Wendy Davis's Running Shoes

When a pair of running shoes, becomes a national political symbol, it is incumbent on this blog to do a little bit of digging.  As we learned from Paul Ryan and Paula Broadwell, one can learn a lot about a person's veracity when they make falsifiable claims about running prowess.

So, what can we learn from Wendy Davis's running shoes?

First, what kind of shoes are they, and what does that tell us?  According to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, they are Mizuno Wave Rider 16s.  I give Davis points for this choice.  I ran in the Wave Rider through the first Bush 43 administration.  They are a neutral cushioned shoe.  I liked them a lot, in that they provided a slightly firmer heel platform than most neutral shoes, and they were lighter, because of the air gaps in the heel cushioning.  This would be a good choice for standing, as well as running.  When I ran in them, they were the top of the line in that category.  I switched when Mizuno added the slightly plusher, more expensive, Wave Creation to the line.  Unlike me, Wendy seems to have stayed with the lighter, cheaper model.  Good optics.

Second, is she a runner?  Unlike Ryan and Broadwell, Davis has been described as an "avid" runner, but has not to my knowledge made any claims about prowess.  So, does she race? If she does, how fast is she?  I looked on Athlinks, and there appears to be a Wendy Davis from Texas, of the right age, who runs 5Ks with some regularity in the right parts of Texas.  Wendy Davis is not a particularly unusual name, so it could be someone else entirely, but that Wendy Davis clocks in quite consistently with more than respectable 5K times of 27 minutes, give or take a bit (8:35-8:40 minutes per mile pace).  If that's the right person, that certainly justifies the adjective "avid."

So, after this slightly embarrassing bit of cybersleuthing, I'm happy to stand with Wendy, and I may have to go out and buy a new pair of Wave Riders.

UPDATE:  Amazon commenters have distinct opinions on the Wave Rider 16.
LATER UPDATE:  Vicki's filibuster footwear has arrived.

Honor Roll

Well, we don't have an "honor roll" or "blogs we follow" list on this blog.  This is entirely due to the technological ineptitude of the blog administrator.  If we had one, though, this new blog would surely be on it.

Now it can be told

You know how much I love baseball. I have written about it, I have done the Cubs fantasy camp the year I turned thirty, and welcome the chance for any visit to the friendly confines of Wrigley Field. But you probably don't know why it was my fault they didn't get to the World Series when they were five outs away in October 2003.

Now nearly ten years later, it is important to clear up the mystery of the team's hundred plus year pennant drought. It turns out that it wasn't curses, billy goats, or even the Bartman ball. It was, in fact, all me and a solemn oath that was broken in a moment of weakness.

I am an ultra-Orthodox Cubs fan. I believe that baseball should be played in the day, on grass, with no designated hitters. That wasn't much of a problem before August of 1988. The Cubs had never had lights, although they came close just before World War II. For some reason, seeing night games at other ball parks wasn't a problem for me, but the Cubs were special. Day games at Wrigley were extra special, particularly when one skipped out of school or work to be there. Some of the highlights for me were opening days with my father, over 20 games as a 12 year old during the nearly miraculous 1969 season, and a meaningless last game of the season in the early eighties sitting in the virtually empty left field bleachers and meeting a freshman at Northwestern who had skipped class so he didn't have to wait until the following season to see his first Cubs game.

When lights were installed, I was faced with a choice of accommodating change or maintaining my faith. It was an easy choice. I vowed never to attend a night game at Wrigley, and laughed mightily as the first night game was rained out as a sign that I had made the right choice.

I turned down sky box tickets from a client for the All-Star game in 1988. I arranged with my season ticket pool to take the tickets for the day game of the playoffs that never happened in 1989, as the Cubs lost before that day game could be played. I watched at home as my friends froze in the early and late months of the season and never thought twice about my promise until 2003.

2003 was a season of beauty and wonder. The Cubs had pitching, hitting, and a sense of awe about them. Through a business contact of my wife, I had access to seats on a regular basis. During the regular season, they were almost always box seats behind the plate near the players' wives, visiting dignitaries, and the like. During the playoffs, the seats moved up and away from prime territory. I attended one day game during each of the early rounds with worse and worse seats as the excitement grew and the Cubs moved step by step toward the Series.

Then came game six of the National League Championship Series against the Florida Marlins. I had already been to one of the day game wins but the temptation grew too much. Our Cubs contact offered two tickets in the left bleachers and in a moment of weakness I gave in. I invited Jeff, a childhood friend, who had often shared his day game season tickets with me. He knew about my pledge, but didn't give me too hard a time about it. It was just too exciting, particularly as the Cubs built a lead and we were five outs away from the first World Series in my lifetime.

You know the rest. As Jeff was on his cell phone giving a play-by-play in the eighth inning to his brother in Israel, it happened. Base runners, Moises Alou reaching for a foul ball just in the stands, the infamous interference by a fan named Steve Bartman, an error by the shortstop Alex Rodriguez, a flood of runs, and disaster. There was a Game Seven, but everyone knew how that was going to come out.

I have never gone to another night game, but it's too late. So please don't blame the others and forgive me for making everyone wait that many more years for the World Series. We can all enjoy the Blackhawks' Stanl;ey Cup but it's not the same.

I mean it this time. No matter how tempting it is, I just won't go. I promise!

Marathon tie-in for the blog?  Game six was October 14, 2003, two days after I completed my first Chicago marathon!

The most depressing opinion in years

The beginning of Justice Kagan's dissent in AMEX v. Italian Colors Restaurant says it all:

Here is the nutshell version of the case, unfortunately obscured in the Court's decision.  The owner of a small restaurant (Italian Colors) thinks that American Express (Amex) has used its monopoly power to force merchants to accept a form contract violating the antitrust laws.  The restauranteur wants to challenge the alleged unlawful provision (imposing a tying arrangement) but the same contract's arbitration provision prevents him from doing so.  That term imposes a variety of procedural bars that would make pursuit of the antitrust claim a fool's errand.  So if the arbitration provision is enforceable, Amex has insulated itself from antitrust liability -- even if it has in fact violated the law.  The monopolist gets to use its monopoly power to insist on a contract effectively depriving its victims of all legal recourse.

And here is the nutshell version of today's opinion, admirably flaunted rather than camouflaged: Too darn bad.

Narcotrafficante Land

Apparently, you can now vacation at not one, but two, of former Colombian drug king pin Pablo Escobar's old estates.

 

Cartel tourism anyone?

1) Vacation at Pablo Escobar’s Retreat: Casa Magna in Tulum, Mexico

April 15, 2008By: Mary Winston Nicklin

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The Colombian cocaine kingpin sure did pick a nice spot. Tulum and the Riviera Maya have become Mexico's hottest destination in the last decade, and it's little wonder why. The picture-perfect setting of white sandy beaches and turquoise waters, coupled with the easy proximity to the U.S. East Coast, continues to lure vacationers seeking a little piece of paradise. On the secluded coast near Tulum, south of Cancun, a new eco-chic resort called Casa Magna has been making waves. Legend has it that Escobar himself camped out here (and there are the bullet-proof walls, a secret tunnel, and "look-out turrets" to prove it). After the drug lord's death, the place was abandoned and deteriorated into a mess of concrete... At least until Amansala took on a massive renovation project and created this eco-friendly hideaway touting "rustic luxury." On this pristine stretch of beach, you'll find spacious rooms, yoga classes, fitness training, and a restaurant serving the freshest fish and tasty mango margaritas. 

 

And then in Medellin, Columbia itself, there is a theme park on the grounds of hid hideaway.

2) The Theme Park on Drug Lord Pablo Escobar's Estate

Photo: Pete Hottelet

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The main gates of the Hacienda Nápoles theme park, featuring Pablo Escobar’s smuggling plane
In one corner of the 3,700-acre park, a bright pink hippo statue poses on a plinth; in another, dinosaurs are frozen in time. Elsewhere, a giant octopus emerges from a swimming pool with waterslides wrapped up in its tentacles.
As far as theme parks go, there isn’t really anything too surprising or out of the ordinary going on here. Yet this is no ordinary tourist attraction. The Hacienda Nápoles theme park is situated on grounds that once belonged to Colombia’s (and perhaps the world’s) most famous drug lord.

 

 

National 24-hour

Last weekend was the second of three big biking events for 2013 and my first attempt at a 24-hour race of any sort.  S__ flew out to crew and I started with 310 of my closest friends from a junior high school parking lot in Middleville Michigan (halfway between Lansing and Grand Rapids).  I had a goal of 400 miles, the 24-hour-race analog to a three-hour marathon.  Like my attempts at a 3-hour marathon, I came up well short, spooling off 309.9 miles before the clock expired.  Something to come back for, I suppose, although I do hope that unlike the marathon it won't require 18+ tries to meet the goal!

My 20th Anniversary

on Fire Island.  We began going there early on in during my Brooklyn Law teaching days.  Pre-kids, pre-running.  We have been back almost every year.  Since our daughter just turned 17, we officially declared this our 20th anniversary on the island.  As the east coasters know, Fire Island is a barrier island just east of Long Island.  Its 32 miles long, a couple of blocks wide and you get there by ferry because there are no cars.  Each "town" has a ferry dock, and maybe a grocery store.  Only a couple of towns are big enough to have much more.

As I ramped up my running, I learned the joys and curses of beach running.  Endless solitude is one of the joys, burning calves are one of the down sides.  This weekend, I got out for two runs (shoes on with compression sleeves).  One was an 8 miler from Ocean Beach to Sailor's Haven and back, the other a 4 miler going the other direction.  At 9 in the morning, there are few on the beach and the beach seems truly endless, especially since Hurricane Sandy flattened  most of the dunes, effectively widening the beach.  Most of the houses survived intact but lots of decks and stair cases to the beach are gone and only partially rebuilt.  The island looks a little beat up, which it was, with lots of debris and construction materials lying around.  The rush seems to be on to finish everything before the high season in a couple of weeks, but every time there is a down pour all work stops and everyone gets real nervous.

None of this affects the beach which was gorgeous one day and soggy the next.  And yes, I felt the burn.  Just wish I could train there for a full summer.