Lobster Dog is glad to be back. (Image via

WEATHER: Somewhat humid. Which for DC in July, is completely gloriously beautiful, compared to the usual heavy urban fug of unnatural, can’t-fan-yourself-without-dripping-with-sweat humidity plus bus-farts plus garbage truck waftings.

MILES: 17.


WHERE TO: A little past the C&O Towpath 6-mile marker, then back.

MOOD: Life is beautiful.



Guys, it’s taking a lot of ibuprofen, ice, physical therapy, heel lifts, orthotics, yoga, and elbow grease, but we are back in business <pumps fist, does gratuitous pelvic thrust>.

Currently the tentative goal is to do the On the Road for Education (Mason City, IA) marathon in October, assuming my various foot tendons don’t snap/swell to the size of golf balls/punch me in the face. But the REAL goal — dropping the expensive gym membership, throwing a few gels in the sports bra, and occasionally nearly-heaving in the bushes next to the C&O towpath — well, that has been met. And there is much rejoicing.

I will now take questions from the audience.

Q: How well do you expect to do in the Mason City marathon?

A: Very well — top 30 among women, I’m thinking.

Q: That’s ambitious. Are you sure you can do it?

A: Positive.

Q: Wait. Weren’t there only 26 female finishers last year?

A: Shut up.

Q: How are your feet?

A: The tendons are sort of sore, but I did today have my first broken-off toenail incident in years.

Q: How did it feel?

A: Like drinking the blood of a unicorn-magical koala hybrid. Like staring Sauron in the face and then kneeing him in the balls. Like going on a piggyback ride on Sasquatch through the peppermint forest. Like victory.

Also, like knowing I’ll have one hell of an ingrown toenail in a few weeks.

Q: Uh-huh. Are you, as we speak, sitting on your futon and barely breathing as you attempt to slowly lower your heels into the absolute-effing-zero-ice-bucket-of-pain?

A: I prefer to refer to it as the absolute-effing-zero-ice-bucket-of-pain-and-redemption.

Q: Have you written a song about recovery?

A: Yes I have.

<to the tune of “Goodnight Ladies”>

I got my feet back.

I got my feet back.

I got my feet back.

Popping my blisters now.

Q: <wipes tears> That’s very moving.

A: You’re telling me.

It’s good to be back, y’all.

Shutting It Down


First off, a round of applause for our good friend Showtime, who finished her first 10-K in last Sunday’s Marine Corps 10-K.  It was a pleasure to text her at 6 AM from my start line to hers, telling her the basics of making sure she was prepped for the race (“Don’t forget to poop first.”).

So how did it go for me?


It did not.  Or rather, it went, for about 8.5 miles.

And then the calf balled up into a giant mass of evil nonfunctioning concrete, and the Ace Ventura leg and I hobbled to the med tent.

There was a little bitter weeping as well.

Continue reading

Sweet Merciful Crap.

Running. Ace Ventura. Two closely related concepts.

WEATHER: Snowing.  I shit you not.




MOOD: O God O God.

TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: <vomits and dies>


Where have I been for 2 weeks?  I have been nursing the strangest and scariest injury ever, which I can only call “The Clubfoot.”  The Clubfoot struck one night at a hot and sweaty yoga class.  I was busily leaking all of the moisture from my body, most of it coming out of my facial region, and also (likely due less to my warm, limber muscles, and more to the lubrication provided by having every limb of my body coated in a mixture of sweat and whatever bacteria resided on my rented mat) putting my right knee up over my shoulder, when suddenly…

Continue reading

On the Subject of Your Kickin’ Bod…

My waist must be skinnier and my boobs must be pointier! POINTIER, I SAY!

WEATHER: Pretty!



WHERE TO: Nowhere.

MOOD: Uneasy.

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.

Continue reading

The End Is Near(er)

It's coming. Grab some beers and pickles and girly mags and get into the cellar.

WEATHER: Cold and windy and rainy and a little demoralizing.

MILES: 25?  Many of which involved stomach-clutching awfulness.

MILES THIS WEEK: 25?  Many of which involved stomach-clutching awfulness.

WHERE TO: Crescent Trail, Bethesda, Wisc Ave., back to the trailhead, down the Mall, several detours to several (CLOSED!  YOU BASTARDS!) restrooms, home.

MOOD: Foul.

TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: (Yes, I hate the video as much as you do, but the song puts me in coke-addled 2-minute-mile territory, I swear.)


So I’ve been in a foul mood (and not posting) for a while, largely because of a nasty bout with what I imagine to be tendinitis in my right foot/Achilles tendon.  And as loyal readers know, injuries — even minor ones — turn me into a drooling hellbitch who goes on Netflix-and-enchilada benders.  Granted, I can still run on it, but not without a bit of pain.  Hmph.  Today I found myself actually asking myself:

Whose pants are these in my apartment?

Continue reading

Running and the Economy: Part 2

Let's see...carry the 4...oh holy God. I only have like 2 toenails left.

WEATHER: Cool and autumnal and fantastic.



WHERE TO: Nowhere!


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.

Continue reading

Running and the Economy: Part 1

The sky is falling. Everybody panic. But run 10 miles first. (Image source:

WEATHER: Delightfully cool and drizzly and fall-like!

MILES: 10.5

MILES THIS WEEK: Disturbing.

WHERE TO: A destination a little up the road from the habitations of the towns we know.

MOOD: Complacent.

TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: (h/t: the illustrious C.)



I apologize for having been absent for a week and a half. As you may have guessed from the last post, I have been in emotion-land. By which I mean minorly-but-chronically-sort-of-feeling-like-ass land, due to living in a flood-prone, mushroom-and-fly-infested hole. I don’t know about you, but in the Republic of DJ, emotions make a girl stop blogging, yes, but also stop applying for freelance positions, socializing, and wanting to do anything other than having Arrested-Development-fest 2011 on her bed, which is still up on bricks (the bed), along with all of her other furniture, due to Hurricane Irene preparations.

Continue reading


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.