Archive for the ‘NFL’ category

The Story of Why I Struggle to Walk Right Now

April 28, 2008

Here’s a story. Hopefully there’s some sort of important lesson to be learned somewhere in here.

On Saturday, Yackie and I decided to drive down to Rendondo Beach to visit Sully and KtL. We’d hang out, eat El Burrito Jr., and watch the NFL Draft. A simple enough day. We got their around 1ish, watched a little of the draft, decided to get El BJ, brought the food back to his place, and watched more NFL Draft. As you can probably imagine, Yackie and KtL were not all that enthused about watching names flash across the screen for any extended period of time. We then went out and walked to the beach, got some frozen yogurt (I went with a Coke Float, I have no idea why), came back and, you guessed it, watched more draft coverage. With all the talk of draft picks, 40 times, verticals, lifting reps, and “thrust,” Sully, Sully’s roomate Josh, and I started talking again about how we should see how fast we could run the 40.

This is where the pain begins.

Sully lent me his Arizona basketball shorts (cursed), Josh put on some sort of ├╝ber-tight nike shirt, and we all went to West Torrance High School to run the 40. Yackie and KtL both had stopwatches, we blasted Kanye, and generally got pumped for a pretty bad idea (as Yackie stated it was many times).

The school was open and we were lucky enough to have the yard markers painted on to the edge of the track, which circled the football field. I immediately took my shirt off (you’re welcome ladies of the South Bay) to cut down on any possible resistance, and began stretching and jogging around. Sully remained unsure if he would run the 40, as he anticipated injury and/or embarrassment. Josh and I were getting in our respective zones (he played HS football, I HS tennis), positioned everyone, and finally, started sprinting. My goal was to be sub-six seconds.

We ran individual, hand-timed heats on the grass, and both consistently ran in the 5.5-6.1 range, although I don’t think I got in the 6s on the grass. Despite Yackie’s complaining, it was relatively fun, and put my curiosity to sleep.

At this point, Sully decided (after numerous full laps around the track) that he wanted in, but only in a head to head fashion – on the track. He ran two heats. His first heat, he beat Josh by a length and finished around 6.06ish. Not bad, especially considering Sully was hedging his potential time by talking up his distance running and claiming to have no short burst.

In the final race of the evening, I raced Sully on the track for unspoken future bragging rights. It was counted off by Josh, timed by Yackie, and we were off. For some reason, Sully, for the first time that day, started grunting and moaning during the sprint, throwing me off a little. I don’t make excuses, Sully beat me by a length fair and square. Immediately after finishing, I felt a tightness in my hamstrings, and started walking a little more gingerly. I didn’t think much of it, and just chalked it up to soreness from not having sprinted in quite some time.

We got some more food, drove home, and lo and behold, the soreness increased. Fast forward a bit, and by the time I woke up yesterday, I could barely move. My hamstrings were the size of softballs, my hips (which don’t lie) hurt everytime I did anything more than flinch, and I became certain that I had not only just shin splints, but hip, quad, knee, shin, and foot splints.

Rad.

Today, I tried walking with Yackie at a regular pace in my neighborhood before she laughed and asked if it was ok to walk ahead at a normal speed. This isn’t good.

As I sit here now typing this, I just tried to cross my legs on the ledge underneath my desk, and it was an unnecessarily lengthy struggle.

Officially, I’m day to day, but I may be sent down for a simulated game and then a rehab assignment.

The lesson here: never fool yourself into thinking it’s a good idea to try to run the 40 yard dash, especially multiple times. I don’t get how it is I’m slower than every single offensive lineman ever, but I now accept it as fact.

Also, Yackie is almost always wrong about things, but occasionally she can be correct.

Ugh.

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Lake Tajoe (soft J) – parte uno

January 29, 2008

This past weekend, I went to Tahoe to snowboard (term used loosely) with Yosh Jackman, Oliver (let’s call him O.G.), Jeff (Caucasian), and Jeff (Asian). I decided to take pictures, because, well, I can do that without injuring myself, and there’s little else to do in Tahoe without running the risk of injury. To my knowledge, I have no contracts associated to my name that include any Vladamir Radmanovic or Kellen Winslow clauses, so I should be alright. Let’s get photo-dancin’.


The view from the LAX-Reno flight. The lone flight of the weekend that took off the day it was intended to. The flight itself was uneventful, but I (and the rest of the plane) wasn’t thrilled about having to endure a loud five-way conversation between the ladies going to a bachelorette party. NOBODY CARES ABOUT WHO CAN AND CAN’T SETTLE DOWN, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU MAKE EVERYONE LISTEN WHEN ELECTRONICS AREN’T ALLOWED TO BE ON. Sorry about that.


When we got to Tahoe City, we stopped to get essentials – tortilla chips, beer, orange juice, frosted donettes. Duh. Pictured: O.G.


The next morning. O.G. and Jeff (Asian), the two most coordinated and experienced riders put on their gear and bindings in a coordinated and experienced fashion.


Yosh looked on and posed like he was drunk at 8 am. To my knowledge, he was not.


The drive to Squaw Valley. Jeff (Asian) was excited. So was half of O.G.


I still find it difficult to figure out a pose when I take a picture of myself. This pose has been loosely defined as “Apprehensive Hostage.”


That said, I tried for “Disinterested Hipster.” I think I failed, as not too many hipsters wear fleece pullovers from the Gap. I’m pretty square, kids.


Squaw was nice – the Olympics were here 48 years ago and they’ve kept it looking pretty high class. That way, you can pay hundreds of dollars to rent equipment, take lessons, and end up wondering if you’re single-handedly putting the children of Advil workers through Ive League schools.


Pre-board. Check out the uber-focus by Jeff (Asian).


Jeff (Caucasian)! He had a pretty good day until he hit a soft spot and needed ski patrol to help him find a ski that went flying off somewhere. And he’s good on snow, I can’t imagine what will happen to me if I keep convincing myself to go up and continue with snow sports.


Jeff (Asian) laughing to himself near the Olympic rings. To this day, nobody knows why.


O.G.’s cinnamon roll. Why did I take a picture of this? I have no idea. He seemed to enjoy it.


The view from the gondola up to the runs. Years ago, when I went with Big Daddy Eisner‘s family, the gondolas only sat four and swayed back and forth to the point where I had to start singing “American Pie” to calm myself down. I’m proud to say that I have significantly improved as a man since then.


I can’t say for sure, but this child may have passed me multiple times on the slopes and will probably mock me to all of his pre-kindergarten friends. Bastard.


If the urge ever comes over you to spend time in a room that smells like tens of thousands sweaty feet mixed with bad odor spray, by all means go rent snowboarding equipment.


My steed. She held up well, never gave up on me, and I even got her to look somewhat respectable by the end of the day. Booya.


Lunch. Sadly, nobody met Nooch. We did get to eat with Yosh’s instructor, Lars, who happily told us all the things he will be or we should be drinking. He recommended the ManMosa (mixing Budweiser and orange juice), and almost took too much pleasure in saying “ManMosa.”


After lunch. I somehow managed to master getting off the lift, which was important for me, mostly so I could secretly judge and be annoyed by people who couldn’t.


Wutup homes.

Tomorrow – parte dos.