Posts Tagged ‘Ultramarathons’

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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Pure, Delicious Inspiration

That is SO TRUE.

WEATHER: Gorgeous and autumnal, once again.

MILES: 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.

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Ask a Runner — A Very Special Edition

Behold! The Founding Father of running crazies!

WEATHER: Gorgeous and autumnal



WHERE TO: C & O Trail

MOOD: Exhausted.


I received an e-mail last week from a good friend (and fellow Iowan, so you know she’s quality) who has also been known to go on the occasional run.  She began her missive kindly enough:

“Damn it, woman!  I have done nothing during my prep but read old entries on your blog.  I have a whole pile of grading to do but I just can’t FOCUS and I feel soooo sleeeppy, and you’ve provided such an alluring distraction my willpower just can’t hold up.”

…which just shows you the power of the BLOG, kids, because I am SINGLE-HANDEDLY contributing to the distraction of teachers and decline of the education system.  You’re welcome.

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So yeah. I'm promoting conspicuous consumption now. Deal with it.

WEATHER: A little hot, but really, conditions are perfect.



WHERE TO: Allllll over.

MOOD: The thrill of the mighty huntress.*


*…by which I mean I KILLED A MOUSE this morning.  So yeah, this has nothing to do with running, but it does have to do with badassery, so I’m just gonna roll with it.  See, the Irishwoman informed me last night, when the mouse scurried out from under the oven as I was baking cookies, that OH MY GOD THERE’S A MOUSE BY YOUR FOOT GET IT GET IT.

OK, sure, fine.

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Thoughtful Discourse

I get more hits when I include beautiful-man pics. Go figure.

WEATHER: Fantastic.

MILES: Zero.  POW!

MILES THIS WEEK: Many.  Already.

WHERE TO: Nowhere.

MOOD: Exhausted.


I was at this party a few weekends ago at which a friend asked me if I listened to music while I run.

Now, let me digress for a second.  Because I feel like every single runner I meet is either a Luddite purist or incapable of going on even a simple two-mile jog without having Tool drilling into his/her skull at volume level 14.  No one is in-between.  Which I don’t get.  Because sometimes you need Enrique to move you along, and sometimes you just need to silently judge other runners in silence, you know?


“Not all the time,” I responded.

“Well, don’t you go CRAZY?  What do you think about?” she asked.

Ironically, her question itself has made me go crazy, because now when I’m running all I can think about is, “Huh.  What AM I thinking about?” and now my flow is totally gone.  (Thanks a lot, party-friend-lady.  Jerkface.)  It’s like when you for whatever reason start thinking about breathing and suddenly realize that you can’t do it correctly anymore, and now maybe it won’t be voluntary anymore and you’ll have to think about breathing until the day you die.  Holy s**t, that would suck, wouldn’t it?

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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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ROMANCE! (Part 1 of 7)

.......what the WHAT?

WEATHER: Take a guess.

MILES: 10.


WHERE TO: Lincoln Park, Mall, Lincoln Memorial, home

MOOD: Sensual.


I’ve realized that I’ve been an absolute hellbitch lately, mostly due to just about the worst week at work ever last week (“Who taught me how to write?  Drunk baboons?”), combined with a tiring running weekend (“I will PEE ON EVERY NON-WORKING WATER FOUNTAIN I FIND, I SWEAR TO GOD, WASHINGTON, DC!”), which has made me less than pleasant to live with (“Bring me the head of whatever ass-hat loaded this dishwasher!”).

Life is taxing sometimes, dear readers.  Sometimes it’s all too much.  Sometimes life voms on your shoes and steals your lollipop.  Sometimes you need an escape.  Sometimes you want to light some candles and get down with your bad self in a bubble bath with a box of Godiva and a glass of Cabernet and an Enya CD while breathing winsomely, “Calgon, take me AWAY!”

Sometimes, girlfriend, you need romance.

And so I am here to deliver you from your hellish daily life with a romantic story, delivered to you in serial format…partially in an attempt to get you to keep comin’ back for more running-log goodness, and partially…no, actually, mostly in an attempt to get you to keep comin’ back for the goods.

Tonight, I bring you part 1 of 7.  Why seven?  Well, I’ve always found seven to be the most sensual of the single-digit integers.

So, without further ado, I bring you:


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