Yeah, I’ve been a slow getting to this one. I went up to Frederick, Maryland, a town I’ve been to many times in my past, but never for baseball before. I used this venture as a perfect excuse to say happy belated Father’s Day, as my dad went to go watch baseball and drink beer, all while I got to check another unexplored baseball park on my list. Harry Grove Stadium, home of the Frederick Keys, the Class A+ affiliates of the Baltimore Orioles.
According to the timing chips, I completed the Peachtree Road Race in 58:45 this year. I am pleased by this number. Even more so because the last time I ran it, the chips said that I ran the race in 1:03:04, which mortified me that I was then incapable of completing 6.2 miles in under an hour. But such a fluke has been rectified, and I’m back to under an hour, right around the pace where I think I should be running.
As I said, I am happy with my result. Especially considering how blown up I felt during the ascent up Cardiac Hill, making me think that I was ill-prepared this year, but the key is that I never stopped running regardless. And despite feeling like I didn’t have the late-race adrenaline rush like I had in the past which has usually served to hoist me through the final 0.2 miles of the race, when I saw the finish line in sight, it came through once again, and was a big contributor to shaving off at least half a minute from my time.
I see a lot of people wearing American flag stuff; shorts, shirts, bandanas, etc., but to me, nothing is more appropriately American than my Hulk Hogan Hulkamania shirt. Gonna own this.
For obvious reasons, one or two of the televisions in the locker room at my gym is always on the NBA Network. This week, they’ve been systematically broadcasting apparently every single year of the NBA’s dunk contest. Recently, I got to thinking about just how stupid the dunk contest really is.
As much as I understand the appeal and occasional functionality of dunking, I can’t help but thinking that a contest of dunking without defenders, a clock or any resistance is pretty much the dumbest thing in the world. And it gets worse with every single year, with players looking to add gimmicks, costumes and props to their foolish exhibitions in order to impress designated judges who assign scores based on, lord knows what.
And with each passing year, much as there are more crowd shots of other players and devastated fans, out of their seats, OHHHHing and making guttural sounds of approval at what they witnessed, there have been more and more people in the locker room glued to the televisions, making much of the same reactions. And for what? Guys that are taking a basketball, and doing whatever they can possible in the fractions of a second before they attempt to force it into an uncontested hoop.
In the top left corner of the screen are a guy in a red shirt and a guy in a navy blue shirt. That’s my friend James and I, in the first row of the outfield in the first of the three miserable 100+ degree heat games, where the Braves dropped two of three to the Nationals, but hey at least I got to see one win. I have to reiterate that I’ve never felt this kind of hot weather in my entire life; 101-102 maybe, but nothing that so effortlessly climbed well into the 110+ range ever in my entire life.
Saturday’s game’s first pitch temperature was recorded at 111 degrees, but being a 4:05 p.m. game, the shade actually came sooner rather than later, and protected us somewhat. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case today, being a 1:35 p.m. game; although the temperature was “down” to just 108 degrees at first pitch, there was no shade to be found anywhere. Today was the first time in my life I’ve ever felt affected by the heat, in a legitimate detrimental fashion. I found myself feeling lightheaded whenever we took a piss break, once a brief momentary bought of nausea, and there was a point where I stopped sweating because I apparently didn’t have anything left to sweat. Thankfully the park had courtesy water stations, and I drank the equivalent of about six 20 oz. bottles throughout the game. Kind of scary, to be perfectly honest.
Although I know this won’t hold true, but I don’t think I can complain about another 92 degree day again.
