Since I’m not really training for anything my goal these days has to run about 30 miles per week. I don’t know why 30 is the magic number, it just is. It is more than 29 and less than 31, how’s that?
I did intervals on the treadmill on Tuesday overlooking the pool and the pussy posse (remember them from days gone by? If you have been reading this blog for forever, you know the posse is my favorite geriatric water aerobics group who I hung with when I had a hip stress fracture).
I like watching people swim while I run. I like to pretend I know things about swimming and I judge their critique. I like to label the regulars whose names I don’t know – like “tattoo guy”, “girl who likes the butterfly, ” “nice boob lady” and “treading water old man.”
Yes, I do think 3.1 miles an hour is the perfect treadmill speed.
On Thursday I ran trails and the snow made it at least 5x harder than normal. But, I am in my element on the trails and it is my favorite place to be. I’m going through a purple phase right now. Don’t ask why.
I like trails because:
You can make pit stops wherever
It is quiet
Farts dissolve into the abyss
There is always the danger of being eaten by a wild animal, so you feel alive
It makes me a stronger runner
Here I am doing my favorite hip/butt swing:
What the hell with that quad muscle? That looks like a thunder thigh right there.
Today I did the Panicking Poultry 5K in Boulder. At mile .3 I remembered that I hate 5Ks because they hurt like a mother f-er.
I knew immediately it would not be a PR day for me. I spent the rest of the race hanging on and trying to ignore my very strong desire to stop and perhaps throw up. I finished in 23:16, which is slower than I wanted, but I did get a beer pint glass for being 2nd in my AG.
Please ignore my son photo bombing the picture with his bad finger. And ignore the fact that this is my “lazy Saturday afternoon with no makeup on look.” This picture would be way more impressive if the glass was full of beer.
Here is the shirt I will never wear:
Poor turkeys. I hope they are not too stressed out. It would be rough to know you were going to be brutally murdered, then have your neck stuffed into your body cavity, then have it removed, then have it replaced by a bread/onion/celery mixture. Sounds like a rough way to leave this world.
Do you wear and love all of your race shirts? No. They are not all created equal. Some sit in my closet.
Favorite race distance? Probably the half marathon or the half ironman. Long enough to get into a groove and pace yourself, but short enough to push a bit.
SUAR
