Forget the tunnels, start building in the sky

44 Days --


With the Acura Super Bowl ad highlighting the advances in human flight, it seems only proper to write about the trapeze school in Washington, D.C.

Located near the Nationals Stadium at the Navy Yard waterfront, the trapeze school offers a tempting vacant lot of tall metal poles, ropes and fun looking things to jump from.

This strange location for a trapeze school (a New York one at that) only begs the question of its purpose. Perhaps there's some secretive plot, something akin to HUD's building doubling as a UFO landing pad.

Two alternative uses come to mind. First, this trapeze school is eerily close to the Department of Transportation's headquarters. Perhaps DOT is investigating new modes of transportation to alleviate traffic congestion. Nothing like a little outside the box thinking.

Should probably closely read the FY 2013 DOT highway bill for sure.

In the slightly more likely scenario, it seems as if Jerry Seinfeld was on to something when he offered his personal network of trapeze throughout Manhattan in exchange for the new NSX. Of course, why would Seinfeld need such car if his trapeze network was so efficient? But that's beside the point.

In what would definitely be an interesting and marked change to the Nation's skyline, the possibility of traveling via zip line throughout the Capital would be a welcome change to the current system of subterranean travel. Just imagine the speed that could be built up flying from the National Cathedral down Connecticut Ave to Farragut Square. Sounds like a solid investment to me.

While we search for this line item in DOT's budget, maybe we should go back to the Super Bowl commercial to check out how exactly Seinfeld had that network constructed (although Leno's device grants greater flexibility). Next time I run along the water front I may climb the trapeze pole for some good Sights in My Nikes and to get used to my new form of city travel. 

Diggin for gold in Einstein's nose

48 Days --


As the saying goes: "You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose."

If only the school group near the National Science Foundation on Constitution Ave followed that valuable phrase.

It's fitting that the Einstein memorial is located on NSF's front yard. In a departure from the artist's perceived intent, the statue gives the outdoorsy types a free place to practice their rock climbing, a place for school groups to take photos, people to rest and of course for scientists to think (I would imagine the rough service helps with the rocking climbing grip. Abe, across the street, is far too smooth and has too many armed guards to warrant this activity).

While the aforementioned activities are at the very least plausibly acceptable, the statue's large nose provides for an ample picking from 8th graders, which in many of the DC social circles is utterly unacceptable.

I understand the desire to take a picture with one of our nation's greatest scientists. But to jam a finger up the nose, well, that's just plain rude. People don't go sit in Abe's lap and talk to him like he is Santa; people don't hop in FDR's wheelchair to take it for a spin; and only Martin Luther King can really climb that mountain.

Although, people do commit strange acts with (or in front of) the Washington Monument. That could be an exception to the monument rule and will be taken into advisement.

But I do understand the need for Albert's nose to be at least itched. Perhaps our cities visitors could offer a tissue instead of their finger next time.

Or even better, maybe the solution is to do what Teddy did. Get your own island that only locals know about and put up a giant statue. Perhaps Teddy's lonely habitat, though, explains his string of losses in the Nationals game races. That question too remains pending.

Nevertheless, its most often the tourists that make for the comical things in Sights in My Nikes. I just suggest letting Albert pick his own nose (and his own friends) next time.

Can someone say ouchies!

56 Days — 


Running on crowded sidewalks often calls for a little self-defense.

Often I must throw a defensive stiff arm at a car turning into me (yes my Hulk like arms will stop a cabbie in its tracks), hurdle a bush or just come to a complete halt.

Yet, I usually don't have trouble with stationary objects. Shockingly, the trees, monuments, statues and metal barricades don't move; thus making them pretty predictable objects to dodge. Although some of those horses do look real.

It's on the rare occasion, that the objects do move that I somehow find a way to jump in their way. Tonight, I took a tight corner with a wrought iron fence post, and as I was rounding the corner, the fence post gained an inch and whacked me right in the elbow.

Since I often lift my arm up just to the right height when I run by metal poles, the only rational explanation is that the fence gained a few inches as I ran by.

Fortunately for me, my elbow took the brunt of the damage, leaving my legs in tact for future runs.

Just in case those inanimate objects don't move, the next time I take in a Sights in My Nikes, I'll definitely pull that elbow up a higher.

(Aren't you lucky...two posts in one day)

My motorcade is bigger than your motorcade

56 Days --


There are a few things that only Washingtonians have the pleasure of dealing with.

While much of this is covered in "Shit DC People Say," there are still a few realms that even such a comedic masterpiece neglect.

We deal with streets that were designed to confuse people, tourists that aimlessly walk into the middle of the street just so they can get far enough away to fit the Washington Monument in the photo, corrupt city council members, Metro buses that act more like M1-A1 tanks than public transit and a Chinatown that lacks, of all things, Chinese places.

Beyond the headaches that these aforementioned and other daily nuisances cause, there is one distinctly DC regular happening that just doesn't occur elsewhere. Motorcades.

It's fitting that the run on the State of the Union night includes motorcades. But they don't just magically appear on major speech nights. It seems that everyone and their mother needs at least two black unmarked Suburbans, a Metro DC cop car and a posse of burly men and ear pieces.

I don't know what goes into deciding which important official gets the black Lincoln and which deputy gets thrown into the Airport-like shuttle van, but I wonder if there is a competition for who's motorcade is longer. I can only imagine the thoughts that go through these distinguished officials minds when they walk outside and see their fleet of cars.

Unbeknownst to the general public, there is probably some underground running pool. I imagine the points system would run as follows: one point per black unmarked SUV, double points for snipers hanging out the back, triple points for a bus and finally 10x bonus powerup for the helicopter trail, with the searchlight running.

All I hope is that there isn't a reward for taking out runners. But if there were, that would be quite the Sights in My Nikes.

Chef Spike's pre-race fuel

60 Days — 


Good Stuff Eatery on Capitol Hill hits the spot nearly every time.

Let's just say the Canadians giving up Chef Spike is the price they had to pay for that premo embassy real estate.

But just because it's good stuff, doesn't mean it's good stuff to fuel a run.

As a general rule of thumb, downing a cheeseburger and fries a few hours before a run has a negative effect on speed and overall well-being.

Not to mention it produces some serious fartleks (and we're not talking about the Swedish kind).

In the spirit of trying different foods, running techniques, workouts, neighborhoods and truly anything new before the marathon in March, I actively ate a delicious Good Stuff meal only a few short hours before my evening run.

Sometimes runners complain that their legs feel like they are moving through cement—usually this feeling comes after a hard workout from sore legs. Tonight, I literally had the cement stuck in my gut. Beyond the new gastro-intestinal feelings, breathing was slightly more difficult and I'm sure my heart was ready to go into attack mode in protest.

For the future, I'm going to shelve this technique and place it in the category of "I must be getting older because my digestive tract certainly didn't move as fast as I thought."

While I often write about what I see on my runs (there was a beautiful sunset over the Mall tonight), I chose to write about an experience to warn my fellow runners to stick to the traditional methods — or the one's recommended in Runner's World — before heading out for a some Sights in My Nikes. 

You're putting far too much down in that downward dog

64 Days —


New York City may have Central Park, but Washington D.C. has The Mall; a two mile stretch of grass between the Capitol and the Lincoln Memorial and a playground for the nation.

The Mall has seen it all: from Civil Rights marches and Occupy encampments to Segway-riding-fanny-pack-wearing-tourists and every diverse slice of humanity this nation could hurl our way.

Tonight's spotting, however, threw my "namaste" out of balance. To the man who dropped down into downward dog while waiting for a 30 second light to change should probably find a Yoga studio, or at least a good set of Yoga blocks before performing those moves on the street again.

As a note to the Yoga master, throwing your rear end in the air at the traffic light on 15th and Madison does not count as a "mixed" workout.

Nevertheless, perhaps I am missing the picture. Perhaps I am being to harsh on my fellow athlete, who can at the very least be called "inventive."

There could be a secret here waiting to be uncovered. I should have stopped to ask, because it could be a new fartlek-esq training regime: each traffic light, stop and hold a Yoga pose, then take off and run again.

Or even better — each Yoga pose can match the neighborhood it is most closely associated with. For example: Downward Dog for Georgetown (the dog-like mascot), Grasshopper for Chinatown, the Full Boat for Navy Yard, Lord of the Fishes for SW Waterfront, Royal Pigeon for Embassy Row (not to be confused with One-Legged King Pigeon for the Mall), Lord of the Dance for U St and Downward Facing Tree for the National Arboretum.

Can't wait for Lululemon take a crack at this new craze — neighborhood based, street corner Yoga.

Until the next run, I am going to practice my Intense Spread Leg Stretch, but just in case I don't nail it let's hope the DC City Council installs some spongey sidewalks or the next Sights in My Nikes may be from the GW Hospital.

Business in front, party in back: The same haircut for both Men and Women

68 Days -- 

There are a few things in American pop-culture that never cease to go away. These vintage pieces of history occasionally reappear in storage units in rural Appalachia, the Iowa State Fair, Steelers games and Def Leppard reunion tour concerts.

I can appreciate those who still break out the old record player and play the vinyls or those who break out the '57 Stingray for a drive.

But "it's making a comeback" does not apply to all items of American history. There are reasons products like the pleather jeans or the cassette Walkman or the calculator watch or the entire 1980's have been shelved into storage units primed for an episode of American Pickers.

There is one specimen of American style that will seemingly never go out of style. The Mullet. Without a doubt it is perhaps the most versatile thing that any human -- male or female -- could get on their head.

Washingtonians are used to seeing all walks of life invade our city. They range in various shapes and sizes, from GQ style to tie-die T-shirts with Eagles ripping through the American flag to fanny packs that are too large to qualify as carry-on luggage.

But the Mullet is one style that never ceases to amaze. At the risk of being judgy mc judgerpants, my only question remains: Who advises someone to get the mullet?

For the rest of humanity (and perhaps recovering Mullet advisers) here's a good rule of thumb to remember at the barber: 1. If the haircut appears on Bevus and Butthead, it's not for you and 2. Clothes and haircuts are something that genders should never share.

Whether the mullets and shemullets truly believe they are on the cutting edge of style or whether they actually do work during the day and then party immediately afterward without having time to go home, I give them my props for having the confidence to never let the 70's die.

I guess by writing about them, I too am letting the 70's live on in Sights in My Nikes. I'll have to Mullet that one over.

Excuse me sir, did you just fartlek?

70 Days — 

While it has yet to be determined if the Swedes are gaseous runners, their term, fartlek, implies otherwise.

Perhaps it was the chipotle mayo on my ham and cheese sandwich today, or the Hershey's Kiss I ate as a mid-afternoon snack, or the insane amount of coffee I drank this morning, but for some reason I could not stop fartleking tonight.

Often I choose to write about others, but tonight, I'm taking the cake. Running down the Mall, I felt I needed to apologize for fartleking past a couple taking a picture as the sun set or to the pretty business lady walking home from work.

I admit, some fartleks were better than others and some lasted longer than others. There's really no determining factor in the intensity or magnitude of the fartlek. I could only feel the fartlek coming and then watch as my legs burned through the extra boost of fuel.

While I only momentarily experienced the aftermath of a fartlek, I feel for the victims of such Swedish torment. As the markets would say — blame it on Europe.

But unlike the fartlek's bathroom humor sounding, pre-school boy chuckling and near association to the popularized American euphemism for passing gas, the term is actually a very technical running word.

Fartlek, Swedish for "speed play," is when a runner will vary the speed of his workout based on time, milage, city blocks or some other form of measurement. Tonight, I chose to do a fartlek workout — I start running a normal pace and would increase my speed for one to two blocks, return to normal pace and repeat throughout the route. While there was a couple enjoying the sunset and business people coming home from work, there was no need to apologize.

I don't often discuss or give running advice on this blog — I leave that to the human-gazelle types. In breaking with tradition, I would strongly recommend a fartlek workout because it specifically trains the body to speed up and slow back to pace — a needed skill in a race. Certainly fartleks can be applied in multiple sports, as long as the principle of boosting speed is preserved.

When my dad introduced me to this term during a middle school cross country practice, I laughed and thought he was full of it. His explanation was: "No no, it's a real thing and it's a funny word to say too."

Well dad, maybe next time I'll yell fartlek as I sprint past a tourist. I'm sure it will be a guaranteed Sights in My Nikes. 

15 reasons your blow-up Santa needs deflated

71 Days — 

The attic, basement, random closet and storage units (or a combination of all four) are getting lonely.

To those who continue to celebrate the holiday season weeks after the season end, please note that the blowup easter bunny, Batman costumes, the blowup turkey and the random pink flamingo miss their friends.

While the wreaths made us go ooohh and the santa wonderlands within in a plastic bubble made us go awwww, it's time to send Santa and Frosty on their 11 month vacation.

To encourage those of you who have not taken advantage of 3-day weekends, days off work, 60 degree weather or 30 degree weather, here's a few thoughts (in no particular order) on your yard junk

1. If your affinity for yard-blow ups is of any note, then one can only imagine what's kept on private display.
2. The reason you wore your parka on a 60 degree day had to do with the very realistic icicle lights hanging in front of your window.
3. The yard gnome and pink flamingo are jealous because you obviously love the candy canes more.
4. Is the stuff is free because if you follow the DC rule of thumb, if it's near the street overnight, it's fair game. And a free decorative reindeer is a whole lot cheaper off Maryland Ave than at Target's after Christmas sale.
5. Squirrels, birds and chipmunks are sick of the tourists and are eying the wreath over the door — especially the one with fruit in it (you know who you are on South Carolina Ave).

6. The yard gnome seeks revenge for further neglect and blocks Travelocity.com.
7. You get your StreetSense at your doorstep because the homeless man is now shacking it up with Mary and the kings. Sorry baby Jesus, it's time to share.
8. There are no more storage units left, forcing you to kick your eldest from the house for the extra storage space.
9. Your Jewish neighbors report you for a hate crime because Mr. Goldberg can't take the light-up Rudolph staring into his bedroom window anymore.
10. Frosty is losing his frost. In fact he melted and that's why you didn't have to water the lawn last week.
11. The pink flamingo now has two reasons to always move in front of the yard light motion sensor (1. His brother turned into flabongo and 2. He can only stay in the storage shed with the 4th of July Tea Party costumes for so long).
12. Your house will be the number one spot on the February tacky lights tour.
13. You are the first house in the District to be featured on "redneck front yard."
14. The lights burn out in Merry Christmas to display "Me y r mas" and people will start believing there is a new Mexican restaurant in town. Better get the Queso dip ready.
15. You have nothing new to put out for Christmas in July because you never put away Christmas in December.

And I thought of this list on a 25 minute run. Imagine if I had longer.

Don't be tacky, don't be lazy and let people ooh and aww over your house for its true Capitol Hill neighborhood beauty.

On another note, can't wait for Valentine's day decorations to arrive because seeing Cupid marry Santa and Frosty would be quite a Sight in My Nikes.

Protection against the urban wildlife — Rick Perry edition

74 Days — 


Running up the Mall evokes patriotic feelings. Running in SE DC makes the heart race and the feet move a little bit faster.

We all know there are parts of the district that you are warned never to set foot as they are notorious for high crime and a severe lacking of tourist traps.

McFadden's in Foggy Bottom earns a spot on the notorious list, but for reasons completely different altogether.

Nevertheless, I figured a bright and sunny morning run near RFK and other generally populated areas should be a safe-ish time to explore new parts of the district.

Never did I expect the biggest danger to my safety would be the wildlife. Yes, I am starting to think that Anacostia (notice the striking resemblance to anaconda), Benning Road, NE, SE have earned their spots on the avoidance list because urban critters will attack with no notice (only if I had Rick Perry to run with for protection).

I ran upon a cat guarding a sidewalk — Call of Duty lolz cat style. This obviously perturbed cat — probably angry after getting cut from his lolz cats audition — got really low, fur standing up, teeth flashing, ready to pounce at a moments notice.

While I find pictures of cats doing funny things amusing (see previous post), I am not a fan of the real ones. So I did what any 5'11, 200 pound human would do and scampered across the street, hoping this cat didn't possess magical flying powers. It didn't and I escaped unscathed.

Next time I go running in this area, I really should bring Rick Perry with me, or just bring a gun and do what he did. It does take purely superhuman talent to kill a rabid coyote, with one shot while in mid stride and I have yet to master doing three things at once like Perry.

So Governor if you are ever in the District and want to go clean up the most notorious streets of DC with me, I would be more than happy to have you as a critter fighting partner in Sights in My Nikes.

Where's the NYE resolution dedication?

77 Days — 


The days after New Year's Eve. Perfect for watching football, hockey and starting off those New Year's Resolutions.

I completely expected to fight for sidewalk space from those newbie runners who think that just because the clock stuck midnight for the 365th time in a row that they would magically be able to run.

In fact I looked forward to the stories as I fought my way down the sidewalks, ducking and weaving past the non-regulars (i.e the Segway tourists).

To my great disdain, I saw one resolution-esq runner braving the elements tonight. In fact I saw him twice in my loop around the Capitol/Mall area. And for his bravery and dedication to self-improvement, I will save him from any scathing post.

Rather it's those who promised themselves on Saturday night that they would start anew — well as soon as the hangover wore off — and then forgot to actually start anew who are the focus here. Knowing hangovers and the bowl schedule I fully expected you promise breakers to be out in full force tonight, no matter what the conditions.

Yes the excuses ran aplenty: it's freaking cold outside; I'm tall and the wind will blow me over; or it's dark so I'll leave work early tomorrow to do it.

Here's a few notes: It will be cold, dark and windy for a long time and then it will be hot, really hot (Welcome to Washington DC, the former swampland).

So kudos to the brave soul I ran past (twice) tonight as you are at least trying to uphold a promise. For everyone else, get out there and actually go for a light jog. I really want to make a good Sights in My Nikes and throw some elbows and fight someone other than tourists for sidewalk space on tomorrow night's run.

And by the way, the elliptical at the gym does not count. So return your new, 1-month, LivingSocial bought gym membership and let the regulars spin, swim and do fancy Indian dance class in peace. They will thank you for it, because we all know, no matter how many times you go, you will never be a true "regular."

He's Just Not That Into You

81 Days --


In the little game called mating there are usually tell tale signs of attraction. Often us men have difficulty in reading, interpreting and understanding the cues our female counterparts emit.

This unfortunate ability is either a lack of evolutionary prowess on the part of us males or a lack clear emotional communication from the female's.

I would prefer to argue the latter of the two, but the distinction is not the genesis of this post.

Rather than play Dr. Phil and diagnose the signs of relationship trouble, there is at least one clear marker that things are probably not on solid footing.

Here's a note to both sexes: If your partner turns away from a kiss, then proceeds to lean back from a kiss on the second attempt, it's safe to say that he's just not that into you.

Now granted, as the few former women in my life can attest, I am not the king of perfect relationships. In fact I have very little room to criticize or point out flaws in other people's romantic lives--at least they have something that resembles a romantic life.

But the couple near L'Enfant plaza last night should take note: When he backs away from your goodbye kiss, it's probably the last goodbye. Somehow the last kiss is never as magical as that first one.

Nevertheless, if that couple's intention was to save the PDA from happening in front of me, I appreciate that and wish that more would do the same. If not, then better luck the next time I see you with your new man and maybe you will earn a spot in Sights in My Nikes for the polar opposite of this post. 

Doublewide Power Scooter

88 Days --

The treacherous DC streets are well documented. From the tourists and their cameras to the Segway brigades and the NAKID kickballs flying on the Mall, people put their lives in danger when heading out.

Adding to this fabulous list of sidewalk perils is a new breed of danger -- old people in their motor scooters.

Typically confined to grocery store aisles and Bingo halls, these power scooters give our old folks a spark they haven't felt since prom night.

While I have been nearly run over multiple times at the local grocer, never once had I seen a two-seater, shared power scooter bookin it through the aisles.

And yet when I thought I had seen it all, yesterday in Columbus Circle near Union Station a elderly couple sat atop their double wide power scooter--powering through the huddle mass of pedestrians as they maneuvered down the ramp to cross the street.

Since the image really tells the story there's not much left to write, except for the sight truly did bring a chuckle. Here's to old people and their "I don't give a damn, I'm old philosophy." Hopefully when I reach that age, I too will share in that philosophy while I take in the Sights in My Nikes.

Keeping pace with the Gazellewoman

91 Days — 

The gazelleman is a rare breed. Often spotted at marathons, Ironman races and Whole Foods, these creatures only run while others rest.

When one sees a gazelleman in the wild, it's an incredible sight — the seamless gliding through the air and the perfect form — that invokes feelings of envy and awe.

Of course, a fair warning to any human runners: when waiting with one of these rare creatures at a stop light or when the gush of wind suddenly makes you think you can keep pace, just remember that after a block you will be so toast that the cheetah chasing the gazelle will go for you instead.

And yes, this is from personal experience (well except for the cheetah part — that would be strange in DC). Stopping tonight at a light, a gorgeous gazellewoman (even more rare) glided up to the corner. As she stood there waiting for traffic to pass, she almost hopped in front of a truck, nearly becoming a permanent hood ornament. To prevent the loss of such majestic grace, I yelled 'Watch out,' to which the gazellewoman paid a second of attention to me.

It was in that hot second that I felt I too could channel my inner gazelle and keep up or pass this creature. Sadly, after keeping up for a block, I was burned at the next light as the gazellewoman took off with her brown big curl hair and Santa hat blowing in the breeze — leaving me to truck it up the Hill.

While I don't usually admit defeat, it's not often a mere human runner can interact so closely with a gazellewoman.

For tomorrow's run, it's back to the normal pace that allows me to take in the Sights in My Nikes.

HUD's Alien Docking Station

93 Days —

Chalk this one up to UFO/Government conspiracy theories.

We are told that Rosyln (not the one in Virginia) is just a military testing facility. We laugh at claims of UFO spottings (probably because all the 'witnesses' need a new dental plan and always see the mysterious object while in their bass boat with a beer — or two — in hand).

But in the world of supernatural encounters, there exist legitimate theories — the ancient civilizations had help from above to build their elaborate and precise structures; the random crop circles that a farmer in his John Deere could not produce; and the White House zapping in Independence Day.

Let's add one more to the plausible list: The Department of Housing and Urban Development headquarters near L'Enfant Plaza and it's 'space port.'

Aside from the curvature and layout of the building, the space port saucers in the courtyard do not resemble any humanoid creation. These white saucers must serve no other purpose than as a docking station or some sort of signal to the aliens.

Some might claim that the saucers are rejects from Epcot — doubtful because it lacks mouse shape; could be a shield from the rain — nope it's got a giant hole in the middle; protection from the wind? — only if you are as skinny as the pole; artistic beauty? — yeah if you live on Mars; alien docking station — absolutely.

Since I am not in a bass boat, my teeth are in general working order and I am lacking a cold beer, I can definitely state I am not the authority on UFO's. So UFO theories aside, the architectural design does resemble that of The Jetsons. It's unfortunate that human society has not advanced to the caliber of the Jetsons era, as that must have been what the 1970 architects expected when designing these courtyard saucers.

Nevertheless, while I (and those saucers) wait for aliens to touch down or for George Jetson style transportation I'll keep running and taking in the outta this world Sights in My Nikes.

When it comes to trees, size matters

96 Days — 

In a show of muscle the 2011 Congressional Christmas Tree dominates the Mall, creating quite a presence over the Executive Branch's attempt.

While the White House Christmas Tree boasts a large tree with 52 surrounding mini trees, there is just a lack of magnitude when it comes to the White House's attempt.

(For those unaware, apparently the original tree was struck by lightning, thus the current one is plan B).

Congress's tree, a tall, slender and well-light spire very nicely adorns the end of the Mall and the West Front of the Capitol Building. It truly is a beautiful sight.

Of course, this is not to say the White House Christmas trees are not worth the visit — they very much are. But as we all know, when it comes to Christmas trees, size does matter.

Jokes aside, I am not one to blog or write about politics. The point here is the spirit of the holiday season. Running through this city after dark is truly a beautiful site — the lights, decorations, wreaths and traditional houses so wonderfully decorated.

The sights are a nice change from the normal and it reminds us of the true meaning of the season — spending time with loved ones.

While our trees on Christmas morning will not compare to the size of the Capitol's, it's the celebration of the holiday that truly means the most. So as I continue to run through DC, I'll keep taking in the lights and Sights in My Nikes.

Couch wanted? Forget Ikea, try the street

99 Days — 

In need of a couch? Well take a stroll through DC's neighborhood streets and the selection rivals that of Ikea.

I sense that these street couches magically appear in relatively large cities or those very fashion forward ones that have taken up floor pillows in lieu of couches.

These street couches serve many purposes, to which the purpose is often in the eye of the beholder:

1. The 'Moneymaker'
We all know that cash can be tight and well when you've got a bed, a chair and a paycheck not coming for two weeks, throwing the couch on the street/craigslist can bring in some cold hard cash. Let's face it, those friends can start crashing on the floor.

2. The 'Where did those stains come from?'
Every couch has one — or 10 — and if the couch is goin' to the curb it's bound to have some fabric blemishes. It happens to the best of couches: "That random spot that magically appeared after your friend crashed on the couch a few times;" or "The not sure what was for dinner but now it's the couch stain;" or everyone's favorite, "When this couch was handed down to me, they said the spots were a 70's fabric trend."

3. The 'I can't drag this on the Metro'
The Metro provides an essential service for us DCers. Groceries, bikes, strollers, babies and the 'not sure what's in the corner of the train' are all daily sights on the colorful lines. But let's face it folks, Metro doesn't need additional seating on the trains. So lugging a couch on Orange line to transfer at Metro Center to the Red line just isn't gonna cut it.

4. The 'I won't give a dollar to a homeless man, so I gave a couch instead'
For those of you who are a little hesitate to give a buck or two to a homeless guy, the couch is the obvious next logical option. Instead of a buck, a beat up couch serves so many more purposes — for starters it's certainly a lot softer than the park bench.

5. The 'It's bulk trash day'
This would be the most logical and sensible reason to put a couch on the curb, but the other four made for good prose.

No matter the reason, keep putting those couches out there, because at the very least it gives me something to think about as I run around our city and write about the Sights in My Nikes.

General Tso's Squirrel...say what?

101 Days — 

When it comes to tourists, D.C.'s got 'em.

Natives of every city can easily spot tourists — the cameras, the fanny packs, sensible shoes and the 'I Heart [insert city name here]' shirts.

As I have run through the D.C. streets, I have noticed some variations that are completely unique to the District.

First, our tourists love the Segways. They love traveling in Segway packs. They love taking pictures of everything, including their Segways. And on the tourist scale, the Segway ones think they are the coolest. (They may have overlooked the deadly factor. Just ask the Segway inventer. But that's beside the point.) 

Second, and to the inspiration of this post, tourists, especially the Asians, are fascinated with D.C. squirrels. They are so fascinated with the furry creatures, that they crowd around them on the Mall, are entirely amused when such a creature climbs on a bench and I think I have even heard a few making squirrel noises.

I can only imagine the dialogue when one of these tourists shows the photos of his vacation to his friends: — "oh there's the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and Nutsy the squirrel. In fact here are 500 pictures of Nutsy and we even tried to bring Nutsy home but customs denied the request."

There were so many people taking pictures of just squirrels on the Mall it's as if a squirrel's natural habitat is the District.

Besides the humor there is in watching a grown man, surrounded by his dorky kids, bend over to get the perfect angle of a squirrel eating lunch, this could be an entirely untapped and profitable industry. We've all heard of the agro-tourism business (thank you Schrute Farms), the eco-tourism business, whale watching and dolphin watching.

But I don't think anyone has ever heard of "Squirrel Watching." If today is any measure of interest in this untapped field, then I think I know my next career move.

Watch out D.C., "Find your Nuts Tourism" may be the next Sight in your Nikes.

Mayhem

102 Days —


If Allstate is looking for a Mayhem stand-in, I'm their man.

While I lack the pink weights and headband, I filled the   the blindspot or the teenage texter (I won't go as far as to say the hot runner) mayhem role quite well last night.

Unlike the popular commercials, these wrecks didn't fully matriculate. Nevertheless, let's recap the evening's near-misses:

1. Whilst booking it through a Senate parking lot, a tourist got confused, stopped, then, when presented with the option of plowing into a parked car or merging into a moving car, chose to merge into a moving car (Perhaps DC can enact a 'No Picture Taking While Driving Ban'). This moving car--a 100% American bred Ford Truck--didn't take to that thought too kindly, revved up that V8 and nearly rammed into the poor tourist attempting to merge.

After the first near-miss, Mayhem hopped off the tourist's blindspot and hitched a ride on the front of a cab.

2. Attempting to parallel park when a cab is coming up in the rear-view mirror proves more challenging and dangerous than it may look. Again, another near miss, as the parallel parker halted its reverse as the cabby laid on its horn--and the accelerator.

Like Allstate's Mayhem, I jumped off the near wrecks, untouched myself and just kept running to see the destruction that comes next.

Word to the drivers of DC; apparently I bring some Mayhem with me. So driver's beware as I take in the Sights in my Nikes.

Kangaroos in trees; Australian for Christmas

103 Days — 

We all know the saying, 'Foster's, Australian for Beer.' Well time to add a new 'Australian for [insert your favorite thing].'

I am by no means, nor have I ever claimed to be a biologist. But I can safely assert that Kangaroos are not native to the greater Washington, D.C. area, nor do they belong in trees.

Alas, in the land where States and numbers meet this is indeed true.

Trucking along tonight, sans music, I come across an outdoor evergreen tree with Christmas bows and very large cutout kangaroo ornaments. No joke, Kangaroos are literally hanging off this tree.

Certainly, ornament design makes Christmas trees stand out and unique. My parents, harking back to their Florida days, still have a fish tree and a regular tree; the Obamas put up 51 trees outside the White House; and well I guess we  know how the Aussies celebrate the holidays. Surprised PETA hasn't said anything...

So tonight, I'll tip back my post-run Foster's and say "Here's to my good mates down under for introducing a non-native species to the District and for giving me some good Sights in my Nikes."