Running a race? Me? Really? Don't be ridiculous.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am not fast. I never have been. I've come to terms with the fact that I never will be. As someone who has watched more than his fair share of sports both professionally and for fun, I know that athleticism is a physical characteristic that never leaves you. If you have it, you have it. And ladies and gentlemen, I don't have it.

That's fine. I've accepted my lack of velocity ever since I "ran" a mile for gym class at age 10 and clocked in at a robust 17:18. Granted, this is mostly due to the fact that I walked the entire thing with my friend Matt, but over the 17 years that have passed since I have not shown the predilection nor the aptitude for learning how to run one faster than that. And that's ok.

Of course, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I had, in fact, gotten faster. In high school when I "played" football -- there's a reason "played" is in quotes -- I ran a timed mile in 8:30, though I did weigh significantly more at the time. While I didn't time myself at any point, I did begin to run on a regular basis in college, sometimes as many as seven days a week, usually at a fair brisk pace and never indoors. Given that I went to school near Chicago, this was not a smart idea for approximately 11.5 months out of the year.

If you'd ever like to know what lake-effect snow in your face feels like in -20-degree weather, I'm happy to tell you. It isn't good.

But I never ran races. Never. I was not one of those people who trained for road races and became obsessed with collecting bibs, breaking their PRs or measuring my splits. In fact, I had never run a race before in my entire life, and while the idea of running a marathon was always an athletic achievement I had considered striving for, it's become extremely clear to me over the years that I'm far more interested in telling people I ran a marathon after the fact than I am in actually doing it. After all, why would I want to duplicate a feat that killed the first person to ever accomplish it? Seems somewhat counterintuitive when applied to my general goal of staying alive.

Tailgating is great, but it is not your friend

Last weekend I decided to make one of the many trips I do annually to see some professional sports team I've never seen before. Anyone who is reading this blog is probably already familiar with it, but as I headed down I-95 to visit friends in Washington, D.C. and then see my Giants get the fucking shit kicked out of them in Baltimore, it hadn't occured to me that weight-loss on a vacation -- even one that lasts all of 60 hours -- is astonishingly difficult. As soon as I arrived I was completely out of my element and out of my routine as far as regular exercise and watching my diet goes. At one point, I actually offered to cook dinner for my friend Lindsay and her brother so I could ensure that whatever I was eating wasn't awful for me.

For whatever reason I was not taken up on this offer. Oh well.

The tragedy of all of this is that right before leaving for the trip last Friday I had worked my way down to an impressive new low in my hunt for that magical number of 175. On Thursday afternoon following a round of jogging and swimming I had dropped down to 206.6 pounds, the lowest I had been in, well, I have no idea since I didn't have a functioning scale for the last three years. The point is that I had made progress. Precious, precious progress. But one meal at DuPont Circle eatery BGR and an impossible to ignore BBQ pulled pork mac-n-cheese at Noodles and Company and suddenly extensive damage had been done, even if I tried my best to keep the diet reined in by having an extremely mediocre sub-600 calorie Moroccan chicken dish at Gordon Biersch Saturday night.

This was already a weekend doomed to ruin me as the previous paragraph suggests, and in the midst of it all I only managed to get one 45-minute stretch of exercise squeezed in. And then the tailgate happened. Now this wasn't as bad as your standard tailgate before a football game considering we had no grill at our disposal, but that didn't exactly make our chosen spread a healthy option either. After our initial tailgate plans had fallen through, Lindsay and I hastily went to a supermarket and bought loads of cold cuts, rolls, cookies, potato chips and a remarkably potent new brand of Doritos Lindsay's brother Robert suggested. And since this was a tailgate, of course there was a bundle of Yeungling and Blue Moon to help numb the eventual pain of the football game.

Let's just recap all of this: eating like this is not good regardless of whether or not you're trying to lose weight. Eating like this when you're trying to lose weight is definitely not good at all.