Archive for the ‘Easy runs’ Category

Climbing Every Effing Mountain

Here. Eat these and write a blog post.

WEATHER: Cooler but still warm.  90?  Something like that.

MILES: 5.5

MILES THIS WEEK: 30?  Something like that.

WHERE TO: Dupont, Mass Ave, etc.

MOOD: Disconcertingly emotional


My dear readers, it strikes me that in order to succeed at anything, be it running or maintaining a blog that has amazingly not yet received any cease-and-desist orders from Nike, the Reston Runners, or any 5K fun runs, and indeed has yet to receive any sexual harassment complaints from (those hot little biscuits down at) Pacers Running Stores

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I smell a trend, Runner's World. (Image source:

WEATHER: Hottish, humid.

MILES: 5.5


WHERE TO: Capitol Hill, Chinatown

MOOD: Meh.  Fine.

TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: (Have I featured this before?  DOES NOT MATTER.  Excellent running song.)

OK, sports fans.  Time again for your favorite sort-of-weekly-but-not-quite-but-you-can-write-your-own-damn-blog-you-freeloading-lazybum-if-you-don’t-like-it Running Log feature:


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Running in the Heat

Here. Let this helpful diagram edify you. (Courtesy of:

WEATHER: Two straight days of gloriousness!

MILES: 5.5

MILES THIS WEEK: Oy.  I don’t even know.

WHERE TO: All over.

MOOD: Boom!


It has come to my attention that a significant portion of The Running Log‘s readership is not, in fact, made up of runners, but rather of non-runners who want a window into the crazy.  They want answers to pressing questions: Does running really cost you toenails?  Do runners ever get sick of having absolutely kickin’ gams?  Is running right for me?  Is the oxford comma indeed correct usage? (Answers: Yes, Fantastic, Only if you want to be awesome, and Yes.)

Well, we’re getting another big sweaty chest-bump from Mother Nature this weekend, so it’s time to answer a few more questions: does one even bother running in the oppressive, soul-crushing, walk-around-the-office-in-a-beater-and-mesh-shorts-and-no-one-cares heat?  How does it affect a runner?  Are there side effects?

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This Week in (What I Deem to Be) Running News

"The Running Log is finally on Facebook? MY WORK IS COMPLETE! We add no one else!" (photo courtesy of

WEATHER: Like running in boiling cream-of-mushroom soup.

MILES: 5.5

MILES THIS WEEK: 28 or so…

WHERE TO: Malcolm X Park, Howard U Reservoir, etc.

MOOD: Meh.



Once again, it’s time for your weekly running news briefs (a.k.a. weekly low-effort post). KABLAMMO!

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JIWOK: The Review (with a side homage to Coach P.)

Yay-yuh. Crank those tunes.

WEATHER: Humid and hot.  As if we did anything else in DC.

MILES: 5.5


WHERE TO: Malcolm X Park, Howard U Reservoir, etc.

MOOD: Just dandy!



First things first — I am IN for the 2011 JFK 50 Miler!  Everybody wave your hands and say, “Heyyyy!”  Or, alternatively, wave your hands and say, “Heyyyyy!” and then grab my shoulders and say, “No, seriously.  Your achilles tendons are going to feel like ASS for five months.”  A fair point.  Whatever.  Still excited, you fascist narc buzzkills!

Anyway. Now is the moment that you have been waiting for:


And before I start, a quick (and impartial, honest) reminder that if you go “Like” them on their Facebook page and say that DJ sent you, you get a month free trial. For real! Will you still want to after the review? Oh, DO read on to find out.

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Recovering from Injury! (Stage 8)

Rest in peace, little buddy. I hardly deserved you.

WEATHER: Coolish (75 maybe?) but humid as all get out.



WHERE TO: Metropolitan Branch Trail, Catholic U, Howard U Reservoir, etc.

MOOD: Exhausted from a long weekend involving 24 hours of epic food poisoning, a subsequent ice cream binge, a too-long post-food-poisoning Sunday long run, and a Grey’s Anatomy binge (which, like the 4 servings of ice cream, feels so right at the time, until you feel dirty and wish you hadn’t)


Recovering from Injury: Stage 8 — Leaving your iPod in the little gel-pouch on your running shorts and thus accidentally running the little fellow through the washing machine

Sigh.  Happens to the best dimmest of us.  <muffled sob>

Please, drop what you’re doing today and observe a few moments of silence for Little Blue.  He played a damn good Enrique tune.

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.


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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Economic Stimulus!

WEATHER: Fantastic.


MILES THIS WEEK: A bajillion, plus 6.

WHERE TO: Catholic University, Howard U. Reservoir.

MOOD: Renewed.


Well, hi there, everyone.  I’m back from the great blog-vacation, and I have renewed zeal and vigor for informing your beautiful asses about all things running.

During my time off, life continued generally as it usually does (i.e., clumsily aping the motions of a successful journalist), but I did go on a quick vacation up to Cape Ann, Massachusetts, where I saw two wonderful, wonderful friends from college marry each other. I cried like a total weenie, this is true, but I managed to bite off both ends of a Twizzler and use it as a straw through which I drank eight beers and subsequently did the “throwing sparkles dance” AND the “butt dance” for several hours regain my composure in fine style and then hit shamelessly on the wedding officiant tell the bride and groom how much they have meant to my life.

And, of course, I ran.  The mileage has further pushed into uncharted territory. I won’t tell you exactly how many total miles I am now running per week–a figure that actually sort of troubles even me at this point–but it’s smaller than the number of chickens (nesting hens, not roosters) that you can fit in a U-Haul and bigger than a breadbox.

Seriously, the break was a good time to regroup, take a deep breath, brainstorm, and clip my toenails, and let me tell you, I think we’re going to be better than ever here at The Running Log. The operation is growing, and I can feel new opportunities awaiting this enterprise around every corner.  And so it is with great pleasure that I announce:


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Girrrrrl, We Got to TALK.

WEATHER: 82 with 542% humidity at SIX A.M., YOU GUYS.

MILES: 5.5


WHERE TO: Howard U. reservoir, Northeast, etc.

MOOD: Wet.


OMG, you guys!  So much to tell you all!  It has been FOREVER!  Go get your latte and settle in, because we got to get REAL with each other, sister, and just dish.  Here.  I’ll go first:

1) Registration for the JFK 50-miler started on the first of July, which I just realized yesterday.  My marathon times strangely enough qualify me for guaranteed entry, so I should just do it, right?  <shiver> <squirm>  I should.  I mean, yes, it’s $150, but that’s sort of smart of those wily race organizers, making sure you put your money where your blackened-big-toenail is up-front, because who is going to back out of a $150 race?

I know what you’re thinking:

“You might.  …Back out, I mean.”

No, I won’t.

“Are you crazy?”

Stop asking me that.

“Are these race organizers ridiculously old-school, requiring an actual paper form sent via mail with a paper check and even an SASE, even though no one even knows what an SASE is anymore?”

They sure are.  …Ridiculously old-school, I mean.

“Your legs look particularly ravishing today.”

Don’t I know it.

2) Vignette from my Saturday long run, at ca. mile 15.  I’m standing by the Jefferson Memorial, slammajamming a neon-green-flavored Gatorade, when a man and his family step off a Japanese tour bus.

Man: <looks me up and down, particularly my blindingly white and not terribly attractive but nevertheless bare stomach>

Me: <chug gulp slobber gulp dribble>

Man: <turns to family> <gestures at me> <LOUD STRING OF UNINTELLIGIBLE JAPANESE SYLLABLES>

Family: <loud laughter>

Me: <slightly more abashed> <swig gulp gulp> <scamper away>

I have the distinct feeling that I got majorly zinged.

3) New tattoo!  I won’t tell you where it is, but I will say it’s small, discreet, in a place that my sports bra covers, and it’s not my right bosom or left bosom.

Well.  That was fun.  And now, off to start my next post, as suggested by Madam Sixpack on the Ask a Runner! page.  See?  I do take suggestions.  But only non-stupid ones.

Nostalgia Overload

Oh, Caaaaarleton, our alma maaaaaaaaaaater, we haaaail the maize and bluuuuue... (Image from

ON LOCATION! — In Minnesota/Iowa this week!

WEATHER: Big, hot sky.  No clouds.  No shade.  The usual Iowa-in-summer.



WHERE TO: Heaven (which is to say, “Northfield, Minnesota“), then home, which is arguably even better.

MOOD: Nostalgia-until-my-head-explodes.


My dear readers, I apologize for being remiss in posting.  It’s been a week full of travel and incoherentness, and as a result — a week of very little running.  I began writing this post from the library on my college campus, as I took a break from my 5-year college reunion festivities. Rest was a necessity, given the exhaustion I had from partaking in three truly taxing activities:

1) Drinking

2) Giving the “here’s-what-I-do-now-and-what-about-YOU?” speech

3) Raucous laughter.

…the raucous laughter being the result of the cadre of women with whom I associated in college, all of whom miraculously stopped their world-domination plans to come back to school for 4 days.  Hanging-out-time with these women is truly exhausting because of the competitive nature of our conversations, in which we all try to (a) out-loud and (b) out-dirty each other.  As I sat in the library drafting this post, in fact, The Bear began G-chatting me.  She sent the following messages:


grope grope”

<chewbacca noise>”
And while this does not capture the full depth of the filthy discourse in which we ladies generally partake, it at least gives you a measure of the maturity level.
And as it turned out, running became a prominent part of the weekend after all, and not just because of my midday detox jogs through town.  No, I might add that one highlight of the 2010 Carleton College Reunion was the Class of 1985’s Saturday-night dance party getting streaked.  I have absolutely no idea what kind of beautiful, ballsy, uninhibited pervs would do such a thing, but when I find out, I will by all means let you know.
Anyway, the whole thing required a lengthy Sunday-night sleep as well as a lengthy Monday-morning running-and-stomach-discomfort-fest to get out of the system.  And yet I am pretty sure that I am still slightly sore from dancing and laughing so hard, which I think we can agree is the mark of a weekend well-spent.
Today I am back in Iowa, and my jog this morning was full of the hallmarks of an Iowa run: no shade or clouds, for one, and a pervasive hot-ness that is sort of surprising.  Which is generally bad, but it intensifies the also-pervasive smell of soil, which if you don’t understand, you just won’t understand (if you understand…).  But there are new aspect this time around as well…for instance, a nearby road construction project has increased the traffic on my family’s road from 1 car per day (usually ours) to a veritable gridlock of 7 or 8 per day…all of whom drove by me as I shirtlessly tromped down the gravel road.  All also seemed to be filled to the brim with small screaming children, who either gave me the thumbs-up or a laughing fit as they kicked up gravel all over my sweaty body.  Fortunately, as I wiped the sweat-and-dust-paste from my body, I had a few new wind-turbine colonies in the distance to contemplate. 
More disturbingly, however, I was not greeted by a snuffling, hyper pack of swine as I ran up onto the yard.  This is because my father is perpetually fidgeting over the decision of whether or not to continue raising animals.  I’m not sure what he thinks he will do with his time, but my guess is taht he will move a few buildings.  Since all his daughters have left home, the man has taken to rearranging buildings the way that the rest of us rearrange furniture.  Except, of course, massive forklifts, bulldozers, tractor trailers, and cement mixers generally don’t come into play when I’m moving an ottoman.  My dad, on the other hand, gets to hang out with a large group of men and go “BRRRRRMMMMMMM” while they slide a garage from the south side of the house to the southWEST side. 
The point of this story is that every time I come home I get a pretty good idea of where I get my sort of obsessive squirrelliness.  So when Dad asks, “How can you run so much?” I can generally answer “How can you buy 75 pigs on a whim and then move the machine shed 20 feet?”  And he will say, “Ah, touche.”  Or, more realistically, “Aaaagh, don’t be a smartass.” 
Furthermore, Mom eats peanut butter with a spoon (and also a healthy sense of gusto).  Another “where-is-that-from” question solved.
That’s all I got.