Laser Zone

On the list of places we loved to avoid as our kids were growing up, several notches below Chuck-e-Cheese (which, mercifully, we successfully avoided entirely) was a local joint known as the Laser Zone. As you might suspect, their gig was laser tag, and while we had no objection to that (it’s rather fun and a lot cleaner and less painful than paintball), it was the hordes of germy youth that always gave us more than a small dose of the willies. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and the laser zone might just sound attractive now. Just not that one.

I’m getting really tired of not responding to the announcements of track meets, road races, and other things competitive. I’m getting really tired of telling my running buds that I’m still wounded and not making any apparent progress. I’m getting really tired in general of the state I’m in, and am seeking alternatives. Send your ideas, I might just bite.

(I’m also getting really tired of people asking if I’m getting really tired of winter. Hey, I grew up in Upstate New York. It’s winter. It snows. Turn off the media and deal with it. It’s the best upper body workout you can get for free. Maybe I’ll shovel out the deck soon, or maybe I’ll just enjoy the snow up to the level of the picnic table – today’s additional four inches not shown here.)

But amidst this winter of my discontent, back on the topic of ideas, I’ve got the name of a chiropractor on my desk recommended by one running friend and just haven’t had the free moment to call him up and quiz him on rates, since he’s not in my insurance plan. I’ve got a funky ankle blood-flow stimulator thing who’s maker insists it’s not just a heating pad (but sure feels like one) that I borrowed from another running friend that so far hasn’t fixed anything (but is nice and toasty warm). I’ve got creams and tapes and stretches and exercises and a few odd items that Dr. Foot Doctor found on his shelves, none of which have made a whit of difference. I’m considering a trip to the full-priced running store to try different shoes, which might help, or might just make other things hurt. Heck, at this point I’d suck down a few bottles of Dr. Kilmer’s Swamp Root, the most famous snake oil ever to come out of my old home town, if I could get my hands on it (wine will have to suffice in the meantime). Alas, it still hurts plenty, my training still stinks plenty, and Boston is looking plenty much like a train wreck.

The good news is that Dr. Foot Doctor has my back and is genuinely concerned about this pending disaster. The bad news is that what he’s got in mind for a next step happens to require a large piece of equipment that he’s had no luck procuring despite no lack of trying. He’s got his eyes set on a big honkin’ laser that he believes will relieve the scar tissue and inflammation that he thinks is causing my continued woes. I can’t say I’m confident that this is the final answer, but it beats Swamp Root and I’m willing to give it a try. After all these years, yes, I’ve sunk that low, I’m now ready to go to the Laser Zone!

Except that as noted, there’s no laser in his zone. He went a’huntin’ on my behalf, and did manage to find one…an hour and a half away. And we’re talking about ten or so treatments. So with time out, time there, time back, half a day, times ten…do the math, it just doesn’t work. Day job and all, you know. But hey, it’s a laser, right? So if they aim it really carefully out their window in just the right direction, and if I sit really still, and if we can evacuate all air between here and there, other than killing a few unlucky birds mid-flight, it oughta’ work, right?

Fun Bits, Part One: There were plenty of photos and videos posted on FloTrack and other sites from the day Galen Rupp ran his American record two-mile. And since we were standing right over the finish line during the race, and later at track-side during his post-race workout, we photo-bombed many of them. Darling Daughter the Younger screen captured (and marked up) a few. Sadly, at the moment I can’t find the one that had us both in it, so you’ll have to settle for just me (and one of her arms) cheering the man on to greatness.

Fun Bits, Part Two: The annual New England Runner road race calendar landed in my (paper mail) mailbox a few days ago, and to my amused surprise I found myself gracing not just one, but two months. Who knew your blogmeister was a calendar model?

Right there on March 4th – missed my birthday by a couple weeks but that day would have been my grandfather’s one hundredth birthday, an honor to him. What’s the chance of that?

And there again on December 16th, in color no less!