THINGS TO DO WHILE YOU’RE RUNNING: Part 5 — Burn Out


WEATHER: Sort of hot for October

MILES: 0

MILES THIS WEEK: 29

WHERE TO: Nowhere.

MOOD: Filled with the joy and ennui that are the spirit of Columbus Day

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

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?

Anyway.

No, I have no idea what you’re talking about when you say that phrase, how you say, uh, “burn out.”  But if I did understand you, I would imagine that burnout would strike me at around 6 PM yesterday, when I’m at mile 25 of a 29-miler that I didn’t even mean to do, except that Rusty, fresh off the disabled list and back onto the hardcore-but-batshit list, has decided that we’re going to just take a sledgehammer to our legs in the form of a deathmarch up Rock Creek Trail and eventually to somewhere that I’m pretty sure was rural Ohio, judging by how effing tired my legs felt, plus my delirium, especially the part where I clutched the hem of Rusty’s shorts in the middle of my dry-heaving and whimpered, “I’m serious, man…on a scale of 3 to 65, with 17 being the highest, I’m going to KILL YOU if we don’t get back to DC in like 10 minutes.”  And bear in mind that this is after a Saturday long run followed by an entire afternoon of Oktoberfest out in the burbs  with brats and hefeweizen and very forceful demands that the tuba-and-accordion band PLAY FREEBIRD OR AT LEAST HOW ABOUT SOME ZEPPELIN, HUH?  WOOOOOO GERMAN HERITAGE 4EVA! <suddenly forcefully subdued by Alexandria cop on a Segway>

So yeah.  You run too much and LIVE too much, and you get exhausted eventually, or so I imagine.  So in this blog post I tell you how to recognize varying levels of burnout (on a scale of 0 to 10) (10 being the highest, you see) and how to deal with them.

Levels 0 to 1:

Symptoms: Rolling out of bed, looking at your running shoes, and shuddering.

How to deal: In the immortal words of this one terrifying rugby captain from college, “Man the f**k up and get the f**k going, and CHUG THAT BEER, YOU FILTHY WHORE.”  Only maybe don’t chug your beer if it’s a work morning.

Levels 2 to 4:

Symptoms: Realizing that you have not comfortably walked down a flight of stairs in months and that a full complement of toenails is really going to be key before you get your “sassy summer pedicure” routine started up again.

Treatment: Stop using the word “sassy.”  Wait.  Hold on.  Stop getting pedicures, too.  And now do 10 Yasso 800s.  And chug that beer while you’re at it.

Level 5:

Symptoms: Finding yourself 6 miles out of town with a good clip going on a crisp fall/winter morning and suddenly stopping, dropping your hands, and looking around.  “Wait.  Wait.  Hooooold on.  What does it all mean?” says your brain.  “Plenty of people are happy without running.  I could be happy!  I certainly could!  Why am I doing this?  Where am I going?  Do I even like this anymore?  Oh God, I could have been writing that novel!  Yeah!  That’s what I’ll- ah sonofaPOOP I am still six miles out of town…but when I get home,” <jog, jog, puff, puff> “…when I get home, I swear to GOD that I’ll start a NEW LIFE…”

Treatment: Get home, tell self to man the f**k up and just find some motivation, start a running blog, fill with drivel on a weekly basis.  BOOM.

Levels 5.5 through 7:

Symptoms: Your iPod has run out of juice, your shoelace has snapped, the entire Georgetown cross country team just passed you in one demoralizing pack of sinewy hamstrings and VO2 insanity, and a small black squirrel with a nasty disposition has been following you and giving you the stink-eye for like three miles.  Also, you’ve soiled yourself.

Treatment: Ummmm………gels.  Gels, gels, gels.  Slathered on evenly yet firmly with the help of a trusted friend.

Don’t look at me like that.

Levels 8 through 9:

Symptoms: Unnnnnnnnnngh. <repeat one billion times>

Treatment:


Level 10:

Symptoms: You’ve stagnated.  You have get to run in the morning and you have had a full Columbus Day of sock-drawer-color-coding. You have no snappy blog post ideas left, you need to go to bed, you feel you’re losing your touch, and you know that once you sleep you’ll feel better but you JUST WANT TO FINISH DAMMIT.

Treatment: Throw some dirtyish words out there with a picture of Britney Spears and call it a day.

So here goes:

Damn ass bitchface boobies expunge gigolo mitten shit donkey.

Bedtime.

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5 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Rusty on October 12, 2010 at 9:34 am

    Bald Britney has hungry eyes.

    Reply

      • Posted by DJ on October 12, 2010 at 8:47 pm

        …annnnnd now that I watch it, it’s TERRIBLE. In the awesomest way possible, of course. Which perhaps describes everything from the ’80s.

      • You know, I’d love to love this song, but that part where it goes “blah blah blah blah between you and i…” makes me GO CRAZY!
        It may be a convenient rhyme, but it’s not proper grammar. Which is generally ok, but what editor let this slide?
        And nowadays I’m old enough to not care, but when I was younger, this song made me VERY ANGRY.

  2. Posted by molly on October 12, 2010 at 7:20 pm

    hardcore-but-batshit list = HAHAHAAHAHAAHA!!

    Reply

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