I ran 3.5 out of 10 miles this morning

Not even halfway through my 10-mile run this morning I turned the corner in Miller Park and I see two sets of eyes glowing in the light of my headlamp. “Fuck,” I think. “Coyotes.” I don’t know why I thought that. I was in a park in the middle of the city where

2017 San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run

  Pain is something we try to avoid. When we do experience it, we minimize its effects, sometimes with pills, with drink, television, etc. It’s probably best that we’ve evolved to travel the least painful route, which is why ultrarunning—a sport that is

More love, you fucks

This world is so incredibly fucked. At the risk of sounding like a new age yoga mom or an inspirational meme making millennial, I would like to propose that we need more love. Not more proselytizing on social media. Not more telling people how to grieve. Not more government

Bernie lost because of us (well, I mean you)

I hate writing this post because I love Bernie Sanders. I love his proposed policies that avoid unnecessary wars, his plan to educate the living shit out of America, his promise to fuck Wall Street in the ass (in a bad way) and I love how his eyes get all wacky and his

Go Ahead, Thank a Meth User

Crystal’s car broke down in the middle of Broadway. When I got there the cops were also arriving. Two Asian cops and a big fat white cop. There’s always a fat white cop.   Here to protect and serve, as long as there’s zero to light cardio.

I Am a Heroic Runner

It was pitch black when I left for my run at 5:15 a.m. so I wore a head lamp. Even though it makes me look like a huge dickhead, I love wearing a head lamp because I can pretend I’m a Chilean miner.  The night before, I mapped out my 19 mile run, which would take me

I fell down

I was going to write a post about my experience as a first-year full-time English faculty at Folsom Lake College. Artistic rendering of my campus, which, apparently is full of wild, dangerous flora. But I fell today. At work. Not metaphorically fell. I fucking fell

From Stickup Kid

Bear stumbled through Roxbury intoxicated by his own grief, hoping desperately that somebody would say something. The right thing, the wrong thing. It didn’t matter. As long as it was in his direction. Just once. So he could unfurl the thick ball of aggression that burned