you must get through and that you can survive through enormous effort, that is something else. That is positive, good and beautiful. Beautiful because you think of courage, of stamina, loyalty the willingness to make sacrifices, modesty and love. From this perspective, the suffering during training, during sporting competitions, while doing one's job, which all require great effort, is the same as religious suffering. It is love. It is beautiful. I like that."

I like that, too. I also liked learning that the riders aren't as unaffected and impenetrable as they often appear on TV. Guess what? When they're sitting in the team van after the stage, they're doing the same thing we all do with our riding buddies: laughing and moaning about the lousy headwinds, hills, road conditions and other riders.

Over more than 2,000 miles of French roads, "Hell on Wheels" takes us on a whirlwind ride exposing all the glory and pain — the sweet and the sour — that makes the Tour worth savoring and life worth living.

Is it smart to barrel down a mountain at "95 kilometers per hour on a 2.5 centimeter tire" when you suffered so much on the climb that you can't see straight? Hell no, but "Hell on Wheels" helps us understand why these riders are so driven to do it.

"Hell on Wheels" clip — Lance Armstrong's Duel With Jan Ullrich:

Activating Ryan Hall

Seeing Ryan Hall power his way to a 2:09:02 time at the U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials on November 3 in New York City's Central Park is something I'll never forget.



Someone snapped a shot showing the tremendous power in Hall's legs. Wow.

Here is St. Louisan Ben Rosario:



One of the lesser-known runners tossed aside his sweaty red gloves at mile 21. For some reason, this dude picked one up (see the other, still on the ground) and went Michael Jackson:

Ironman Louisville Race Report

August 26, 2007, Louisville, Kentucky

The day had finally arrived. Thirty-six weeks of intense training was over and, ready or not, it was time to cover the final 140.6 miles of the journey. This would be an attempt at completing my 3rd Ironman distance triathlon, to go with finishes in 2002 and 2003. I had trained more rigorously this time and was hoping for a personal best time, of course. Despite feeling a little “off” the week leading up to the race, I felt physically prepared.

SWIM 2.4 Miles

Due to heavy currents in the Ohio River, the swim format changed from a mass swim start to a “time trial” (one by one) type of start, because we’d be starting in a narrower section of the river. I think this was a good idea.

Jamie (GFOA and the ultimate Ironman supporter) walked with me from the hotel to the swim start in the dark. John let me borrow his shoes so I didn’t have to make the trek in flip-flops (thanks!). Upon arriving, there was already a big line of swimmers. The start order was first-come-first-serve, self seating. I spotted Kevin and joined him in line, pretty close to the front.



We eventually found a place to sit on the dock and waited for the pros to begin. The temperature was comfortable. Soon we were shuffling towards the launching point and after a quick wave to Jamie, I was jumping feet first into the river to start the race. The water was too warm for wetsuits, unfortunately, so it was just me and my Speedo against the current. The rumor was that the first half or so would be tough going into the current but then there’d be a nice push from behind heading down river to the bike racks. Honestly, it felt tough the whole way. I climbed out of the water, having no idea how long I’d been swimming, looked at my watch and saw 1 hour 17 minutes. Not what I had hoped for, but I was into the changing tent now and focused on getting ready for the bike.

BIKE 112 Miles

As I ran with one hand on my bike up the bike chute towards the bike mount line, Jamie and John ran on the other side of the barricade yelling encouragement. I hopped on the Javelin and was soon pedaling out of town. I felt very good early on and was passing a lot of those good swimmers. Between about mile 20 and mile 90 there were lots of major hills, screaming descents, and wind to contend with. It was very tough and starting to heat up. I got to see Jamie, John, and Paula twice as I rolled through LaGrange, an area where spectators were encouraged to go and cheer. It was a huge boost to see them and I could tell they were having trouble spotting me.



I was sticking to my plan of eating a bar on the bottom of every hour and a gel at the top. Each time as the 30 drew nearer, I was dreading having to force down another bar. Around mile 90 I was starting to feel baked and not wanting to stomach any more “endurance” food. Luckily there was a tailwind and the road flattened out. My average speed crept up to 19.7mph by the time I made it back to transition. I was hurting a little though, and it was hot. I knew it might be a long marathon ahead of me. “Keep going. We’ll see. You’re doing OK. You can still pull off a great race,” I tried to convince myself. I took a little extra time in transition to gather myself and muster some courage. Out of the tent and onto the open road, I was hoping to find a comfortable running rhythm. The mind games had begun.

RUN 26.2 Miles

I was not feeling great to start the run. It was hot. How else can I say it? A quick out and back brought me right past the starting area where I saw Jamie and John.



Without saying much, I think we all shared the same concern that my expression was probably conveying loud and clear. My fuel belt felt like 100 pounds and so I decided to leave it with them and forge ahead into the “I’ll eat and drink what I can when I can” zone. Soon I made my first of about 3 or 4 “pit stops” to try and get the stomach back in order. It took a few more miles and aid stations to decide that the things that didn’t seem to bother my stomach were orange slices, Gatorade, and water. Oh, and ice, and sponges…anything to cool me off temporarily. A PR (personal record) was soon out of reach as I did the math and started to predict a realistic finishing time. I got some energy at the half-way point when the crowd really got into it, but soon it was back to a lonely hot road with barely a hint of shade. Run a mile, walk the aid station, eat an orange, drink, sponge, ice and repeat 20 or so times. I saw some St. Louis athletes out there and tried to give them a little “way to go” to help them on their journey. Andy and Tom were on fire and going for under 10 hours. Kevin J was driving to the 11 hour mark. Brad and Curtis weren’t far behind me. I never doubted I would finish.

THE FINISH

I just couldn’t run with any worthwhile pace, so I gave it what I had, picking it up toward the end. As I came towards the finish, the volunteers were signaling me for another loop and I just shook my head to indicate that I had already done two and this was my moment. They reacted quickly and pointed me into the finishing shoot. I had about 100 yards to go and I was running well suddenly, pumping my fist, feeling the emotion of an incredibly hard 36-week journey. As the noise from the spectators grew and engulfed me, I remember letting out a primal yell, saying nothing in particular and not directed at anyone. I knew the sacrifices and commitment I had made and although it was not a perfect outcome where I would set a PR, miraculously qualify for Hawaii and be among the world’s elite amateurs, I knew that I was blessed to go the distance, have the resources, support network, and discipline to make it all the way. The announcers were confused as to who I was due to a snafu with the timing chip and so there was no announcement of my name and where I was from. I think they may have called me an Ironman as the tradition goes, but I honestly don’t remember. I was escorted to where I could hug Jamie and high five John.



A little while later my Mom was on the phone saying how the family had tracked me throughout the day and how proud they were. (Final Results: 11 hours 46 minutes, 291st place out of 1,800 or so. 60th in my age group out of 400 or so.)

When I think back, it almost seems appropriate that I could cross the line, pump my fist, breathe deep, and say to myself, “I did it” without anyone knowing who I was besides the people that have been with me all along — whether a few yards away or several states away at their computer screens or busy with their own lives on a Sunday in late August, keeping me in their thoughts all the while. Yes, I’m an Ironman, again, and I’m proud. When crossing the line anonymously, completely depleted, it was a rare moment, or should I say opportunity, of being one with my identity. The culmination of who I was and who I had hoped I could be, brought to bear through an epic physical and mental journey. The final moments of this Ironman reminded me that I was still a serious athlete, attempting to accomplish big goals, balanced by a good career. But most importantly, that I’m surrounded by positive, intelligent, motivated friends and family who inspire me and confirm that moving forward on this life path I’ve chosen is a great place to be.