Archive for November, 2010

The Official Rundown (complete with death threats and Celine Dion)


You're an inspiration to us all, you beautiful Canadian bastard.

WEATHER: Chilly, windy.

MILES: 0.

MILES THIS WEEK: Erm….13ish.

WHERE TO: Thus far?  Barely a block from home today.

MOOD: Fragile in body, lazy in spirit.  Also kind of itchy.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Nothing in my body is quite back to any sort of normalcy yet since last weekend.  It took a whole three days before I could stand up or sit down without vocalizing.  My walk was particularly pitiful-looking, so much so that my editor at work told me on Monday that, instead of me going to talk to him in his office when he hollered for me (for my workplace is the apex of professionalism), we could just yell across the hall to each other.

As it stands right now, running again is still tough.  I know, I know; I had planned on a luxurious month or so of doing anything but running post-race.  Biking!  Power-walking!  Jazzercising!  1980s Jane Fonda aerobics videos!  Shakeweights!  Learning to play the theremin!  Calming the house thermostat wars!  Working on my issues with relatively innocuous words like “naughty,” “fungible,” and “hosiery”!

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Ecstasy


It's yellow, you Reston bastards, so you'll NEVER KNOW.

WEATHER: FAN-FLIPPING-TABULOUS

MILES: Ohhh…ummmmm….FIFTY.

MILES THIS WEEK: BLAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

WHERE TO: Beyond the realm of mere mortals, to the place where only gods dare tread.

(By which I mean Boonesboro, MD, to Williamsport, MD)

MOOD: BLAMMO!

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

As I type this, I am experiencing a level of leg-and-foot discomfort like I have never known before.

And yet.  I feel the need to let you know that…

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Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Oh God.


This is how I plan to look tomorrow.

WEATHER: <fidget>

MILES: <twitch>

MILES THIS WEEK: <freakout>

WHERE TO: <vom>

MOOD: Eep.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

OK, team.  Housekeeping first:

1) We have a Twitter account!  Why, you ask?  Because it’s apparently what you’re supposed to do.  And if every other blog jumped off a cliff, you bet your ass I would.  So there.

2) The About page has also been updated.  Oh, girl.

Now.  Back to the twitching.  Because tomorrow, as you all may know, is THE BIG RACE.  O God.  And do I know what to expect?  No, I do not.  All I know is that I feel nervous, excited, a little fat (don’t judge), and worried that I’ll sleep through the 8 alarms I’m going to set.

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Search Engine Optimization, Running, and You


I believe this high-quality diagram can answer all your SEO questions.

WEATHER: 60 — unseasonably warm

MILES: 9ish

MILES THIS WEEK: I don’t wanna talk about it.

WHERE TO: Zoo, Rock Creek Park, etc.

MOOD: Apprehensive.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

It’s been a rough week in runningland.  After the pain-train doubleheader of marathon one weekend, uber-long runs the next, my legs have been in a downright pissy mood.

Tuesday morning found me whimpering as I laced up my shoes.  Wednesday morning, I only made myself go for a 5-mile death march by promising myself a bagel containing a veritable cream-cheese-’splosion once I got to work.

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IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!


THE FEMALE BODY IS A BEAUTIFUL THING.

WEATHER: 45ish at running time, gradually warming to 53ish.

MILES: 33.5

MILES THIS WEEK: Who even knows?

WHERE TO: Great Falls and back.

MOOD: Perhaps less embarrassed than I should be.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Today’s embarrassing-running-story is brought to you by…

  • The Great Falls Visitor Center
  • The C&O Towpath
  • Target running shorts
  • Stray tree branches
  • The phrase, “Read to the end before you yell, ‘GROSS!’ and pledge to never read my blog again.”
  • …because (as the title implies) IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK.

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How it Went… (plus a bonus montage)


Always fade out in a montage.

WEATHER: Delightfully chilly

MILES: 0

MILES THIS WEEK: 26.2

WHERE TO: Self-pityville

MOOD: Harumph.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Dear Readers,

Yesterday was the Marine Corps Marathon, and I gotta tell you…sometimes race day does not go according to plan.  I mean, sometimes you get blisters, sometimes your shorts chafe, sometimes your gels fall out of your sports bra, and sometimes you slow way down to chat up that dreamboat who is, frankly, below your running standards but waaaaay above your “reasonably hygenic and literate” standards.

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