Housekeeping! You want me fluff your pillow?

Sorry for the delay in posting. Training's coming along nicely, though I'm falling behind here. Efforts at diligence will be doubled and redoubled as time ticks forward to November 2nd.

First, to wrap up Soda Popinski week:

Monday: Rest

Tuesday: 6 Miles

Wednesday: Rest

Thursday: 8 Miles

Friday: Rest

Saturday: Rest

Sunday: 18 Miles (ING NYC Marathon Tune-Up)

Were it not for a split bottle of wine on Friday, this could be described as a booze-free week... if one were to exclude Sunday, during which I drank eleventy beers while watching the Browns play less poorly than the Bengals. Barely. I'm going to come out and say it: I would be a better head coach than Romeo Crennel. From game planning to clock management, the man is a mental midget. Lerner must have been high on meth during the interview, fascinated by the radioactive glow of his Belichick-stained Super Bowl rings. I don't want him to fired; I want an errant tackler, or failing that Tonya Harding and a crowbar, to take out his knee on the sideline so he's got to spend the rest of the year "coaching" from an elevated booth a la Paterno. Perhaps the product on the field will cease its resemblance to an Afghani fire drill in that scenario. (Chinese fire drills seem too 80s. Today, I feel like a Chinese fire drill would be highly organized and efficient, if gassy.)

Anyhoo... Oh yeah. Soda Popinski. Beaten. As I indicated when introducing the Popster, alcohol consumption is no longer linked as a measure of victory- more appropriately, success is tied to victory. And the 18-mile Tune-Up was an unmitigated success. And I didn't drink 28 beers on Sunday. Probably not, anyway.

And with that, I'm going to bring the Punch-Out!! running gimmick to a close. I'm bored with it. I think it's appropriate to end it where my Punch-Out!! career concluded. Like John Kruk- one last single, and walk off the field. Blah blah Don Flamenco blah.

But we're not done. Where, oh where, will I garner inspiration from now? Less than four weeks from the big show?

I've considered this long and hard... And I've decided to go with a true hero to millions. That pinnacle of modern cinema, small-town USA celebrity cooler, and dance instructor to us all...

Patrick F'n Swayze.

For the next four weeks, or as long as I find it amusing, we'll be taking on Swayze's most nefarious movie nemeses. So, tune in tomorrow (or whenever I get around to it) to read about what happened during...

Jerry Orbach Week!!!!

Nobody... I mean NOBODY... puts Baby in the corner.