My waist must be skinnier and my boobs must be pointier! POINTIER, I SAY!
MILES THIS WEEK: 25ish
WHERE TO: Nowhere.
TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: Bluegrass makes running better.
This ultra training thing is all a lot harder than I remember it being last year, and not just because my Achilles tendons have turned against me. Somewhere in the middle of my second long run of every weekend, I find myself questioning whether this is a hobby I truly enjoy…whether a benevolent and loving God truly exists…what my purpose in life is…all of which comes out in the form of water fountain rage, a phenomenon in which a tour bus full of thirsty tourists pulls up JUST AS I shuffle, dehydrated and nearly defeated, up to the Jefferson Memorial water fountain, and I run at the tourists, limbs flailing, threatening to slime them with my body’s generous coating of salt, sunblock, sweat, and dead gnats. “JFICIEU$I#(@UDHVJD!” they say, in their foreign languages, which I take to mean, “This woman truly should get to drink for 10 minutes as we watch, disgusted!” Which usually happens.
Let's see...carry the 4...oh holy God. I only have like 2 toenails left.
WEATHER: Cool and autumnal and fantastic.
MILES THIS WEEK: Enough.
WHERE TO: Nowhere!
MOOD: SO EXCITED!
TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: Today we have TWO, as an all-out tribute to Usher, who is the fuel that gets me through many a run.
News item #1: I AM IN FOR THE BOSTON MARATHON! Eat it, stupid people for whom the website didn’t crash during registration last year. EAT IT. I am going to find you and slap you with a sweaty running singlet. And you will love it.
News item #2: OK, so are you like me, and have you been running with gels in the sports bra, between the boobs? And it causes discomfort and
paper foil cuts? And it sucks? PROBLEM SOLVED: carry them in the side-boobal area. No kidding. I discovered this last weekend. You’re welcome.
So we’re hitting the insane-mileage portion of the ultra training schedule, which means I’m full of aches and pains. Long story short, the more my Achilles tendons feel like snapping, the more I feel like snapping. (People who deal with me: I am so sorry.)
Seeing me limping around, unable to really bend my ankle joints, a friend of mine whom I shall refer to as Ginger asked me, “Uh, why do you keep running?” Now, you see, whenever someone asks me something in the “worried voice,” I usually smile perkily and say something to the effect of “Don’t worry! The moment running starts altering the rest of my life is the moment I stop! Sunshine daisies glitter hummingbirds bullshit! Kablammo!”
And because I sometimes reach with my analogies, I decided that this was the perfect segue into economics and running.
Zero miles today.
Trees shed their leaves in winter.
Is your name Wanda?
Drink up, Brownie. The Code Pink protesters are comin' and we wanna ogle us some bosoms.
WEATHER: Beautiful and warm.
MILES: Once again, 0, because apparently I only blog on days I don’t run.
MILES THIS WEEK: 13-14ish.
WHERE TO: The depths of Hell itself.
MOOD: <bangs head on table>
I apologize for the lag time between posts. We’re gonna get it right one of these days. This time, the excuse is that life vomited all over my shoes last week. I won’t go into details, so I’ll let you fill in the blanks (dead parakeet, I dumped one of my 9 hotties, dead wallaby, every student loan in the UNIVERSE (including those for which I did not sign up) came due, dead marmot, accidentally foffed (fart-coughed, DUHHH) during an important work meeting). So I had considered writing a post about how running can help you cope, how the cool air rushing about your limbs can help you shake off the malaise of even the most pitiful miserable existence as you jog up Massachusetts Ave. and clutch your hands to your chest and know that heartbreak is going to wash off your skin like oh shit no I can’t do it I’m trying to be serious but here it comes
Nope. Earnestness just isn’t gonna work. So today it’s once again time for:
KNOW YOUR WASHINGTON, DC WATER FOUNTAINS!
WEATHER: Grey and damp and nasty.
MILES: 0. Because I just don’t care.
MILES THIS WEEK: OMG sooooo apathetic right now.
WHERE TO: This here chair.
Mother nature splorted DC with a giant dumping of slushy poop on Wednesday. That slushy poop hardened into a thick crust of slippery-yet-grainy yuck shortly thereafter. All this led up to yesterday morning’s run, during which I was forced to run on the DC streets and get honked at repeatedly by cars, all of which were gunning for me even more than usual, because heaven forbid I run in the parking lane, which was clearly made for driving 75 mph and not parking. Der. Anyway, you see, every sidewalk was covered in the Hellcrust, as salt and shovels have yet to be introduced to this crude society. I should introduce these wondrous tools to the DC people. I’ll make millions.
But first, it’s time for your favorite column:
ASK A RUNNER! (Cold weather edition)
One of the major duckface pioneers.
WEATHER: Meh. Dull and gray.
MILES THIS WEEK: 40? Maybe?
WHERE TO: Georgetown, to do ALL MY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING IN ONE GO. I FEEL ALIIIIIIVE.
MOOD: Consumerist and dirty.
So there I am, sitting at my desk at work, minding my own business, when suddenly on my screen there appears a gchat message from Mr. Cool himself. More specifically, it is a link.
“Tralala!” I said, clicking on the link in a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care fashion as I took a much-needed respite from my day at work, sitting at my NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
WEATHER: Sort of hot for October
MILES THIS WEEK: 29
WHERE TO: Nowhere.
MOOD: Filled with the joy and ennui that are the spirit of Columbus Day
I know what you’re thinking: I don’t burn out, right? RIGHT. I mean, I wake up every morning and leap out of bed, yelling, “PUT ON YER SPORTS BRA AND ASS-KICKIN’ BOOTS! IT’S GO-TIME!” Then I put on my spandex bodysuit and a few yards of multicolored tinsel and go leaping around DC until I have my ya-yas out, or until that security patrol guy on the Mall sees me, shakes his head and says, “You again?” and chases me around on his Segway, none of which really makes any sense for him to do, because since when was there a law against LOOKING GREAT, huh, you fascist?
I get more hits when I include beautiful-man pics. Go figure.
MILES: Zero. POW!
MILES THIS WEEK: Many. Already.
WHERE TO: Nowhere.
I was at this party a few weekends ago at which a friend asked me if I listened to music while I run.
Now, let me digress for a second. Because I feel like every single runner I meet is either a Luddite purist or incapable of going on even a simple two-mile jog without having Tool drilling into his/her skull at volume level 14. No one is in-between. Which I don’t get. Because sometimes you need Enrique to move you along, and sometimes you just need to silently judge other runners in silence, you know?
“Not all the time,” I responded.
“Well, don’t you go CRAZY? What do you think about?” she asked.
Ironically, her question itself has made me go crazy, because now when I’m running all I can think about is, “Huh. What AM I thinking about?” and now my flow is totally gone. (Thanks a lot, party-friend-lady. Jerkface.) It’s like when you for whatever reason start thinking about breathing and suddenly realize that you can’t do it correctly anymore, and now maybe it won’t be voluntary anymore and you’ll have to think about breathing until the day you die. Holy s**t, that would suck, wouldn’t it?
MILES THIS WEEK: 16.
WHERE TO: Nowhere — Kaboom!
First things first, sports fans: I’m IN! The 50-miler form entry has been accepted, and they returned my SASE with a slip of paper saying that I now have the privilege of running for 9 hours straight. WHOOPEE! Want to be on my aid crew? Yes you do. Drop me a line if you want to force-feed me a banana with peanut butter at mile 37.
Second things second: Rusty did not get in, but still has a shot at doing so via a charity entry. If you see him on the street, give him a hug and $20. Actually, even if he weren’t trying to get in, I’d tell you to do this. Poor guy is a law student at one of the most depressing places on earth (coughGWUcough). Stroke his head and gently hum to him while you’re at it. He needs it.
Anyway. What with my obsession for the past seven posts with heaving bosoms and hoo-hahs and love-juices and throbbing, hard-as-steel loveshafts of swollen, heat-radiating manhood and so on, I completely forgot that there are people out there who NEED MY EXPERTISE on things other than breasts and erections. And so I give the second installment of
ASK A RUNNER!
…in which I answer honest-to-God real questions from runners like you, ESPECIALLY those special folks who posed questions on my “Ask a Runner!” page. Good job, kids.
Q: I have shoes and running clothes. What other gear might I need to be a truly successful runner? — Samuel, Austin, TX
A: Let’s make a nice little shopping list so you can better support the military-industrial-running complex. Here goes:
"My heart says 'no,' but my loins say, 'Bring it AAAAWWWWWNNNN!'"
WEATHER: Sweet God, it is hot.
MILES THIS WEEK: 41.
WHERE TO: NOWHERE!
MOOD: Sweet God, I’m feeling hot.
A note to readers: Yes, there are several of you out there, but there are two of you in particular who made an attempt to raise me proper. We all see how that turned out. But out of deference to those two parental figures, whose opinions I care about greatly, I have painstakingly edited the below scene to make it more befitting of the way a lady should write.