Roughly 70 degrees with a decent amount of wind. I did these all solo. I had no choice. Rest in parenthesis.
2:45.0 (1:33.7)
2:43.6 (1:31.1)
2:44.2 (1:29.4)
2:43.2 (1:32.6)
2:46.0 (1:27.9)
2:44.5 (1:32.4)
2:42.2 (1:32.3)
2:41.6 (1:33.6)
2:41.5 (1:32.6)
2:38.0 (1:29.8)
2:37.2 (1:30.9)
2:33.5
2:41 avg (1:31)
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( 0 / 0 )I'm gonna go ahead and pat myself on the back for having flown across the country to take part in--not just attend--a wedding, and I only took one day off from running. That would be the day we arrived (Thursday, after a red-eye flight). So despite having spent Sun-Wed of last week in Ithaca NY, I still managed to run everyday and logged 63+ miles. Nothing was really all that difficult, traily, or long, but every run had a decent amount of hills since I typically chose to run around the lovely and hilly Cornell University campus. Not included in those 63 miles is the rugged indoor soccer game I played the morning of Clint's wedding with a number of wrestlers, one of whom saw the front of his foot ram itself directly at my shinguard-less left shin. About a minute later I had a scary-looking watermelon-sized growth that slowly subsided throughout the day but I can still feel today. It's just a bruise now, but it bothered me mentally at first because it was at the EXACT place of my previous shinsplints-type injury, and I had to reassure myself that what I was feeling when I ran was (hopefully) NOT that and instead was my new somewhat-painful-but-harmless-in-the-longterm bruise. On the good side, the guy who gave me the kick to the shin was an NCAA champion wrestler last year. On the not-so-good side, he wrestles at 125 lbs, the smallest weight class in all of collegiate wrestling.
The end of the week, this past Saturday, I paced the 2nd half of the inaugural Rock & Roll Marathon up here in Seattle, specifically the 3:00:00 pace, which works out to 6:52 per mile. Along for the ride was former Pleasant Valley Viking, future all-american, and all-around terrible blogger Nate Ogden, which made the chore otherwise fairly pleasurable as we spent most of the time laughing at redundant jokes (I think I meekly waved at the high school cheerleaders who dotted the course about 117 times, and Nate laughed heartily every single time) and supporting runners. We did not have many people run with us, sadly. We passed a LOT of people, most of whom would stay with us for at most a mile before slowly fading. However I think it all worked out in the end. After passing a runner halfway up the final hill just after mile 25, we were barking at him to stay with us. He definitely wanted to but he was definitely falling back and I could sympathize, as I was going through the exact same thing in the 26th mile at Portland last year. Still we encouraged him and finally on the last downhill (right before the mile 26 mile marker) he turned it on and eventually caught us back. Nate went with him and led him in to a 2:59:40 or so (I crossed about 5-10 seconds later). It was his first marathon and he was PUMPED, thanking us for pulling him along. I honestly don't think he would have had we not been there. So that was cool, though I still kind of wish I could have had a nice 10+ strong contingent crossing with us under the figurative barrier.
The race itself...man, what a stupid course. I understand that the logistics and all of creating a course for 25,000 runners is probably a nightmare, but really...95% of my 2nd half leg was on highway 99. We ran north to about mile 18-19, turned around a cone and came back going southbound. We eventually passed the finish area (Qwest Field) and went for another mile or so before turning around ANOTHER cone (mile 24.5) and coming back northbound before finally taking an off-ramp down to Qwest Field (mile 26), outside of which the runners finished. I suppose I could take solace in that despite the fact I was not on a nicely shaded mountain trail (Nate, I promise those exist up here!), at least here I was at minimal risk of twisting my ankle for the 31st time of '09.
On the horizon sits the 50 miler, a
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( 2.5 / 2 )My time spent running since the 50k has been as good an experience as I could have hoped for. This will not be my typical "complain about shit" post. Running-wise, I pretty much have nothing to complain about. Well, maybe a thing or two, but I'll save it for the end and run through them really quickly, just so they're on the record.
THE GOOD
My time recovering from the 50k was easy breezy. The next day, as stated before, I ran a few easy miles and felt sore but capable. I took Monday off and then found myself fatigued yet able to hit it pretty good at the Tuesday speed workout, which actually ended up being a Tuesday hill workout. With the Swede, I did the hill charges on the hill we met on a year ago. Typically the workout is 9 charges, rotating between easy-medium-hard with easy recovery jogs on the downhill to the base. This time we were gonna do them the Swede's way though. As in, up hard, down hard. All of them.
I got through six and felt my form slipping and my times getting slightly slower (and the Swede finishing further and further ahead of me), so I backed off and did the final three at a pace I could a) maintain form-wise, b) speed-wise, and c) dignity-wise. I would then go hard on the downhills since those aren't really hard aerobically. I *was* happy to notice myself being much more able to actually run downhill rather than a year ago, where I spent the downhill portion of workouts a) braking instead of running and b) wincing in pain. And not only was I doing it all pain-free, but it was being done 3 days after a 50k that I assumed would ravage my weakened left shin.
Saturday was the 2nd of the Cougar Mountain Trail Series, the 7.6 miler, which on raceday was allegedly upgraded to 7.75 miler. The Swede was there, Patrick was there, and the guy who won last month was there. My plan was to go out with the Swede - who goes out harder than me and perhaps as hard as I *should* - and try to hang with him. We can do more damage together than 3 minutes apart, alone.
Fast forward about a mile as the Swede and last month's winner are slowly pulling away from me. Well, that was fun while it lasted. And by "fun" I mean "very difficult." Fortunately, I seem to be pulling away from whoever's behind me as I settle into the bronze position. A couple miles later I see the Swede at the other end of a long straightaway. The leader seems to have broken away from him. I slowly try to catch him so we can perhaps do the 2nd half of the race together.
I pull even somewhere around miles 4-5 and we hang together until for a few miles, myself pulling away minutely on uphills, him reeling me back in on flats and especially on downhills. About a half mile from the finish I tell him to "take 2nd" as we approached a decent stretch of downhill I knew he'd be able to hit harder than me. He did so and never looked back, crossing two seconds ahead of me. Not long after, he accused me of "quitting" and seemed about as upset as a swedish guy can seem towards a handsome fellow like myself. I feigned offense and denied his accusation, probably not very convincingly as he never let it go.
Despite this, we both ran really well...our times considerably faster than I'd guess we'd be running (54:12 and 54:14, respectively), especially since the race was (allegedly) .15 miles longer than last year. In 2008, the winning time for the 7.6 mile course was about 90 seconds slower than what we ran this year. We were also pleased to be inside of a minute within the leader's time, himself no slouch of a runner. The month before, I was 1:20 behind him in a 2.75 mile shorter race. I hope to be with him - and perhaps in front of him during important stretches, namely the finish line - during the final 13 miler, assuming I'm among the able-bodied after White River.
The Swede and I continued running afterward, getting another 50 or so minutes in as he lectured me on how poorly I raced that last half mile. The guy's a lot smarter than I am, so I just nodded my head and said "yeah" a bunch of times. He then declared we would have a "re-race" of the last half mile, where this time I would not "let him go" on the downhill stretch and instead act as if I cared about beating him. I complied, and just a little under a half mile later, despite my attempts to cut him off numerous times with my noodle arms, he went flying by me in the final 100m to beat me by, oh I don't know...about 2 seconds.
For my efforts in the actual race, I won a reusable water bottle and a sorta goofy-looking white hat. The Swede won another pair of free shoes.
On a somewhat related note, the Thursday prior I attended a symposium of sorts at SRC about trail running. Before the talk, they had their normal group run and I got to run with Krissy Moehl, the stud who beat me at last year's 50k, and Garett Graubins. She's doing the Western States 100 miler in a couple weeks and is a much more admirable soul than I. It was like getting to run with one of your idols. I tried not to say much or ask for her autograph. If that wasn't reward enough, after the talk I won a free pair of Vasque trail shoes. I'm really starting to develop a soft spot in my heart for Seattle Running Company.
THE BAD
1. During the Saturday race, that bruising type feeling I was suffering from on the top of my right foot (thanks to the 50k, where I first felt it), returned primarily during the high-speed downhills.
1a. I also rolled my ankle somewhat during the race around mile 5. I limped a few steps and was soon able to resume normal, blistering speed.
2. Sunday I headed back out to Cougar Mtn for the SRC morning run, which wound up being ~15.5 miles in ~2:20. After a few miles, that bruising feeling returned and, not knowing what else to do, I just gritted through it. Downhills were tortuous...uphills were nothing. I believe the cause is a combo of downhills and my vasque aether tech's non-ideal lacing structure.
2a. Around mile 5 or 6 of the Sunday run, I rolled that same brittle ankle again, this time worse. I walked on it for a couple minutes, found I could resume running on it, and slowly caught up to the group. Again, uphills provided no pain at all. Downhills were excruciating. With my god-like body heading east for a week, I will be limited in my running time/opportunities, will likely not be flying down technical downhill terrain, and will not be wearing the vasque pair. I therefore predict a rested and pain-free foot by next Wednesday, COUNT ON IT.
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( 3 / 10 )Team Creighton is back from an exhausting yet ultimately successful and reaffirming Saturday "workout", the Northface 50k, officially my 2nd-ever ultramarathon and my primary workout for the White River 50 mile in 6 weeks. I finished 3rd overall, 2nd male, in 5:00.
Last year I finished 4th overall, 3rd male, in 5:54. Much of the time improvement came from what I believe was a slightly easier course. Everything after mile 8 or so was everything I remember from last year, but those first 8 miles saw last year's very technical and muddy/sloppy couple loops replaced by a much more runnable stretch.
Here's the final graph my watch spit out later that night, to give you an idea of the climbs/descents for the following very wordy recap. I especially enjoy how my pace (the blue graph near the bottom) just plummets when I hit the last climb. I imagine most everyone's pace did that at that point in the race. Brutal.
;)
*******
Patrick and I headed up to Bellingham Friday in the late afternoon, myself cozy in Patrick's Prius' passenger seat. Perhaps too cozy, for I started annoying Patrick to no ends with my endless cynicism. His only recourse was to blast some Andrew WK song over and over again over my protests on xbox360 advancements, bunnies, the sun, and beautiful women.
We soon arrived at the REI store to get our bag and caught a question or two of the Q&A before getting bored and heading out to check in at the luxurious Travelodge Bellingham and find a place to eat. We narrowly averted disaster when Patrick's primary food choice after a few minutes of driving around actually became Pizza Hut. We got Subway instead as I'm sure I found a few dozen other things to complain about.
Watched a bit of Con Air to get us in the right frame of mind for a 5-6 hour trail race, and technically turned out the lights before while daylight still existed. Throughout the night, Patrick tried unsuccessfully about 13 times to climb into my bed with me. Mindful of how much I'd been complaining that day, I politely asked him to sleep in his own bed each time.
*******
We awoke at 5:15am and I immediately thought of my idols Crowther and Steidl, who had both started their runs 15 minutes EARLIER. Yeesh. I snuggled up with some food and started hydrating while, of course, watching Family Matters (hey look, it's Urkel-Bot! And Waldo!").
We got to the race on time and did all the prerace stuff you normally do...like stand in the port-o-potty line. The run-up to 7am did seem to close fast, my heart rate was a cool 110 when the race started. For the initial miles, I really just tried to chill and enjoy the race as much as possible.
After about 5-6 miles, I found myself closing in on a trio of guys while Patrick quietly kept pace about 100 yards behind me. We were on a slight downhill and I was reeling them in when I started hearing yelling behind me. At first I thought it was Patrick being obnoxious about cheering me on, but then I noticed a pack of about 5 guys coming back towards me about 100 yards down the road. "Were we really running around a cone down there?" I wondered. I turned around and saw Patrick waving us back towards his group. We had all apparently missed a hard right turn. Embarrassed, I headed back with the other 8 guys to encounter an uphill portion that pretty much enabled me to regain my spot in the pecking order since, you know, I'm so amazing at uphills and all. At the time I had no idea if the leader also missed the turn. Was he even further down that road, not knowing about the wrong turn and too far to be notified? Was he in that pack of five? Was he so far ahead that he was the only one to make the correct turn and that pack of five started us all down the wrong road? Was there anyone else with the leader? I really had no idea until about mile 9 when I finally saw the leader on an out and back portion. He was all alone and must have been the only one to not miss the turn. He also looked to be running well. If I was trying to win this race I woulda been pissed. Since I wasn't racing this race...well, I was still pissed. I estimate the whole missing the turn ordeal cost me about 3 minutes of time and wound up being inconsequential.
Also around mile 10, I separated myself from Patrick (himself in his inaugural ultra) and followed along with a woman who seemed to know what she was doing. I admit my thoughts were on last year, when I unassumedly passed Krissy Moehl at mile 2, only to have her barrel past my beaten carcass at mile 26 en route to victory. For the rest of the year I wished I knew before the race who Krissy was so that I could know better to have stayed with her. This woman looked like she could be this year's Krissy, so I thought it'd be a good idea to latch onto her and let the time fly. We got to talk a good amount. We both admitted this was a "training run" for much longer races later this summer, and she claimed to be a good friend of Krissy's, which served as even more motivation for me to follow her lead. She claimed to have pretty extensive experience (compared to us one & two timers), so if I was going to follow anyone, she won the nomination.
Soon we found out that we were #2 and #3 in terms of place. For the next 10 miles or so, we traded off leads, myself taking over on uphills and then her taking it Swede-style on the downhills (as I watched in envy) and mostly being the first into each aid station. My lack of ability on downhills was magnified here thanks to watching how fast she got small after passing me. I also took a good spill, tripping on a rock in the middle of the first big downhill around mile 17. My knee was bloodied and I was now covered in dirt, but I was fine and it did kind of distract me from the pain in my legs and feet. And luckily, she was still a couple minutes from sprinting past me and therefore did not witness it. At the aid stations, she also seemed to know what she was doing, while I tended to enjoy the scenery and snacks a bit more than was probably necessary before reluctantly heading back onto the trail. I think I may have even offered my services for help as the volunteers politely told me to get lost. At one aid station we entered together and she even managed to take a bathroom break and still got back out on the course while I stood there with my finger in my nose, eating pretzels and chatting up the 10 year old volunteers as they handed me cups of Nuun.
The stretch of misery that destroyed me last year around mile 25 (the 3rd and final main climb, heretofore known as "The Wall") greeted me once again, and while I was better prepared for it and spent less time laying in a fetal position crying, I was still hugely affected and could not use this stretch to retake the #2 spot as I had in previous climbs. When you're walking at, according to my watch, a 150 minute mile pace, it's hard to make up ground on the competitor in front of you. I merely hoped whoever was behind me was having as rough a go as I was and, as last year, just tried to put one foot in front of the other until the climb was over.
As reward for making it to the top, I treated myself to a 60 second or so casual walk on flat trail before resuming my best imitation of a runner for the final 5 miles.
Everything from there on out was pretty ho-hum. I found myself handling business much better than the year before during the final 2ish mile stretch after the last aid station (which was at the base of the final main descent. At this point I knew I was not going to catch 2nd and I was not going to get caught, so I merely tried to enjoy myself as best I could while not injuring myself.
While The Wall was the strongest source of pain and misery, the downhills ate away at my sole. After about half the race, my feet became racked with a bruising type pain I can only assume came from a combination of ultra-poor downhill form and less-supportive-than-ideal shoes. This took away a bit from the enjoyment I got from being assisted by gravity. After the final climb, I couldn't really let it go on the subsequent final descent, and in the final couple miles of slightly rolling fire road, I found myself actually preferring the uphills to the downhills. Once I got onto the much softer dirt on the single track for the final mile, my feet were more relieved and I was able to bring it home with a modicum of dignity. My watch even says I got it down to a 6:00 minute mile pace in the final quarter mile.
;)
Upon crossing I met the mysterious leader who, alone, didn't miss the turn 25 miles ago. To my joy I found out that I was only 11 minutes behind him by race's end. He probably put all or most of that time on me in the first half and simply held on, a stark contrast to myself being passed for the lead at mile 25 a year ago and watching the new leaders (3 of 'em) all put at least 20 minutes on me in the final 5 excruciating miles. The woman I'd been running with was in fact closing in on the leader hard, finishing only a little over a minute behind him. Had the race been a 52k, she probably would have been the winner (as for me, had the race been 52k, I probably would have crossed with two red splotches on my shirt near where you might expect my nipples to reside...dodged a bullet there). We playfully jocked each other, she reminding me a couple times that she beat me by a whole 10 minutes and myself reminding her that I did take a spill at mile 17 and happened to lay there in pain for, oh, I think it was about 11 minutes.I almost immediately headed over to the lake and soaked the legs in water that was really not cold enough to be too effective, but it was better than nothing and felt good, especially on my bruised-feeling feet. I was then surprised to see Patrick bringing it home only about 40 minutes after me, finishing in 5:38 and in 14th place overall, 10th among men. After changing I almost immediately started replacing calories, together with Patrick throwing down about 8 different energy drinks and 16 chocolate chip cookies as we waited for the awards ceremony and Patrick's gear bag to return from mile 15. Soon enough we weren't hungry at all and my 3 month plan to gorge on fast food on the way home was sounding less and less appealing.
The ceremony itself did not exceed or match last year's in terms of schwag (no Zune or cartons of Endurox), but this time I *did* get to shake the hand of one Dean Karnazes while he and his burly quadriceps placed a medal around my neck. As the only guy in jeans and a t-shirt, Dean's first words to me were "You just get out of the shower?" I don't remember my exact reply but it was surely really hilarious and witty. I think it may have been "No". Still a more memorable exchange than the one we had last year, which actually didn't occur since Dean was allegedly somewhat preoccupied in the hot tub during our awards presentation, leaving his flunkie to hand out the awards.
Here are some shots from Patrick's camera phone. Dean knighting me, me greeting the 3rd place male, and the entire group shot, with me unfortunately in the middle even though I did not win. Whoops. Dean's legs were...very shaved.
;)
;)
;)
All in all I can't complain one bit. The Travelodge was amazing, the Subway was passable, the course was good, the volunteers were great, the weather was PERFECT (60 & overcast, slightly misty at the top of the final climb), and my body responded well. I was even able to put in an easy 4 miles the next day with really nothing but mild soreness in both quads. By midday Monday I was feeling no worse off than had I run a mere 20 mile LSD run with the club.
Still, upon crossing the line, I wanted nothing to do with the thought of running 19 more miles. So it's back on the horse for me.
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( 3 / 15 )In NYC I got in one more day of running than I was expecting...meaning I got one run in. Saturday morning I was fortunate enough that there was one other guy interested in getting out there for an hour or so, and I jumped at the chance to join him, 3 hours of sleep be damned. Had I been the lone runner there, there was probably a 3% chance I'd drag myself out of bed.
So I got that hour in Saturday.
I traveled to NYC with a slight cold and knew that the bachelor party would not allow much for a) sleep b) healthy living or c) runs. While I did get one run in, the other two proved true and I came home feeling at the very best, no better than when I left Seattle. I suppose I could consider myself fortunate to not feel worse.
As I arrived in Seattle, the cold has started to leave but is being replaced by allergy misery which at times feels like the same thing. Despite being uncomfortable most of the time this is fine. I do have the 50k coming up in three days and while I'm sorta "training through it", I am scaling back the runs this week.
I did 6.1 kinda easy miles Monday, a reduced effort tempo run last night (same spot as week before, w/less mileage), got 8ish easy miles tonight instead of 11-12, and will do an easy 45-60 minutes tomorrow instead of a hard hill workout. So the week's mileage should be over 60 after the 31 on Saturday.
As for the race, I reiterate that I do not intend to "race" anything...unless I find myself next to someone at mile 28 or something. I also do not know what to expect since I believe the course is somewhat different than last year (easier).
*****
Today I heard that both Greg Crowther and Uli Steidl would be running the Northface 50 miler this weekend. I am not. I'm running the 50k, and I don't plan on burning up the course either. But I'm stoked.
I knew Crowther was running it, but was not aware Uli was. For me, this is awesome. Both of these guys are local "elites" who I watch run and merely wish I could do some crude imitation of. Last year, Greg probably jogged the 2008 CMTS 5 miler and beat me by over 2 and a half minutes. Uli did a tempo run during the 10 miler and beat me and my 100% effort by 6+ minutes. But the caliber these guys are, it wasn't humbling in the least. If anything it was an honor to even be within sneezing distance of them. In the somewhat cocooned world of trail/ultra running, I'm lucky that so many great runners actually live either right here in Seattle or really really close by. I'll see Crowther running while driving my car, or at a track. I'll see Uli on Tiger Mtn. I can run WITH Brian Morrison and bug him with questions about his past performances/future goals. I can enjoy the bittersweet pain of having Krissy Moehl fly by me at mile 26 of a 50k, herself in spirits I hadn't felt since mile 2 and couldn't possibly imagine, happily encouraging me up the monstrosity of a hill she herself seemed to be having no problems with.
In a way, considering my growing love of the sport, these are the small celebrities. They can do things I will never be able to do, yet they are at the same time accessible. I can run with them (in a race environment only briefly before I die, but still). Saturday, if I run hard enough, I can have a front row seat for the 50 mile finale and watch a couple awesome trail runners I admire bring it home (last year the 50 mile winner came in about 5 minutes after I finished). I won't bug them after the race, but I totally could if that was my style. And even if they were annoyed and/or blinded by my scalp in the summer sun, they'd probably act cool with it and indulge me for a minute or two.
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( 3.2 / 26 )After my heavy-duty weekend, mileage-wise and vomit-wise, I wasn't anticipating feeling especially chipper at the Tuesday speed workout. I *was* anticipating heavy legs, sweat, dust, and questions about my non-existant marathon plans peppered towards me by Andy.
Fortunately though, I did have one ace up my sleeve, that being the return of The Swede! Back for a month and just long enough to squeeze in one of the Cougar Series races (the 7.6 miler), he vowed to be there at the track Tuesday night for his 2nd or 3rd run of the year, complete with his typical assortment of self-depreciating (and altogether dishonest) comments regarding his "lack of fitness".
My plan for the workout was similar to the previous week's...I would do a 7.5k tempo (last week was 7.1 or so) except the entirety of the tempo would avoid the flat lake loop and instead utilize the rollingly hilly Woodland Park XC loop. It was actually a 3.75k loop I devised that started and ended on the dirt track, but we would run it a 2nd time in reverse (no rest) to complete the workout.
Martin hung out behind me the entire way, unwittingly (or wittingly, who knows with him) spurring me along to a faster clip than I'd be able to handle all alone. He's shown himself to be the type who will do YOUR workout, even if he can do something harder/faster, so for about 90% of it (basically until the last long downhill), I was worried about a) giving myself a hard workout as well as b) giving HIM a hard workout since I wasn't sure he'd do it on his own if I was holding him back. We finished up in 28:03, or about a 6:00 pace exactly, which included a slight negative split for the 2nd half and was honeslty probably closer to my race pace than my tempo pace. Which I didn't *want* to do but figured I would anyway with a certain foreign guy breathing down my neck. He claimed afterward that he wouldn't have been able to go any faster than we did. I only 25% believe him. He's now gonna spend the next 2.5 weeks getting out of "horrible" shape and put himself in position to do some damage on Cougar Mtn. If the same dudes show up as the 5 miler, I know he'll go out with them and since it's only 7.6 miles, he could hang and put the fear into them.
Bookended the tempo with 4 strides (8 total) and a bit of stretching before calling it a night. 10 miles total.
Coach had this cool thing called a "digital camera" with him that night, taking pics of people doing their workouts. It's pretty cool, allegedly no film required! Sadly, he apparently didn't get anything of me, so I believe we're now approaching 8 months of no images of me running on my running website. We're working on that behind the scenes.
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( 2.9 / 24 )This weekend I threw up for the first time in I don't know how many years. I really don't remember the last time I threw up (have I mentioned I never get sick?). If I had to guess I'd say I was around 7-8 years old...so 1987-1988. Probably after a big dinner. Then I saw a made-for-tv movie on bulimia and hadn't performed the act since. Until this weekend.
After 14 group miles with the SRC pack around hilly Tiger Mountain, I was feeling good. The run, despite the elevation gain, felt pretty easy, and only the downhills imposed any sort of discomfort on my legs. As the group dispersed after our roughly two and a half hours of running, I went to the car and grabbed a Clif bar and refilled my water bottle. The first 14 miles saw me use one bottle...after eating the Clif bar I was gonna set out for 6 more miles and figured one more bottle would suffice as hydration. I was not correct, and found myself twice filling my bottle with oh-so refreshingly cold yet oh-so untreated creek water and over time shooting the water into my mouth which eventually led to my stomach and digestive track.
The final 6 miles sucked, perhaps due to the fact that I stood around like an idiot after the first 14, eating my Clif bar and chatting with a couple folks for roughly 15 minutes longer than I should have. By the time I started back up I was sufficiently tight and the immediate climb was much more brutal than the same climb was only a few hours earlier. My bottle of treated water quickly went down my throat and I found myself soaking in the heat much more than before. Soon I was in sufficient tree cover and cooled off but remained ever thirsty. Hence my foray(s) into the creek.
Now, I had done this dozens of times before in my life. I can remember distinctly back in high school cupping that garbage Lindo Channel water with my hands and drinking heartily after particularly brutal xc workouts on particularly warm Chico evenings, at least those brutal enough/warm enough where I couldn't fathom making the final half mile of the run back to the school and the treated water. And I was always fine. Never had an issue. Perhaps because I would only take enough to get me to the school, not the 2 water bottles-full I sucked down on Sunday. I don't know how any of that shit works, but I figure it makes sense that the more you drink, the more at-risk you are.
NEway, I get back to the car and aside from thirsty/hungry/tired I feel fine. I pack up and get outta there after a few stretches. It's about a 30 min drive back to Seattle, and it's warm outside, hot in the car. Halfway home it hits me that Folklife is still going on near our apt and it's gonna be a bitch on the Mercer St off-ramp, making what would normally be a 30 min drive a 60 min drive. Around that same time I start feeling a little nauseous. And thirsty. However my water quickly ran out and I started fretting on the off-ramp about how long it would take to make it back to homebase.
I take a detour and stop at a market to get gatorade and water, which served as relief for only my parched mouth, not my nausea. Roughly 10 minutes later I'm approaching a stoplight only a few minutes from my apt and the urge hits me. I frantically find my empty water bottle and hold it to my mouth. And....there it goes. 10 seconds later...there it goes again. Now the bottle is 3/4 full and I'm sitting at the stoplight trying to find the other water bottle to no avail. There it goes again, overflowing a bit. This is nice.
Suddenly though, the nausea disappears. The 3rd time truly was the charm. I feel like a new man, albeit slightly lighter. The world is my oyster, at my fingertips even...unfortunately I have regurgitated bile sitting in my lap and I need to get home and clean up. And rinse my damn mouth out. And ice my legs. And then sleep. The world can wait.
*****
In other news, it was a gloriously busy weekend for me, running-wise. I did over 16 road miles Saturday at a leisurely-feeling low 7:00 pace, giving me 36 total miles after Sunday's debacle. All told about 5:30-5:45 of running.
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( 3.1 / 24 );)
Dear stupid orange hat,
It's been fun. Ok not really. I mean c'mon, you make me look like an idiot. You look like a swimcap with a brim. An orange swimcap. But you were free; I reluctantly placed you in my plastic bag after some event coordinator handed me to you after a local 5k because it was close to my birthday and someone (I ain't naming names) severely overestimated the amount of stupid orange hats needed to fulfill demand. That race was about 1.5 years ago, and I only now, just a week ago actually, got around to using you. You may have noticed this. You hung out with all the other hats of mine that never got used. The Northface visor that does nothing but enhance my baldness, the Rockstar trucker hat I can only imagine wearing during Halloween.
But then I lost the one running hat I did use, the black nike hat that had been through wars with me. Violent hail, searing heat, unsuccessful sub-3:00 marathon attempts, quasi-successful ultramarathon debuts. That hat had my back. But I lost him, and with summer coming and my scalp less protected than ever before, I admit I was caught off guard. Suddenly, about two weeks ago, before a run it was almost 80 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. I frantically searched for something--anything--I could use to protect my head aside from you before I took off for Bender's apt. A plastic bag could work, but that would elicit odd stares, even in Capitol Hill. Maybe I could get the cafe next door to donate some saran wrap for the cause, but they refused. I resigned to my fate and used you and did my best to avoid eye-contact with humans for the next hour and a half.
Then I used you two more times out of pure laziness on my part, too pretend-busy to go get a new hat, and too miserly to admit I can afford it.
But the other day I was reminded of something in my wallet. Also orange, a business card-sized gift certificate to the very same store you claim to promote. For $25 I could get a new hat! Or, I could try and make that saran wrap idea a go and instead get this!
To sum up, stupid orange hat, we're through. Thanks for the ~3 hours of sun protection you've given me, but I don't want to see you again unless you're being used to scrub my toilet, or you're on Patrick's head cause I've successfully tricked him into thinking it looks good on him.
You suck,
Joseph Ryder Creighton
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