Bryan Joiner

From my basketball savvy friends…

I was reading Chris Sheridan’s article about the potential Kobe Bryant/Bulls trade and came across this nugget:

Even then, it is not clear that any trade involving Deng would be acceptable to Bryant, who is wielding the power of the NBA’s only no-trade clause by threatening to veto certain deals.

I thought that was odd, because I read in Sports Illustrated’s basketball preview that Paul Pierce had squashed a 2005 trade for Chris Paul:

Whereas Pierce once feared being traded to a losing franchise — he vetoed an attempt by Boston in 2005 to move him to the Portland Trail Blazers for a draft pick the Celtics would have used on Wake Forest guard Chris Paul — he was now willing to start fresh almost anywhere

I’m wondering: who is right? Does Kobe, in fact, have the NBA’s only no-trade clause? Does he have the only complete no-trade clause, and does Pierce have a partial no-trade clause? Did Pierce have a no-trade clause in 2005, and does he no longer have one? Or did the Celtics extend Pierce a de facto no-trade clause in good faith in exchange for his years of service? I’m comfortable with any situation except the last one (save for potentially sloppy journalism on somebody’s part). As much as a I like Paul Pierce, it’s foolish to operate outside the bonds of the contract – that’s why you sign the contract. For someone who fancies himself as ruthless as Ainge, who says in the article that he would have traded Larry Bird from the Celtics in the early 1990s, it would be a giant mistake to have pulled back a Paul-for-Pierce deal on the basis of Pierce’s feelings. If you think you’re getting the better player, you do what you have to.

Anyway, the following is completely irrelevant, if fun:

Pierce, Garnett and Allen —> possible Eastern Conference champions
Paul, Garnett and Allen —> damn likely Eastern Conference champions

most excellent
performance by the
bosox.
looks like the hated
yankees are going down
in 3

(text message from my father this weekend)

Chilmark Road Race, August 13th: 3.1 miles, 28:15
McDonald’s 4-mile, September 8th, 4 miles: 30:16

Last night, I took out my Nike+ and ran 10K. I’m not training for a marathon — despite some talk of it earlier in the year, I missed the application deadline — but I wanted to kill the last of the “obviously attainable distances” (5K, 5 miles, 10K) while I’m still in the honeymoon phase with my new toy. Plus, I’m fairly sure I had never run a 10K before, even though I ran cross country in high school, and ran 5 miles last week without a problem. A 10K is less than 1.5 miles beyond that, so I figured what the heck? I had a minor cold earlier in the week so I had more or less been in the house since Sunday. I mapped out my route during the day on the Nike website, which has Google Maps built in, and relaxed/carbo loaded for a half an hour when I got home before setting out toward the Queensboro Bridge.

I realize this may not be interesting to someone like Rafe, who could run 6 miles and not even realize it, but I’m getting to the point of the story. Actually, here’s the point of the story: I should listen to myself, because I very often know what I’m talking about.

We’ll fast forward through the run, which was pleasant because it was the first cool day in a while that I had gone running. Quite intentionally, the middle parts of the run took me through some of the dingier areas of Western Queens — specifically, Queens Plaza and the bridge — which encouraged me not to stop even if I felt like it. Quite unintentionally, a very creepy Radiohead song (Climbing Up The Walls) came on as I was running there, which gave the whole thing a post-apocalyptic feel. Or, I should say, a more post-apocalyptic feel than normal, because outer Queens Plaza feels all “Escape From New York” on the best days. Soon enough, though, I was running along the East River and huffing and puffing my way back home. The legs are there, but the lungs are not — the result of too many long-winded conversations with Bob over the past several years.

When I passed through Astoria Park at the 9K mark on the river side, I passed a group of people who looked like they were staring into a tree behind me, so I craned my neck to see what had drawn their attention. There was nothing in the tree, but just to the side of the tree, sitting on top of a lightpost, was a hawk the size of an iMac staring bemusedly right back at them. Both parties seemed to be determining which one was more out of place. I would have stopped if my run was a bit shorter, but I was so close to home, I had to keep going. And then I was done.

As soon as I got inside, I saw that I had a message from my friend Brad, who was grilling at his house, a five-minute walk away. Did I want to come? I said yes and immediately regretted my decision, just because I didn’t want to walk over there. I scarfed down a banana, some walnuts and a protein shake, took a shower, and thought I’d be happier staying on the couch, watching my recently-purchased The Bourne Identity on my recently-repaired PS2, and eating whatever pasta was left in the apartment. Turns out I was out of pasta, and since I said I would go, I went. It was fun, and I ate two chicken sandwiches, a piece of corn on the cob and a salad like they were nothing and, at 10:30, headed back home. I thought that I would have a small snack back at my apartment and go to sleep. I was wrong.

A sidenote: despite my jubilant, already-linked-once post from the other day about marathoners/runners using exercise as an excuse to eat enormous amounts of food, I don’t actually need an excuse/a motivation/a physiological requirement to stuff myself silly. I can already eat non-stop and get away with it. Two years ago, I was unemployed, more or less sedentary, and could handily outeat my 6’2″, 240-lb. roommate. I weighed maybe five pounds more than I do now. My metabolism is generally haywire (in a good way), and for that I can do nothing other than thank Dr. J. As you’ll see in the following picture, I’m not exactly alone:

(note: this is probably the best picture of all four of us ever taken.)
(note II: it’s much better when WordPress doesn’t cut me off)

… so really, I’m used to it by now. And last night, I thought I had eaten a decent amount of food for a normal day (I had), and I got in bed and tried to go to sleep. And… nothing.

Do you know any insomniacs? I used to be one. Here’s what you think when you can’t sleep: “I can’t sleep, I don’t know why, I’ll never be able to sleep again. If I could just stop thinking, I could sleep, but I can’t stop thinking. Okay, time to stop thinking. (One minute passes.) Shit. I can’t sleep.” And repeat, basically until infinity. Or at least it used to be for me. Now, usually, I can pinpoint the solution after only an hour or so of that soul-crushing feeling — and it is positively, horribly soul-crushing, “the grand ‘fuck you’ of life” — and it’s usually one of five things:

1) Listening to music
This calms me down considerably when there’s really nothing wrong. Jazz. Always jazz.

2) Cleaning up
Sometimes I just have that nagging feeling that things aren’t quite right, and I can’t put my finger on it. I’ll think, “It couldn’t be that this place is a mess, could it? Nah,” and I’ll stick with that line of thinking for about an hour before getting up, putting a few things away, and realizing, “That WAS it, stupid.”

3) Writing
Harder now that my computer’s broken, but when I have a real problem, it always seems far less daunting after I confront it directly.

4) Working out
Sometimes a few pushups tires me out in no time after an otherwise lazy day.

5) Eating
By far the most effective method, but I’ve saved it for last for a reason. A fairly obvious reason.

Around 1 a.m., after bouts of watching TV, reading The New Yorker and Sports Illustrated, playing video games and doing all those things three more times, I finally got out of bed and starting to clean up WITH music on (double-whammy!). I felt better, but not tired. So I went out and had a couple of swigs of milk. And I felt a little better. Then I had another banana. A little better yet. And then I did a little math to myself: If I burned 713 calories (as my little toy said I did), I probably needed to eat a LOT more than I had eaten if my body was going to be happy. And happy body = sleep. So I ate a peanut butter sandwich. And a large amount of crackers. And before you know it, I was eating everything in the apartment that wasn’t nailed down. I think I ate a towel.

What I realized is that when I do serious exercise, my body (like those in my family) becomes an absolute freaking furnace. After everything I ate, I could feel it get gobbled up by my stomach, which would demand, Homer Simpson-style: “More.” It was remarkable. I have generally gotten into the habit of eating less than I can, simply because I feel sluggish if I eat a ton, even if I don’t put on any weight. This is not surprising. But that notion fooled me last night: I needed calories, calories, calories, calories, and my body, smarter than my brain, wasn’t sleeping without them. The evening finally ended after I emptied a can of Hearty Vegetable and Pasta Chunky Soup into my stomach, and my eyelids started to droop. The game was finally over, and I wobbled back to bed, before I could think, “‘Boy, I hope this wo—’,” I was out.

So, I see two solutions here: 1) buy pasta, which will greatly simplify this process and 2) when in doubt, eat, eat, eat, because I can handle it. It may seem unnatural, but I guess it’s the right thing to do. Anyway, that’s what I’m up to… so, er, how are you?

From a runner’s diet website:

Endurance athletes in particular benefit from fuel-efficient complex carbohydrates because of the extra calories burned each day. You need to aim for even more total carbohydrates than the suggested 50 percent. You can eat (in fact, may need to eat) more total calories without worrying about weight gain. The average runner training for a half marathon and running 20 to 25 miles a week probably needs a daily caloric intake near 2,500 to maintain muscle glycogen stores. As your mileage climbs beyond that, you need to eat more and more food, not less. In all honesty, this is why a lot of runners run, and why they train for marathons. Their common motto is, “I love to eat.”

Hooray!

So much for all those “long-form” blog entries I promised. There will be more.

42  15/115  Jake Gyllenhaal                26   M   Beverly Hills   CA     19:38.0  6:20

96  14/67   Tom Brady (Grant Joiner)       30   M   Tempe           AZ     21:20.9  6:53

543 90/115  Bryan Joiner                   29   M   Astoria         NY     28:15.0  9:06

It should be noted that I started in the back and had to walk at the start for about a minute. My Nike+ clocked me at 27:20. Not very fast, but it’ll do. It should also be noted that even at that time, I lost to a 76-year-old. Hooray!

Complete Chilmark Road Race Results.

This happened to me yesterday, and someone else had blogged it already, so I’m just going to point you there instead of drooling on the inside of your monitor myself. Things done changed.

The short description: Nike+ is freaking amazing. I borrowed my brother’s and my life will never be the same. Literally NEVER.

(Thanks to Alberto S. Lopez)

I also feel compelled to note that if you pay with a Mastercard, a two-disc set of The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy is TEN FREAKING DOLLARS at Best Buy. And that I love italics.

The proprietor of barstoolsports.com, upon learning that the site was blocked by the City of Boston:

This is clearly a violation of the 5^th Amendment or one of the amendments about free speech and all that shit.