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).