Monthly Archives: February 2017

(editor’s note – perhaps this should be “eine Dufus” instead. I’m not sure about the gender of “doofus”. And sometimes I spell is “dufus”, so there’s that).

Here’s the view from our condo club dreadmill, which is where I’m pretty much doing all of my running these days –


My runs these days are all progressive – I start out slow, and slowly increase the pace based on a complicated set of rules and procedures.* This is best done on a treadmill, and actually most-bestest done on the same treadmill rather than switching, to keep things consistent. So I use this one, even though it requires a 2% grade just to be level (as I found out, using a level) and tends to actually run 40 seconds slower** (or faster, depending on how you say it) than the mills at the local gym.

But currently, my twice-weekly longer runs are 70 minutes, for which the first hour is progressive, but then the last ten minutes is on-offs and plyometrics. This works, anyway, since club mills generally are set up to only allow one-hour runs before being reset.***

Yesterday morning I finished up my hour progressive run, grabbed a drink and went to the bathroom, and did some minor lifting and started stretching – and happened to look at my watch and thought “gee, I finished up about ten minutes earlier than I expected”.

tick….tick…tick…oh, yeah.

I had forgotten to do the additional ten minutes of sprints and drills.


Yes, it involved some discipline to take the shirt off, to get the treadmill set up and running again, and to get back on the dang thing – but the most unpleasant part was having to put the cold, wet, sweaty HRM strap back on my chest. That takes the cake for “Things Jim did today that he didn’t want to do”.

So, I may be a doofus, but at least I’m a disciplined doofus!

*I set a starting speed and a max heart rate, expressed as a range of 3 BPM – i.e. “135” BPM means “135 to 137 BPM”. Each five minutes, at 20 seconds before the five minute interval (i.3. 4:40, 9:40, etc) I raise the speed of the mill 0.1 MPH if I am below the range any time during the 20 second period; if I am inside the range but not below at all, then I keep the same speed; if I am always above the range, then, after the 20 seconds is up, if I’m still above the range, I have to slow down 0.1 MPH.

**i.e Using my Garmin footpod, I will wind up with a distance about the same or slightly less than what the treadmills at the Whitefish Wave report; on the condo club mill, though,  the footpod reports about 40 seconds per mile faster than the mill says that it is going. So the 5.8 MPH showing, above, is more like 6.1 MPH on the footpod.

***I did manage to convince Wayne, the tech at the Wave, to change one line of treadmills to have a 2 hour timeout rather than 1. We’ll see if they keep it that way.

Four and a half years ago, I let Maia go.

Now, I have this thing.


I never knew, before I got Maia, that I had a thing for pig-eared dogs. While we had Maia, who was definitely pig-eared, we had a silky-eared (Lucy), a flop-eared (Kia) and whatever-eared Uta the Greyhound was (aerodynamic-eared, maybe?)

Maia and I used to discuss her pig-eared nature at great length, and compared it to the other dogs’ earedness (much, I’m sorry to say, to their disadvantage). We agreed that the best dogs are pig-eared dogs.

Some background – Ethel took me on an eleven-hour round trip last year to pick up “my” new dog, Abby. Abby is a purebred Husky. And Abby is, like all Huskies, elf-eared.

But, while Abby was fond enough of me, she really became more attached to Lucy, Ethel’s dog. Wherever Ethel went, Lucy went, and wherever Lucy went, Abby went.

Then, after we moved to Whitefish, Lucy died, and Abby sort of “became” Ethel’s dog. So, once again, I was dogless.

I was happy in my dogless state, but Ethel was sure that I wasn’t. So I woke up one morning and went for my run; when I got back, Ethel was sitting there with her Forward Day By Day and her Bible, and said (something along the lines of) “I’ve been talking to God and He says that we should get you a puppy.”

I of course objected – it had been thirty years, but I had some idea of just how much trouble puppies were – but Ethel couldn’t actually hear my objections – I reckon that, when you’ve been talking to God, it’s hard to hear your husband.

So she spent the morning researching puppies in the Flathead Valley region, and announced at noon that we were going to East Glacier to get a “half Husky, half German Shepherd” puppy, for which we were going to hand over actual sums of money.

We got there and there were two puppies left, both female; one of them showed the Husky very strongly, and was beautiful. The other one had two different-colored eyes, and pig ears instead of elf ears.

The pig-eared one grabbed me by her foreclaws and held on. I never let go of her – just told Ethel to pay the man and got in the car to go home.

Now here I am, with another pig-eared dog. As I said, it’s been almost thirty years since I had a puppy, and they are more trouble that I remembered (maybe being older has something to do with that).

But Juneau is a heart breaker. And she is, definitely, pig eared.