Puma: Origins

Before diving into the earth-shattering substance of this blog, I thought it important to give readers a quick glimpse into the mysterious origins of the one and only “Puma”.  I’m glad to finally have this opportunity to clear things up, because most of the information out there is mere rumor and speculation.

First, there’s no truth to the myth that I was conceived when a lighting bolt struck a plummeting meteor.  It’s totally ludicrous to think a person could be created in this manner when everyone knows this is where baby rhinoceroses come from.

My ancestor, Pheidippides, pleases the crowd with some
naked calisthenics.  You can really see the family resemblance
in the glutes.

Second, it’s ridiculous to suggest that I’m the reincarnate form of Pheidippides, the Athenian herald who famously died after running from Marathon to Athens in order to deliver the message of Greek victory against the invading Persians.  This is a total exaggeration.  I’m merely a direct descendant of Pheidippides and have been graced with his extraordinary endurance capabilities. Luckily, the gene that caused him to die after what I would consider a leisurely stroll through the Mediterranean has been weeded out of the heredity pool at this point. 

Now, a brief recap of my early years:

While it’s never been officially confirmed, legend has it that I emerged from my mother’s womb donning a mustache that would have made Magnum P.I. crap his pants with jealously.  As an infant, my older brother shipped me to East Germany in a cargo crate the size of a microwave.  The Berlin Wall fell 3 hours after my arrival.  The rest of my adolescence was fairly unremarkable…if you consider traveling the world with a merry band of crime-solving raccoons unremarkable.  However, by the time I turned 18, I’d grown weary of this frantic lifestyle, and decided to shift my focus to more scholarly endeavors at the University of California, Los Angeles.

Since I “took my talents” to the world of long distance running, I’ve been kicking ass and taking names. (Yes, it’s a LeBron James reference. I know it’s old news, but I like to bring it up for one reason: His “Decision” makes me look like Sportsman of the Year, and I once locked a 76-year-old lady in a Porto potty just to get a better starting position in a road race. But I digress.)  Here are some of my more notable race results:

o   Los Angeles Marathon (2007): 4:29:44 – A pretty embarrassing showing on my part, but in my defense, I think somebody spiked my water with acid early in the race.  At the very least, this would explain why I refused to run another step until someone got me a glow stick at mile 13.

o   San Diego Marathon (2007): 3:26:13 – My current marathon PR. Only an hour and 22 minutes off the world record pace. Watch out Haile Gebrselaisse, because I’m coming for you.

o   Napa-to-Sonoma ½ Marathon (2007): 1:29:47 – My current ½ marathon PR. Finished 4^th in my age group, just barely missing the podium.  I promptly slashed the tires of the three competitors that beat me, because cheaters should never prosper.

o   Plate-to-Plate 5k (2007): 18:32 – Finished 8^th overall and won my age division. The medal was nice, but had a surprisingly low resale value at Vito’s Pawnshop.

o   Kaiser SF ½ Marathon (2010): 1:39:18 – First endurance race following a long hiatus. Reasons for my prolonged absence: (1) Attending law school figuratively broke my spirit and (2) playing basketball literally broke my ankle.

o   Emerald 12k Across the Bay: 53:59 – Won the Clydesdale Division (a.k.a. “Fatty Race”). Did I forget to mention that I’m 6’4’’, 215 lbs? Not exactly the prototypical endurance athlete’s body, so it’s nice when races accommodate people of my sexy stature.

These are the events and experiences that influenced the development of the “Puma”.  When I reflect on my journey to this point, it seems like I’ve always been destined to dominate the world of endurance running.  Well, destiny and the fact that the one time I tried boxing, I got thrown out of the gym for running around the ring yelling “not the face, not the face,” before finally collapsing into the fetal position, sobbing like a little girl.  Apparently those close-minded jerks didn’t quite grasp the complexity of my innovative new approach to the sport.

I'd advise you to use this weekend to start bracing yourself for the next glorious post, which will contain detailed instructions for starting your own training program.  It's coming at you Tuesday, March 1st.

I hope you have health insurance, because I’m about to blow your mind.

When I bump into one of this blog’s many followers (current grand total = 0), they always ask me the same question:  “Sir, why aren’t you wearing any pants?” (P.S. You’re welcome world).  After having me physically removed from whatever public establishment I entered (by the way, the fascists at Starbucks really frown on the no pants thing), the second question is usually “what does the title of your bitchin’ blog, Peace With Inches, mean?”  The answer to that question is so simple that you should feel stupid for asking it: I have no clue what it means, but it sounds hardcore and dramatic, so I just rolled with it.

Having said that, I suppose I should give some explanation of what you can come to expect from Peace With Inches.  Well, I don’t want to raise expectations too high, but this blog will make John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath look like the potty training manual, Everybody Poops.  In Peace with Inches, I will chronicle my exploits in the world of endurance running.  Not only will you be my shadow as I train for and race in various long distance competitions, but I’ll also give you an inside peek into the mental makeup of the man known only as “The Puma”.  This blog is meant primarily to be a record of my conquests, so future generations can truly appreciate the magnitude of my awesomeness.  Yet, I figure if I can help a few schmucks with their sad, insignificant lives, maybe the judge will knock off some of those court-appointed community service hours that I still have to complete.

As for my writing style, have you ever lost sleep wondering what it would be like if the Eastbound and Down character Kenny Powers participated in a real sport and then had the decency to write about it in an Internet blog with all the charm and intelligence of Stephen Colbert?  Well, wipe those tears from your face crybaby, because your prayers have been answered.   

Nothing intimidates criminals like a
souped-up can opener driving a
Late 80's Ford Taurus.

I know what a lot of you are thinking at this point. “Gee, this Puma fellow seems like a real bad-ass, but how does he stack up against the legendary tough guys of yore like Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal, or RoboCop?”  Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I’m tougher than those guys, because it’s impossible to draw a comparison between their isolated kung fu skills and my killer endurance abilities.  Sure, Chuck Norris is awesome at kicking bad guys in the face, but has he ever run a marathon?  I haven’t looked into the matter due to a deep-seeded belief that research is for pansies, but I’m going affirmatively state that he’s never had the stones to run the full 26.2. 

The only way to truly solve the eternal “Who’s tougher?” question is to combine our epic strengths into a single competition.  Here is what I suggest: A 20 mile footrace through the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range in which we have to roundhouse kick someone in the face every half-mile (any volunteers?).  As you can see, this race is precisely calibrated to include the strengths of all competitors, thus ensuring an accurate and fair playing field.  So bring it on Chuck, Steven and/or RoboCop.  If you wish to accept, the only means of reaching me is by carrier pigeon.

Side Note: There is the outside chance that a competition of this magnitude could actually dislodge the Earth from it’s orbital path, propelling it onto a collision course with one of those crappy planets that I always forget the names of…let’s call them “Not Earths”.

This is merely a sneak peek of things to come.  So strap yourself in world, it’s going to be a wild ride (you may want to pack an extra pair of underpants).