CHAPTER TWO: IN WHICH OUR INDUSTRIOUS YOUNG HERO DISCOVERS THAT IMBIBITION AND EXERCISE ARE GOOD BEDFELLOWS

Two days in a row. Wow. I’m a blog addict. Like a Robert Downey Jr. in LESS THAN ZERO addict. But at least I woke up this morning with all of my clothes on—and in my own house. But I digress. Let’s move on with the story, and excuse me if I do little PULP FICTION shifts back and forth in time—I want to try and keep things interesting. So, when we last left our lovable hero (that’s me)…

I believe it was October (sorry, I’m bad with dates, just ask any girl who has gone out with me) when TEAM TIGER made its auspicious debut. About 467 people showed up (actually, it was probably closer to 12), and outside the bar, a posse of paparazzi were taking pictures (not of us, but of Britney Spears, who had just driven her SUV through the storefront window of John’s Pizzeria across the street).

It was 7:30 and time to hit the West Side Highway for the 40-minute run, and I was feeling pretty good—especially with three beers in me. That’s my pre-run regimen: 2-3 beers, starting an hour before race time. And I ain’t downing Bud Lite Lime bottles, either. I’m talking serious ABV microbrews here: Imperial IPAs, barley wines, Imperial Stouts (I once drank 3 Dogfish Head World Wide Stouts—close to 20% ABV—before a run, blacked out during the jog and woke up three days later naked on the deck of THE INTREPID).

As my dad once said, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” I know Benjamin Franklin is credited with that quote, but my Dad said it first. And my Dad should know a thing or two about beer, because he was a world-class drunk. I just find that alcohol makes everything better—from running to improving your memory to driving your car to operating heavy machinery.

Flash-forward to present day:

Sorry, I was getting bored with that trip down memory lane. It must be my ADD. I’ll get back to Team Tiger’s first run later on. So there are two reasons I’m doing this abominable blog: 1) I’m running in the Chicago Marathon in October (for once, I’m not joking), and I want to chronicle all of the dangerous, demented and detrimental (sorry for the alliteration, it must be my DDD) things I do as I unconventionally prepare for 26-plus miles of pain and agony; and 2) I want to chronicle all of the bad food and good beer I consume along the way—especially the Team Tiger brewery sponsors who are contributing to our kick-ass retro running uniforms (more on that later).

This posting is getting too long and preachy. I don’t want this to become the ATLAS SHRUGGED of blogs. So I’m going to avoid pulling an Ayn Rand and wisely NOT delve into a diatribe concerning laissez-faire capitalism, and will instead continue the colorful adventures of intrepid young Allan in another post. Speaking of intrepid, did I ever mention the time I woke up naked on the deck of… Oh, sorry, I already did. Beer does make MOST THINGS better, but I probably should cross memory off that list.