A Whirlwind Saturday

My plan was to get to Waterton early to warm up a few miles before I met with Joe and Kristen for a 9-mile run. My overall goal was to put in at least 12 miles total, and not to worry about how fast I went.

The warmup wasn't all that much fun, but I managed to get through 4 miles before it was time to meet the others. But I made the mistake of walking back to the parking lot from the Mule Deer picnic area, and my knees took that opportunity as an invitation to go on strike. It wasn't bad enough that they shut down and refused to move, but the chanting and slogans are what really drove me crazy: "Eeny meenie miney moe, your aching joints refuse to go!" and "Until you learn to respect our fragility, we're going to limit your mobility!" -- that sort of thing.

It was quite depressing.

The others took off at a relaxed pace, chatting genially, while I struggled, huffing and puffing behind. I tried to keep up, but it just wasn't working. Kristen eventually came back and paced with me for a while. But once it was obvious that I wasn't going to suddenly become cured, she left me behind as well. As she disappeared into the distance, I finally turned around and walked back to the parking lot, cursing my rebellious appendages and questioning my lifelong assumption that I'd someday have a Forrest Gump moment where the metaphorical braces would break off and I'd be able to run like the wind.

Perhaps I'll just have to accept that both my running and table tennis might just remain mediocre forever. As Dr. Smith would say, "ooh, the Pain!"

Sigh.

Oh well, onward with the rest of the day. After taking a long hot shower, I did a few chores around home, then went over to pick up Tanner for our afternoon of fun & family adventure. (Teenager translation: searing agony of being forced to hang out with boring old Dad.)

We ran some errands -- picked up library books, ate Chipotle burritos, and drove across town to pick up an underwater housing for my digital camera. (Note to MicroCenter: If you're going to prominently advertise a product in a sales flyer, it's probably a good idea to have at least one employee who knows where to find the darn things on the shelves, especially if the package they come in looks nothing whatsoever like the photo displayed in the ad.) Then we went back to my place to make a pizza.

Because I want this blog to be more than just another Kirk vs. Picard debate forum, I am planning to add educational segments from time to time. And I thought the first great public service I could perform in this direction would be to reveal the mystical secrets of the ancient art of preparing homemade pizza. After all, doesn't an artiste have a civic obligation to share his work with the masses? Didn't Leonardo have an obligation to share the Mona Lisa with the rest of us? Where would we be if Einstein hadn't shared his theory of Relativity with us?

[Seriously, where would we be without that theory? So what if nobody knew that E=MC Hammer? I may have to explore this topic in further detail in a future entry. It's deep, and you know, like significant, man.)]

So, I enlisted Tanner's help in shooting a video of the pizza-making process. I'll let you know when I post it. Then you, too, can turn your kitchen into a place where excellent food is produced.

We had to hurry, though. We had tickets for the Rockies vs. Twins game at Coors Field at 6:05. It's tough to be Spielberg when you don't want to miss the first pitch. We tried to shoot enough cutaways that I'll be able to edit it into something watchable, but I'm not sure whether we really accomplished that. It was done in real-time, so some stuff only got one chance: once you cook the sausage, you can't go back to reshoot putting the meat into the pan, you know?

But we finished the shooting and baked the pizza, pulling it out at just about the exact time we needed to leave to go catch the light rail. There wasn't time to eat the darn thing, but that was OK because you're supposed to eat hot dogs at a ballgame, anyway. It just means that I'll have some scrumptious leftover pizza to get me through the next few days.

On the way to the rail station, Tanner tried to talk me into letting him skip the ballgame and go play Ultimate Frisbee with his buddies. Now, come on! What sort of person would give up the chance to go to a major league baseball game on a beautiful spring evening at one of the greatest venues in the sport? What sort of person would prefer hurling a plastic disc around with a bunch of low-trousered hippie slackers to spending an evening in animated intellectual conversation with his very own father? What sort of person would sacrifice the opportunity to discuss baseball statistics and possibly even a few historic tales of his diverse and fascinating family heritage with his favorite male role model and the person who provided half of his entire DNA configuration?

Answer: a Teenager.

To his credit, though, the kid accepted his fate with grace and actually did provide me with good company during the outing. I enjoyed myself immensely.


We saw some spectacular defensive plays by Willy Taveras and Clint Barmes, a solid pitching performance, and some impressive trajectories on well-hit balls. Other than the tactical mistake of putting too many onions on my hot dog, it was an evening well spent. The Rockies won, we were home at a decent hour, and my knees ended the day feeling better than they had at the start.

I'll share more details about the ballpark cuisine in a later post. In the meantime, have a great day!