Garmin thinks I’m Eliud Kipchoge. My legs disagree.
Also: Introducing AI InSeitz
Hello readers -
I’m excited to share some news: I’m renaming this newsletter to AI InSeitz. Here’s why:
When I started writing a year ago, AI was new, magical and mysterious. We’d just had the “DeepSeek moment” and people were Ghibli-fying their profile pictures. A year later, the magic has mostly faded and people are wrestling with what AI means.
Hence AI InSeitz. Yes, it plays on my last name, and it fits what readers tell me they value most: perspective.
Articles will stay the same: the latest topics on AI in society and business, with a mix of context and perspective. They’ll take 4 minutes to read, not counting the dad joke.
It’s been great to hear the newsletter resonates. That’s the real payoff. Thanks for being part of the journey.
This edition is already a bit different, so I’m including a report from the marathon I ran on Sunday. Fair warning: it has almost nothing to do with AI.
Marathon Race Report: Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania
Marathon number fifteen. The course is ranked the 24th fastest in the US, which gives me a great shot to improve my Boston qualifying time.
It rains all day Saturday, so instead of enjoying small-town Americana, Nadia and I hunker down in the hotel. Sorry, honey.
The rain clears by Sunday, and temperatures are in the low fifties, perfect for running. I’m ready with my carbon shoes, baking soda and legs coated in ‘PR lotion.’ PR here we come!
Mile 1: My Garmin watch flashes a performance condition of +10, which basically means I’m Eliud Kipchoge. Is this real or is Garmin’s AI just glazing me?
Mile 2: We pass a group of runners and are forced into a long stretch of mud running. The rest of the course is a mix of soggy and muddy. Carbon supershoes were not made for mudding.
Mile 4: The path drops down to hug the Lehigh River. The next twenty miles are filled with gorgeous views.
Mile 5: A group of spectators in Harry Potter robes with a sign reading “RavenCLAW through the course so you can SytherIN the finish.” 👀
Mile 7: The aid stations have UCAN gels! I grab some and realize they are Strawberry-Banana, which tastes like a smoothie made with Tums and sidewalk chalk.
Mile 8: Last week a robot ran a half-marathon 6 minutes faster than the world record. Meanwhile, I’m gagging down a sidewalk-chalk smoothie. Does this mean robots will take all the Boston slots? 🤔
Mile 10: I pass two runners with hoodies reading “Swagga House. Tattoo Parlor and running club.” Do they let 54-year-old dads hang out in the Swagga House? Don’t answer that.
Mile 12: A long stretch of uphill. I was told this was a downhill course. 😠
Mile 14: Into the porta potties for a pitstop. F1 pitstops take 3 seconds. Mine is 45.
Mile 16: Fatigue sets in, right on schedule. I feel like I’m wearing one of those weighted vests.
Mile 17: I pass a sign saying Jim Thorpe would be impressed. I’m very sure he wouldn’t.
Mile 19: Another sign: Chuck Norris never ran a marathon. Marathons run from Chuck Norris.
Mile 23: I feel like I’m running in eighteen weighted vests. One. More. Mile.
Mile 26: In an act of true cruelty, the final mile marker is 1.25 miles past the last one. All the AI in the world and we can’t measure a mile correctly?
I finish in 3:27:52, well short of my PR. Can I get a refund on the PR lotion?
No PR, but I got to spend a Sunday morning running next to an idyllic river, on legs that still work at 54. Maybe a robot will run this faster, but it won’t savor it.
Dad Joke: Why did the runner finally remember his PR time? Something jogged his memory 😆