The sky is falling. Everybody panic. But run 10 miles first. (Image source: InlandPolitics.com)
WEATHER: Delightfully cool and drizzly and fall-like!
MILES THIS WEEK: Disturbing.
WHERE TO: A destination a little up the road from the habitations of the towns we know.
TODAY’S RUNNING SONG: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQ-NGNCRFmY (h/t: the illustrious C.)
THIS GUY IS BADASS: http://iantorrence.blogspot.com/
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.
Be afraid. Be very, very, very afraid.
WEATHER: Oh mah gawwwd. 95 degrees, with 124 gajillion% humidity
MILES THIS WEEK: 23.5ish
WHERE TO: Sunburnland
MOOD: <deep, contented, cleansing breath>
Stage 9: Going Overboard
You’re back, sister! Holy God, congratulations! <flaps hands> Your leg/foot/tendon/ligament/deeply blistered heel is recovered, and you can crank out relatively high mileage. Screw Bodypump/yoga/swimming/Sit & Be Fit! WE’RE BACK ON THE WAGON! LET’S DO 30 MILES TO CELEBRATE! Somebody HAND ME MY RUNNING SHOES AND CRUSH A BOTTLE OF ADVILS INTO MY WATER BOTTLE.
Here. Have a lollie.
WEATHER: Warm and sunny and delightful — 72 degrees and not humid.
MILES THIS WEEK: 9.5
WHERE TO: Back into Mojo-land.
MOOD: Cautiously optimistic.
First, let me say that I HAVE MY MOJO BACK! Did I do 23 miles yesterday? Yes. Did I receive several facefuls/eyefuls of gnats? Yes. Is my chest slightly abraded from carrying Gu packets in my sports bra? Oh, you better believe it. Is life back to normal? <punches air> Helllls yes!
Anyway. On to the important stuff: getting over your injury. You’ve cross-trained, you feel yourself getting stronger, etc., and yet — and yet.
The injury isn’t better-better. It’s just sort of half-assed improving. And you, as the world’s greatest super happy fun time run run runnerperson ever, do not do anything that isn’t at the very least 90-percent-assed. But you also don’t need no stinking doctor. Also, you were sick that day in college where they taught you how to be an adult and how health insurance works, so words like “deductible” and “copay” and “HMO” and “doctor” are still a little mystifying to you.
Stationary cycling AND an hour of C+C Music Factory? I'M IN! LET'S GO SPINNING!
WEATHER: Hot and humid. Which I sort of love.
MILES THIS WEEK: 19.
WHERE TO: Tralalalala, fields of happy green non-injured beauty, covered in bunnies and flowers and, yeah, OK, a few blisters.
When we last left off, we had worked our way through Stage 2, which involves copious amounts of anger and questionable ways of dealing with it.
And now, reluctantly, I invite you to enter
Stage 3: Mourning
Alright, sweetheart. Let it out. Cry open-mouthed, choking sobs and bang your fists on the floor. Drink a pint of Wild Turkey. Make and eat an entire loaf of banana-peanut-butter-chocolate-chip bread WITHOUT EVEN BAKING IT. <rubs your back, holds you close> There, there. Yes, I realize that you just vommed whiskey/batter all over my chest. It’s OK. Shhhhh-
<smacks you upside the head>
Ok, 30 seconds is up. Mourning is over. Now it’s time for:
You're an inspiration to us all, you beautiful Canadian bastard.
WEATHER: Chilly, windy.
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.
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”!
THE FEMALE BODY IS A BEAUTIFUL THING.
WEATHER: 45ish at running time, gradually warming to 53ish.
MILES THIS WEEK: Who even knows?
WHERE TO: Great Falls and back.
MOOD: Perhaps less embarrassed than I should be.
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.
That is SO TRUE.
WEATHER: Gorgeous and autumnal, once again.
MILES THIS WEEK: 8.5
WHERE TO: Georgetown, around that general area, back.
My dear readers, I don’t ask you for much. I put up my posts and I hope you read them and derive some form of enjoyment. I occasionally nuzzle your neck at night when I’m feeling lonely. But now I ask you to sit there and nod understandingly as I explain to you that THE G.D. BOSTON MARATHON SOLD OUT IN ONE EFFING DAY AND EVEN THOUGH I DUTIFULLY LOGGED ON AT 9 A.M. THE SITE WAS DOWN AND BY THE TIME I GOT BACK ON THAT AFTERNOON IT WAS SOLD OUT, GODDAMMIT SO I WILL STOMP AROUND IN MY STRIPEY KNEE SOCKS AND YELL AND THROW MY BOWL OF FROZEN BROCCOLI AT THE WALL WHILE MY HOUSEMATES ROLL THEIR EYES AND WAIT FOR THE TANTRUM TO PASS HOLY FREAKING KNICKERBOCKERS WHY AM I YELLING.