Posts Tagged ‘Georgetown’

Know Your DC Water Fountains!

Water Fountain #1! I call this one "Enid."

WEATHER: Beautiful for a night run

MILES: 14ish

MILES THIS WEEK: Bigger than a breadbox.

WHERE TO: Rock Creek Parkway, Van Ness, Tenleytown, Georgetown, etc.

MOOD: No longer sick!  Blammo!


Tonight, I introduce to you all a new and exciting feature to assist you in your Washington, DC-and-surrounding-areas running endeavors:


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WEATHER: 45ish at running time, gradually warming to 53ish.

MILES: 33.5

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.

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The Universe Works in Mysterious Ways…

Dude this is EXACTLY HOW I LOOKED! (Photo courtesy of one of the first pics that popped up when I Googled "road rash")

WEATHER: I want to shower every 5 minutes.

MILES: 10?


WHERE TO: Adams Morgan, National Cathedral, Georgetown, Dupont Circle.

MOOD: Pensive.


It has been too long since my last post, a fact that was sloshing around in my head as I trotted through Georgetown this morning.  And then the universe gave me something to write about.

I saw this dude with no shirt, red shorts.  From the back and two blocks away, he looked to be about 45 or so (can I tell? YES I CAN.).  And magically, it always seems to be the quick, sinewy, middle-aged-dudes who go about my speed, so I thought this would be the perfect rabbit for me to chase for my last few miles.  I picked up the pace, springing along at a good clip, ready for the thrill of the chase, the joy of catching another runner, the lovely wild and free sensation, lalala.

“I will write tonight about the thrill of the chase, the joy of catching another runner, the lovely WHY ARE MY FEET DUMBASSES OH NOOOOOOO…”

And soon I was skidding along Q Street, my feet having caught a sidewalk brick that was just the teeeenist bit out of place, which sent me stumbling and spinning along so that, by the time I got a hold of myself and the momentum had stopped, I had scrapes along my ankle, hip, elbow, hand, shoulder, and somehow my right shoulder blade.  Furthermore, I am both proud and ashamed to say that I was going so fast that I’m pretty sure I bounced.

So I stood, wiped off the grit, inspected the damage, and was horrified to see a woman walking toward me with her dog baaaawwwwww someone saw that!

This very well-dressed, white-haired, glassy-eyed lady walked up and said placidly, “It’s a beautiful morning for a run!”

Whoa.  Hey.  Is this broad messing with me? <Irony scan>  Huh.  No…..

ME: <picking gravel out of my upper thigh/ass> Yes…yes…beautiful…?

SHE: <not even really catching my eye, continuing walking past> Just beautiful!  Much better than yesterday!

ME: <dabbing at blood> Um…a little help?

SHE: <humming contentedly, wandering off>

I suppose I’m a little at a loss for what the moral of all this is, or if there is some deeper hidden meaning to this story, or if I need to justify even why I told it to you at all, blog-readers.  Except to merely point out that this is what I go through just to put up blog posts to entertain you, and it’s a thankless job I tell you what, and you just come home and put your feet up and ask where’s dinner, where’s the paper, where’s my blog post well HERE!  Your dinner is burned, the dog pooped on and then ate your paper, my body is scarred and ruined, but oh well, at least your BLOG POST IS DONE BAAAAAAAAAAA <sniffle> THINGS USED TO BE DIFFERENT WITH US!  We used to just stay up all night cuddling, remember?  Wasn’t that great?  There are other ways to be intimate, you know!  <face in hands, wailing>


Oh, by the way, The Mountie has a new blog, and you should read it.  In it, she chronicles her summer in Alaska — living, learning, loving, and only occasionally being eaten by polar bears and penguins.

Flying Solo

WEATHER: 40!  Beautiful!  I wore shorts!




WHERE TO: Allllll over the place…Georgetown, Glover Park, some neighborhood apparently called “Palisades,” lost in Maryland for a while…and then back.

MOOD: Beautiful!  I wore shorts!


Today’s long run was done without the accompaniment of S.  Sometimes you just gotta fly solo.

And though it went fantastically, we have a definite injury situation on our hands here.  The left knee — which flares up about once a year with some sort of tendinitis — is definitely in a bit of pain.

No runner likes injuries, of course, and I have always had a particular way of dealing with mine — doing every possible thing to fix them except for stopping running.  I will sleep with the afflicted limb elevated on a stack of pillows, wearing special fix-it socks and several ice packs (thus waking up the next morning with a clammy lukewarm icepack and a toppled tower of pillows between me and <whichever sleeping companion>).  It used to be that if I just came home and iced the shit out of any given injury every waking moment for a few days, plus maybe held it up as high as I could at all times, it got better in a jiffy.  Meanwhile, I’d still be logging my usual weekly mileage.

Somehow I just don’t think that’s going to cut it this time, judging by the pain.  Ergh.

I fear that this is one of those “you’re getting old” signs.  There are other signs — touching my toes?  DIFFICULT.  And I used to be like freakish-bendy, sliding my hands beneath my feet as I stretched down and like bending my knees backwards and then doing the splits in midair and all other manner of contortionist shit.  And then there are the gout and the liver spots and the incessant urge to loudly maneuver my throat phlegm.

I actually read (somewhere…) that female distance runners peak at 27.  Well, I am 27 and one-and-a-half months.  THE DECLINE BEGINS!  <sob>  <fashions noose from shoelaces>

Wow.  The mood from beginning to end of this post went from like 50 bazillion to -9.  Time to go bake something.

Hooray for The Bear!

The Bear is running THIS!

Look! There she goes!

WEATHER: Warming up — 32ish!

MILES: 10.5



WHERE TO: Georgetown, Glover Park, blah, blah…

MOOD: Chipper but feeling a cold coming on.


My run this morning was wonderful.  Yay!  But today we have more important matters to tend to.

Because today, dear readers, we celebrate new runners everywhere by wishing good luck to a lovely woman (and this blog’s top commenter) who I will simply call The Bear (which has much more to do with her little commenter icon than her looks) (which are SMOKIN’ and not at all bear-like).

You see, The Bear is running her first race this weekend — P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Half-Marathon in Phoenix, Arizona. And as she is a dear friend and a truly wonderful person, I have composed a poem for The Bear…13 lines in length, even, to propel her though 13 miles of sheer Arizonan sunny BLISS!


Roses are red,

Your toenails are black.

Your sports bra is kickin’;

Your skivvies are wack.


Your nipples won’t chafe

Because you’re not a guy.

If you crap yourself,

Try not to cry.


I hope you kick ass

When you run P.F. Chang’s.

Did you know that “chang’s”

Also rhymes with “wangs”?


(…because it does.)


New runners!  Unite!  Run a race!  And someday you, too, can be the recipient of a lovely rhyming poem that inspires and motivates you and also includes the word “wang.”

Running with the Pagan Spirits

WEATHER: 30 degrees

MILES: 10.5, including 2 x 15-min. tempo runs



WHERE TO: Down Rhode Island Ave., to K Street, to Georgetown, up Wisconsin Ave., across on Macomb Ave. to Connecticut Ave., then Dupont Circle, then home.  In case you cared to know.

MOOD: Stress-relieving


So here’s the thing: a new school semester has begun, and, to be honest, I can’t come up with something fresh and insightful (because what is more insightful than jokes about pee and g-spots?) every day.  So we are enlisting the assistance of a nifty hobby I’ve taken up since Christmas, in the interest of procrastinating schoolwork: Tarot-card-reading.  I’m just going to draw a card at random and apply it to my lovely morning tempo run, which went better than expected.

Now, I know there are those of my friends and acquaintances reading this who, for various spiritual reasons, do not approve of occult-based spiritual practices, even those based upon decks and books bought out of sheer boredom off the bargain rack at the only Barnes & Noble within driving distance of my fantastically isolated home while Christmas shopping with my mom.  And I respect that.  I very much do.  But I also feel that, if you feel that Tarot should be paid no mind at all, there is little greater disrespect that can be paid to it than inclusion on a 3rd-rate running blog maintained by a frayed-nerved, sleep-deprived, romantically challenged twenty-something wannabe writer who has run out of ideas.


Today’s running card:

Look at 'er. She's just OWNING that chair.

So.  The Queen of Wands, according to a random (but very informative) Tarot blog I found, “is a passionate, confident, powerful woman. She’s full of life and expects to achieve anything she desires. The fires in the background remind us that her energy can become destructive, if unchecked. Beneath her throne, the cat waits to pounce. She is completely connected to her animal instincts.”

Also note that the accompanying card (at left) shows a distinctly Xena-like, almost tranny-ish lady who is definitely working the power stance on that chair.

Ummm…well, I did kick a few cats while I was running today…so check off the “destructive” and “animal instincts” parts.

Huh.  This is a toughy.

Basically this lady looks like she set fire to a village, found a chair, put her pet cat down and pulled out her sword for a leisurely polishing while she celebrated the spoils of victory.  “Yep.  I got it goin’ on,” she’s saying.

I did not set fire to a village this morning — I hocked up a few lugies (sp?) on the Georgetown sidewalks.  And when I got home I did the First-Street-striptease (unzip shirts, untie tights, pull out keys, take off hat and gloves, all while jogging up to house) so that when I got in the house I could RIPITALLOFF and jump straight into the shower, because living in a house with four women, one has to JUMP on that shower when it’s open, because sometimes it seems that roommate so-and-so is just WAITING to hear your keys in the front door, and then takes THAT (and NOT her alarm clock) as her wake-up call to get herself into the shower for what I presume is wax-everything-fest-2010, judging from the time it takes.*

So I left sweaty clothes and spit in my wake, sat down in my crappy Target desk chair, and brandished my hair dryer and make-up for a looking-good session in front of my MacBook, because, OK, no I do NOT own a mirror, so Photo Booth is just going to have to do.  And then my oatmeal spilled all over my bag on my way to work.

Once again, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Clearly tarot is unlocking the universe for me.  I’m going to bed.


*Housemates: if you read this, I take major creative license, I realize.  Don’t hate me or spit in my peanut butter.