Pudding brain

Oh dudes. This month is totally getting away from me and I hate just hate that.

Know what else I hate? Only blogging once a week. Seriously.

I have shit to tell you people and when it gets to the weekend and I sit down to tell you all of it, my brain numbs up and I have a hard time scraping together two coherent words that you might want to read.

But that's mostly because I've been spending all my words on NaNoWriMo.

So far, I'm about 30K words into the 50K goal and I'm on track to win again this year, for the third year in a row. YAY.

In even better NaNoNews (which is a thing I just made up. You should go use it as a hash tag on Twitter and get a trend going. I'll join in! Maybe.) I may be writing a novel this year that actually makes it to Stage 2: Editing. Which will be wholly unlike my previous two novels that will die a cold solitary death in the forever phase of Stage 1: NaNoWriMo Draft.

Now, granted, I'm not 100% sure that I'll edit this novel, but since I never made it this far into the month while still liking my novel and the characters therein, it at least has a better chance than either of the two stink bombs from years past.

I attribute this relative success to three things:

1. Scrivener
   Seriously, having actual writing software that lets you put together character sketches, outlines, scene descriptions and so on, is actually as helpful as the Theys of the world say it is. Not that Scrivener is paying me to say that or anything. I just really like it and it's helping me not hate my book this year. Hooray.
2. I wrote an outline before I started writing.
   Now, granted, I wrote two outlines and did research and wrote up chapter summaries and everything before doing my usual punt at the 11th hour by deciding to go with an entirely new, un-outlined premise, but then I wrote up a quick outline for that idea and it's been semi-smooth sailing since. In the sense that I have only rewritten the premise once or twice and the novel has taken only two or three major shifts since I started writing. OK, so it's not the same premise at all, really, but I haven't changed the title, so that's something.
3. @NaNoWordSprints
   Ever had to sit down and catch up on 5,000 words in a day? Yeah. It's not the best. Particularly when your brain is filled with pudding and you can't come up with the brain power to order a burrito, much less write a novel in draft form.
   But having the @NaNoWordSprints deal going on Twitter, where they have some nice NaNoWriMo person tweeting ideas, commands, prompts and silliness to get you writing as many words as humanly possible in 20-30 minute increments is EXTREMELY helpful when your fingers thud down on the keyboard and immediately freeze. What? I need to have a sudden and powerful weather shift occur in my story? OK. I can think of something for that. Or, an alligator or anteater needs to appear or be mentioned? OK. I can fit that in somehow. Give me 10 minutes. So, yeah, super helpful.

 Mostly, I feel like this year's NaNoWriMo situation is an improvement over past efforts since I'm 10 days from the finish line and I haven't gone on a wordly killing spree inspired by intense hatred of all my characters.

Though someone will have to die soon. I have a chapter in my head all written up for that scene, so unless someone starts pissing me off, I'm just going to have to make up someone annoying to knock off so I can have them shoved carelessly into the back of an ambulance like so much bagged lawn clippings.

Anyway, that's what's up with NaNoWriMo. I'm going for my third win and no one has died yet. I'll let you know when I cross the finish line and we can do a body count together.

In other November news, I signed up for the Applied Materials Turkey Trot again, for the 4th consecutive year, and almost immediately after paying my $35 registration fee, decided I probably won't run it after all.

Why would I throw $35 in a hole like that?

Well, when you submit your registration, you end up on a thank you page of sorts, and this page has a hideous counter to tell you how many other idiots are running this race on Thanksgiving morning in some half assed effort to wish away the calories from the 16 pies they plan to eat.
And when that counter says 18,296 like it did when I was sent there after registering, I had to take a moment to get over nearly swallowing my tongue and then swiftly decide that my $35 would just be considered a donation to the food banks that benefit from the race as well as a little gift to myself in the form of a run through my vacant town on Thanksgiving morning while all these crazy fuckers are off running this race on the other side of town.

Yeah. Jada and I will be going for a solitary run around my neighborhood and, on our way home, will stop by a friend's place for Thanksgiving bloody Marys and ZERO race day bullshittery.

I'm pretty sure.

I mean, you know how much I love a balloon arch and race day jitters and all that shite, so I may give in at the last minute and subject myself to the throngs of insane morons dressed in costume pressed together in the name of extra pie, but it's likely that I'll opt for a quiet run through empty streets with the dog, followed by bloodies with a good friend and some race fries even though I didn't run a race at all.

Because I guess I'm just a cheater like that.

Also, the bees went nigh-night after their third sugaring, nearly all the fava beans have germinated and at this very moment I'm sitting in front of a fully functional gas fireplace that is giving me no guff whatsoever when I go to turn it on.

I feel like I should probably go buy a lottery ticket.

Running update: I hate the road. QUICKLY.

I have a list of things to post about, but all of them require photos, so instead of those you get this: I'm still running.

HOORAY, I know.

But it is actually not the most useless topic for me to post about since some of you might still care about running even though I haven't talked about it in ages. And I've talked about training even less, so there you go. Be happy that I'm coming back around to this topic at all because if I weren't I'd be veering off in a new disgusting direction called, "I'm a fat ass and can't fit into my jeans. Send gin."

Yes, people, despite what some other running blogs may claim (because they are written by liars. Fit, fast ab-having liars), I run because it keeps the fatness at bay. It doesn't necessarily usher in the era of visible abs or toned ass cheeks, but it at least keeps me in my jeans and lets me wear shorts during the months of the year which Bubba has deemed acceptable for me to be in them.

He gives me mean looks when I trot them out in December with my flip-flops because he obviously wants to crush my soul.

Whatever. I love my shorts. And flip-flops. And tank tops. And I also love bikinis, but we haven't quite found the right combination of running, strength training, not drinking a dozen cocktails a week and race fries to solve for that equation, so I'm sticking really close to my shorts and tank tops in the hopes that one day the stars will align and I'll be able to put on one of my many bikinis (not looking like Jennifer Aniston has not deterred me from buying 100 bikinis) and not shriek in horror.

And so I run.

Except when I do a trail race and roll the ever loving fuck out of my ankle to the point of an audible meaty crunch. Then I sit the sidelines for a few weeks until the persistent gnawing pain subsides enough for a quiet run sans-Garmin/speed goals. Then I run all quiet and gentle like for another week to make sure that the painlessness has settled in enough to go back out with the Garmin and dreams of 23 minute interval runs and sub-60 6 mile runs on the weekend.

BUT ONLY THEN. Not sooner. And it's a bit of sweet annoying torture to sit the bench when you know all the while that the longer you wait before going back out the more painful it's going to be and the more likely it is that your shorts will stop fitting right because your Ab Hider 5000 (AKA belly) will re-emerge right when you were getting ready for Shorts Acceptable weather.

So, as you can see, training while recovering from an injury is a tedious process.

And that's where I'm at right now. Front and center in Tedious Race Training for the upcoming Wharf to Wharf in July.

A 10K race held on a road even though I said to you guys and, more importantly, TO ME, that I would stop racing on roads because I hate it and even more than I hate racing on the road, I hate training on the road because people always try to hit you with their cars because they're way too interested in drinking their Starbucks, beating their backseated children or checking the game on their iPhone to watch out for reflectively dressed runners just trying to get in a quick 6 miles before it becomes monstrously hot in San Jose, CA.

My hatred is very specific.

Also, training on my city's roads is suffocatingly boring. OH MY GOD is it boring. I can change up my route all I want, wear a costume, sing out loud in the faces of babies, give everyone the finger, pull candy from my pants, do intervals of skipping and hula hooping and STILL it would crush my soul with its boringness.

I've become very attached to my trail runs, folks, and man does it show when I have to go out and run the roads.

Based on the looks I get from oncoming runners, I don't seem happy or approachable. That whole, "We're all in this together" vibe that I used to occasionally experience has gone out the window. I'm definitely projecting a, "What the fuck am I doing here?" vibe and it doesn't sit well with all these fast and apparently content runners who are out trotting our city's streets with a pleasant look on their sweaty faces.

Perhaps they haven't been nearly creamed by a minivan yet. Or perhaps they've never experienced the sheer joy of sprinting down a mossy shaded trail protected overhead by a thick canopy of trees.

Either way - we're not the same anymore. I don't understand you people and I barely understand me.

The only reason I can come up with - as to why we're all out running the streets instead of some lovely trail through the woods or along the coast - is that we're all trying to defend some road-based PR for some road-based race that we signed up for without flipping on that important Brain switch before hitting "Register".

I mean, I have my sub-60 10K PR. I got it a year ago and I thought I was going to hang that up forever.

10K - 58:15. Done. Forever.

But, no. I signed up for another 10K and I just can't go out there and fail my PR because then I'd start thinking bad things about myself and then I'd have a lot of cocktails and then HOLY SHIT what are my jeans doing with that giant blob obscuring the belt loops ohmygoditsmybelly.

You see the vicious circle I've created for myself then, yes?

So, I'm training for this 10K. On the road. And I'm not running in the hills because I don't have time from all this running on the road business. And it's yucky. And I'm mad at myself for signing up for a road race even though it's supposed to be one of those races that *everyone who's ever called themselves a runner* does. And even though last weekend I went out to do my first training run in preparation for this race after meatily crunching my ankle running in the blessed hills and BAM...

Killed it in 56:15.

Oh HOT DAMN.

Then, just before that, I did my 2.5M interval training run in 23:05, which is 2 seconds faster than my fastest interval training run ever.

HOTTEST DAMN.

It's funny how I'm suddenly sorta almost maybe looking forward to next Saturday's long run because this week's didn't suck as mightily bad in the time department as I thought it would.

Yeah, funny that.

00:30:38

Well that is a shitastic time if I ever saw one.

Especially given that my most recent 5Ks have been sub-30s and I'd had some faint vision of coming in sub-28:57 this time around. I think my imagination even wandered into the What if I can sub-28 territory.

My imagination is apparently delusional OR it is not acquainted with strollers.

Jogging strollers. Double strollers. TRIPLE GOD DAMNED STROLLERS. Strollers lined up right at the starting line and next to the ~6 mile pace signs. Oh, really now?

Dudes - there were one million strollers at this race. And it was a problem. And before I rant about strollers being just everywhere and anywhere I wanted to run to escape the throbbing, drooling masses I would like to rant about the dog policy.

Specifically that they didn't allow dogs because of some vaguely referenced "liability".

Um, if you can have people of all fitness (and aptitude) levels operating strollers three times the size of your average dog and these strollers are filled with kids who do NOT want to be pushed at high, medium or slow speed through the overcrowded streets of my fair downtown so they are screaming and throwing shit out of their seats as they are being used as battering rams, HOW can that not be a liability?

Do you like how my no-dog rant became the stroller rant? Yes, I'm good like that.

Anyway, there were strollers. And there were very small kids racing on their own behalf which seemed mostly just like a bunch of kids screaming and racing around because they couldn't find their mom in the throngs of 1800+ runners. So, you know, they're running horizontally through the course rather than straight ahead and...not my favorite, but OK - it's a race benefiting the local elementary school, so I had accepted this fact from the start.

I knew I was going to have to not crush little kids. Fair.

I knew there were going to be strollers, too, but I apparently underestimated my patience for such things.

Though, all told, I did take advantage of a particularly fast double stroller runner (double! and so fast! and in the tiniest shorts!) by drafting her for about half a mile as she broke trail, but - and I hate this - she was too fast.

Yes. Here was a woman about the size of my shoe maneuvering a DOUBLE stroller through a suffocatingly crowded field of runners/joggers/walkers/looking-for-their-mommy-ers and here she was-  too quick for me to keep pace with. I think she was running an 8 minute mile - at least.

And remember - I'm a 9 minute mile AT BEST kind of girl - so it didn't take long for her to leave me in the dust.

But - Hey Fast Double Stroller Runner Lady - you're awesome! And thanks for the lead from mile 1.5-2!

The only other thing I'll bitch about - because even I see the folly in bitching about so many things in a short 3 mile race, was the timing.

The timing was "All new and technical and professional and shit because we're using a real chip timer company!" (OK, so that's not an exact quote...), so I assumed we'd have either the stickers on our bibs or the shoelace looping chips, but no.

It was some foam sticker stuck to the back of the bib. Which wasn't a big deal, because I assume it'd function like all the other chips like this I'd used in the past. Specifically that when I went over the starting line strip, I'd hear a beep and when I came back across the finish line strip, I'd hear another beep.

Not so. I heard no beeps. Not even that comical Super Beep Fest that you get at the outset of most races as the masses head across the start line. And - the thing that fucked me up the most - there weren't any start or finish line strips.

How the hell am I supposed to know when to start shoving people out of my way if there's no starting line strip?

I mean, until now I've really been low key at these mass starts and don't start actually running and trying to make space to run a normal pace until I get to the starting strip. I don't waste energy doing that while I'm toddling to the start pressed against everyone in their newly collected race Tshirts. What's the point? If I'm not being timed, I'm not running.

And therein lies the problem. I didn't know when to start running (and pushing, shoving and eye-gouging).

I started my Garmin when I went under the balloon arch and stopped it when I came back under the same arch. My watch said 29:47, which, still, not great, but still sub-30, but my official time is almost a minute slower.

What a rip.

Anyway, aside from all my random rantings, the race was fine. I saw my cousin, neighbors and friends and we all started the race together. My neighbor and I walked to and from the race together, which was also nice and neighborly of us. I got some interesting things in the goodie bag that entertained me at packet pick up (a dish scrubber? What about that says, "Running" to you?). Money went to the school in our town. I was home an hour after I left and in time to go have cocktails and Race Fries with Bubba and fellow runners.

And, as Bubba reminded me, this was a small town "fun run" and let's not take it so god damned seriously and just eat your Race Fries and have another cocktail because you've got another race in two weeks so just worry about that now.

He really knows how to put things in perspective.

Cheers courtesy of Sloe Gin Fizz

HURRY! Look! The tomatoes will be ripe in a really long time from now.

Oh my god let's talk about the garden already because if I wait until I "have time" I'll be shoving aside tomatoes just to type these words.

Because - PEOPLE - the tomatoes are all blooming.

I'm actually blooming a lot more than this because this picture is a week old.

I might actually be a different angle of the same tomato but since this photo was taken a week ago, there's no good way to tell.

I have four tomato plants this year: 2 Better Boys, 1 Brandy-last year I was a happy mistake-wine and 1 Sun Sugar cherry tomato, even though cherry tomatoes are usually not my thing but OH do these make a good pan sauce for green beans.

Oh, and hey, the beans are on the poles, just like the good little whores they are.

Yeah, these aren't on the poles yet because this was a week ago when I took this. You know.

And I got a pretty good germination rate from the Fortex green beans which is good news, shade-wise, for the lettuce that is big, bushy and ready to hang out with some blue cheese dressing.

Look. I love blue cheese dressing and I do not even care if it covers all my homegrown lettuce (Lollo Bionda and Merveille des Quatre Saisons) because all of that makes it into my belly so I get some nutrition from the lettuce somehow and YUM I get to basically drink blue cheese dressing. Yes, the lettuce is just a vehicle to get the dressing into my mouth and no, I don't care what kind of piglet that makes me.

Though, note: not taking suggestions.

We're scared of cheese of any color now.

We're too small to know any better.

On a non-salad dressing note, the Slo-Bolt cilantro is slowly bolting.

The fact that it's not a blur of growing activity in this photo proves its "Slo-Bolt"iness.

Now, maybe it hasn't bolted because it's not that warm yet or because I've pruned it for tacos once already, but who can tell. I'm hopeful that I'll remember to plant it in successions so that we'll have some cilantro around when the tomatoes ripen in OH TWO LONG MONTHS FROM NOW but I'm not holding my breath for that particular miracle.

And can I just say that I don't understand why they can't just call it SloW Bolt rather than Slo. What do we, as Americans, have against the proper spelling of normal words. It's not like Bob Slo bio engineered this cilantro to bolt slower and therefore got to lend his namesake to the seeds. And it's not even a cocktail appropriate Sloe, like in my beloved Sloe Gin Fizzes like the one I had after the race on Saturday (with Race Fries and bacon, don't you worry) so that we could come up with some spicy cocktail drink with it.

No. It's just dumb.

A dumb thing that annoys me just like when people decide to name a restaurant Kountry Kitchen because that somehow sounds more cozy and like a place you can get good waffles than Country Kitchen. OR it sounds like a breakfast place run by the Klan.

Whatever, the grapes are up.

"Up" in the sense that they're growing.

They'll be officially "Up" when they're on the cable. I'll think of an inappropriate way to explain that situation later.

Of everything that's growing right now (including that lavender that's completely cracked out)(and so pretty)(and I can't wait for it to open up, which should happen this week, because the bees will be all over it and that is my vision) the grapes are probably growing the slowest, but I'm chalking that up to it's their first year in my yard and they're shy around all the other over-achieve-y plants.

Plants can be shy! Don't you mock me. I hear you out there. Jerks.

Wouldn't YOU be shy around this ambitious lime tree? Yes. It's cocktail making power is intimidating.

I WILL BE LIMONCELLO. BOW TO ME.

I tell you, these plants can be pushy.

Poor grapes.

We're small but mighty.

And that's about all the photos I have to prove to you that the garden is happening even though I haven't said much here.

BUT - if you're following my Twitter bullshit, you know that Team Cucumbers has a leg up on the lagging Team Melons.

And, again, this is a week old, so now there are FOUR cucumber seedlings and ZERO melon ones. Watch out boob fruit!

Now the only thing I think I have left to tell you, garden-wise, is that I've already added the first harvest to this year's Finny's Garden Tracker so get your eyeballs over there to check it out. And, if you see it and get all, "OH! I should totally do that, too. Too bad I hate making spreadsheets and how come no one just makes them FOR ME WOE IS ME." - here. (Just make yourself a copy and go nuts.)

OK - more soon, with less craptastic photos.

1:31:03 or M:UD:DY

How do you feel about looking at and talking about mud for the next few minutes? Yeah? Good thing.

My eyes can't unsee this.

Dudes, it was so muddy.

It rained all Friday night and HEY FUN it was still raining when I woke up to my alarm Saturday morning at 6:30 (ew) and as I drove for an hour to the East Bay it was raining yet still, so when I parked and headed over to the shuttle, I just got ready to be wet for the foreseeable future.

You know, one of those moments where you just clamp down and steel yourself against the forthcoming cold and damp. You try to forget how nice and warm and dry it is in the car. You say bye-bye to dry socks. You know, the usual.

Except this was not the usual. Because this wet and cold was totally a side dish to the big enchilada which was The Mud.

When I showed up at the start area, picking up my bib and chip on race day rather than my usual Super Anal Retentive early packet pick up the day before strategy, all things were already pretty wet and muddy.

FYI: Prepare to read the words "Mud" and "Muddy" about every other word in this post because, you know.

Thankfully, I didn't do my usual Show Up An Hour Before Race Time thing because I knew the weather was shitastic and didn't want to stand out in it, so once I got my bib on and did a fair amount of stretching, it wasn't long before the half marathoners (god rest their souls) were off, and we in the 10K group were only 15 minutes behind them.

I heard rumors of a 50K group coming over the hill from a very early race start (something in the 6s), but until I saw the photos of that group, I really didn't believe these people existed. The craziness! It would have to be extreme! And, according to the photos, it was.

Minor creek crossing. FOR 50 KILOMETERS. Holy.

For us though, heading out on our own 6.2 mile adventure, we set off around 9:15 with light rains, a decent surface under our feet (AKA It wasn't mud) and a bit of wind swirling around our cold faces.

Have I said it was cold? It was cold. Something on the order of 45 degrees at race start. Which, not too bad under normal circumstances, but it was also raining, so standing around wet in 45 degree weather while the wind does its thing is, like, well, chilly.

We were all basically shivering and looking all big eyeballed at the race announcer getting ready to get started, especially when he announced via the loudspeaker that, "By the way, folks, there are a lot of creek crossings out there, so don't let me catch you in the post race photos tip-toeing around the edge of any of these creeks because it's not going to work. Just blast right through them."

HOO-ray. I should have worn a wetsuit. Or perhaps brought my snorkel.

But you know, at this point I was already settling into my It's Raining mindset. The one you get like when you're camping or whatever and it's cold and there's nothing you can do about it so you just go on as though it's perfectly normal to be standing around in the rain being wet.

Because at that moment, the biggest thing concerning me was the wet and cold.

So we set off. Somewhere about 9:15am.

That girl that looks like she's being Rocky Balboa there with the hood - that's me. Douche.

The first, say, 100 yards of the trail was fine. A little splashy, but totally unremarkable aside from its actual runability.

Beyond that? Well, let me summarize: dark brackish mud, sticky milk chocolate mud, oddly chunky what-appeared-to-be limestone mud, mid-calf deep creek crossing, horse poo mud, narrow uphill slippery single track trail (also mud), knee deep creek crossing, wide foot well ridden mud trail, a gate, creek crossing, trail that's a creek, huge slippery hill where you have to hold on to trees on the edges to get to the top, giant downhill slide some chose to ride on their asses or as though they were ski-skating, creek crossing, big puddles, uphill mudslide, people falling up, downhill mudslide, people falling down, 10K turnaround loop (AKA A mostly flat creekbed which was obviously full and running), more mud, more creek crossings, more puddles, more mud, OH MY GOD FLAT ROCKS HOORAY, more mud, a gate again, brackish mud, creek crossing, creek crossing, totally remarkable runable trail, DONE.

If this woman weren't giving me my finisher's medal in this photo, I'd be a might pissed she's blocking my heroic finish.

Or something like that.

 

 

Don't laugh at my hoodie/hat/sunglasses combo - it was cold, raining and mud was flying at my eyes. SHUT UP, YOU.

What I'm trying to say was that all my yet unfulfilled desires for playing in the mud and splashing in puddles were fulfilled yesterday and WHOOPS whetted once again because now all I want to do is go back out and do it again.

Y'all - it was a fucking blast.

I got to stomp through high water, with people around me mind you, just as fast and splashy as I wanted, without a care for who or what got wet, like a hundred times. And then, THEN, I got to splash, splosh, smack, squoosh, through 5+ miles of the stickiest, gooshiest, most suck-the-shoes-off-your-feet muddy mud that a five year old person could hope for.

The mud pies I could have made. Seriously. The best ever.

And then I practically sailed across the finish line like a god damned warrior and had a really good grilled sausage from the super great post-BBQ spread put on by Whole Foods and some other race sponsors.

It's hard to describe how lovely it was to stand amongst a couple hundred other muddy, sweaty, soaking wet runners in the rain eating a very good grilled sausage while other muddy, sweaty, soaking wet runners came trotting across the finish line. Including the half marathon winner man who came in while I was loading up my sausage (wow) somewhere around the 1:56 mark.  It was just lovely. And fun. And people were rad. And I can't believe I can have such a good attitude about an event that involved me being 100% wet and muddy and sweaty and cold for nearly 3 hours.

Between the shuttling and walking and getting ready and actual running and then eating and standing around and shuttling some more, I daresay I came close to becoming one with my running clothes.

My shoes - I hardly recognized them when I got to my car.  I peeled them and my drippy socks off for the drive home. When it came to cleaning, I'm not ashamed to say that there was a hose involved.

Brooks' before hosing.

Brooks' between hosings.

However, despite the treachery, I managed to come home from a 6.2 mile run with 1400' elevation gain and a time that was exactly the same as my training runs on solid, but equally steep, ground.

I'm taking that for the win.

Race fries courtesy of an old favorite.

It's still Long Run Saturday no matter what you think.

In training for road races, in the past, Saturday was always my Long Run Day. So, if I was training for, say, a half marathon, Saturday might mean, "Day I Run 12 Miles" or something. It wasn't always something I looked forward to, but it was something I did because of the fear of failing shamefully in front of 10,000+ people on race day by keeling over at mile four after not training properly and instead getting drunk on Friday nights and then skipping a Saturday Long Run to nurse a hangover with ill-gotten fries.

That's, in a shell, what Saturday Long Runs always meant to me: plodding along on pavement for a lot of miles while avoiding Murder By Soccer Mom In Escalade. But now they mean something else.

Firstly, they're not all that long anymore. In fact, they're practically short. They're usually around three or four miles.

Secondly, I do look forward to them. Mostly because they involve listening for hawks overhead instead of listening for SUVs bearing down on my backside.

So, while I still call them my Long Runs, they're really not all that long but OH are they hard. Actually, much harder than any 12 mile trot through the streets of San Jose, even though I'm covering less mileage over all and don't have to dodge homicidal minivans.

Know why? Because, friends - there are hills.

And not just any old hills that might be rolling and green or any other pleasant and pastoral image you could be conjuring up in your peaceful minds. No, these hills fall into the rocky, boulderous (new word alert), tree root woven switchback category that makes them not so much hills but more like ladders made from hillsides.

OK, so my whole run isn't a near vertical climb up a rocky mountainside. Some of it is though, and that makes three or four miles feel like 12 might if I were trudging along on the paved sidewalks under the punishing glare of our fair sunshine ball.

The tree canopy is a bonus, however, and I really appreciate how I don't have to run from sidewalk patch shaded by a small Crepe Myrtle to sidewalk patch shaded by an overgrown Sycamore in order to keep out of the direct gaze of the sun. The fact that I'm running (or many times "Hiking Quickly") up a steep grade is sometimes offset by the fact that the shade is keeping me from scorching to death.

Like, I fear less the threat of dying shamefully five miles from my home because of exposure and heat stroke.

I also like how the weather in the mountains is typically the exact opposite of the weather at my house, so it's anyone's guess what I should be wearing or carrying with me when I get geared up to go. If it's sunny and 50 degrees at my house, will it be 30 degrees and icy on the mountain? Raining? Should I bring a sled? It's contentious.

And then we look at Google weather and all mystery sort of dissolves. You know. Sometimes the weather forecasts are right on and sometimes you're sure you must have typed in the wrong town because how can there be freezing fog this close to the ocean?

Whatever. I'm still getting used to the intricacies of running on mountain trails rather than suburban sidewalks and roads. I'm also still getting used to the concept of getting up tomorrow morning to head up to the mountains for my first official "Long Run Trail Training Day" since I finally decided to register for my first race of 2011 - the Diablo Trails Challenge 10K.

And you know I couldn't just sign up for the 5K again, like I ran in December, because - right - I *just* ran a 5K in December, now I must do something new and challenging as though, because I didn't die during the 5K, I should obviously push myself as close to actual Death While Running as I can.

It's possible that this race could kill me.

It's not only twice as far as my first 5K trail race a few months ago that nearly took my life (gaining 900' of elevation in 1.5 miles is no piece of cake for moi), it's also twice as much elevation gain. So, like doing the first part of the last race twice.

Yay. Let's run up hill for 1400+' and see if we can live? Sounds good.

I'd be lying if I told you I signed up for the 10K because I just didn't want to be signed up for the shortest distance offered. Though I *could* try to best my age group place in the 5K race, but I'll save that out for the next race I run this year.

If I live through the Diablo Trails Challenge, that is. Which is a little iffy so don't place any bets.

However, and here's another new thing to entertain you people, I've added a Finny Runs tab to this blog, so if you're ever curious about my running history, PRs, The Gallery of Race Fries or whatever, you can go look at it and know for sure how slow and unaccomplished I am in the running arena and how I'm counteracting all this running by filling my guts with fries.

It's pretty impressive, really, how much talking I do compared with how much actual racing I've accomplished. Lop-sided? Oh sure.

So, yeah, I've signed up for a new trail race, I'm lying to myself about my weekly running prowess by calling my four mile woodland adventures, "Long Runs", and I may not cross the finish line at the Diablo Challenge because of my own shallow vanity.

Good show, me. Good show.

Running update: Hopscotch and other ways I'm not training properly

As you know I recently returned from a 2+ week vacation. And during that 2+ weeks, do you want to guess what I only did one single time?

Go on, I'll wait.

Oh - you guessed that one fast: run.

I only ran once. On the last Saturday of vacation before I shuttled my pretzel-swollen ass to the office. And it was a shortish long one. About 6 miles.

I wore my Garmin, though, so I'm calling it at least a semi-real run, even though my pace was so shameful to call into question the actual activity in which I was engaged. Was I running or clipping my toenails? Jogging or tiptoeing through someone's shrubs to catch a glimpse of them in their no-no outfit? Sitting down?

None of the above, thankfully. I was hopscotching.

See, friends, there are some kids (I imagine they're kids, but I suppose it could be an infantile adult out there with the big pink chalk) who haul their big bucket of fat chalk out to the sidewalk along a main drag of my street route (which I take when I'm not actually training for something that requires a route with minimal signals) and routinely redraw and update an elaborate hopscotch court (field?) for what I assume is their own amusement and not to torture me in my huffing and puffing.

Because I've tread on this hopscotch court, in a variety of its incarnations, many many times. And never once have I had the wherewithal to actually hopscotch it. Even though I spend the following half mile regretting it every time.

I mean - it's hopscotch - you HAVE to love it. Right? I mean, I love it. Though, now that I think about it, I have no idea why.

Anyway, that's not important. No, it's important that I DO love hopscotch and last weekend, while I was trying to come to terms with the settling of many liters of beer and many hundreds of pretzels' weight around my midsection by performing the strenuous act of a shortish-long run, I ignored the I'M EXHAUSTED DON'T YOU DARE HOPSCOTCH THAT THING voice in my head (killjoy, that) and hopped half of the scotch before bounding off, all the happier for it.

Methinks that hopscotch is good for the soul. As long as you don't trip and skin your face off. Which is what, I think, was keeping me from doing it before.

That and the fact that I haven't, since recently nailing down my sub-60 10K and completing my first multi-sport race, been training in a meaningful way for a race. And when I train, I can't be running signal-ridden city streets because that is evidently no way to train.. It's a way to hopscotch your face off, but it's no way to train.

And that is the other way I'm not training properly - I'm not training at all. Because I don't have a race on the books right now.

And it's fucking haunting me, man.

I don't like to watch my pace dip into the 10s, which I can now anal-retentively watch thanks to my recent (and very latent) discovery of the Autolap feature on the Garmin, but as soon as I get wound up about OH MY GOD RUN FASTER YOU SLOW BEAST, I just as quickly fight back with, "Well, why - you're not training for anything. What's the point?"

I need a point to running. This much I've learned.

So - I'm considering a few things:

• A random 9K race suggested by my cousin, which is nearby and of a distance so random that regardless of how slowly I run it, won't ruin any of my current PRs
• Rerunning the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon next June with the maybe/perhaps/potential intention of going for a 2:TEENS PR
• Maybe/perhaps/potentially considering the idea of trying my hand at a triathlon next spring

And I'm definitely going to run the Turkey Trot again, though I've not signed up for it yet and am not sure whether I'll do it in costume, go for a PR or just get drunk and drag a turkey leg around to shake at spectators.

You have to admit, the turkey leg thing could be pretty fun. Though I'm not sure it would qualify me for race fries. And you know how I like my race fries.

So yeah, my running is a bit meaningless right now, aside from the fitness aspect and the Filling the Laundry Basket with More Clothes aspect, and I'll thank you to weigh in with any strategies for handling my aimless running life.

Anyone out there running the Title 9K? Have you run the Boulder one in the past? Was getting into triathlons the worst mistake of your life? Are you the hopscotch champion of North America? Do you have a turkey, pumpkin pie or pilgrim costume I can borrow?

Whatever you got.

1:30:44

I'll be the first to tell you that the time you see up there is pretty meaningless since this was a duathlon and, from what I can gather, the distance and/or events included in a duathlon are consistently inconsistent from one to the next.


Here I thought they'd be all consistent like with running where almost all races fall neatly into the 5K, 10K, 1/2 marathon (13.1M) and marathon (26.2M) categories, but no. In fact, even the next duathlon hosted by this same group in the fall is a different distance. So, there's no comparing times from this year's Mermaid Duathlon Alameda to, say, this fall's Mermaid Duathlon Santa Cruz because LO their bike distance is different. Whoops.

And sometimes duathlons aren't even called duathlons. Sometimes they're called "Splash and Dash" because they're swimming and running instead of cycling and running and there's no cycling word that rhymes with "run" or "dash" I guess. Though, "Bike and Hike" could work, right? Anyway, I'm not here to invent new multisport events.

No, I'm here to tell you that, despite my predictions, I did not kill anyone as a result of my improper bike handling or use of clip-in pedals.

So proper.

I also didn't make a public shame of myself so if you're here only to see a news clip of me being forcibly hauled off the bike course for taking out an entire wave of racers single-handedly, you can leave now and know you're not missing any gory details. There was zero bloodshed (on my part) at this event. Sorry, sados!

Feigning chaos. There was none.

There were other fun things though! Like lots of different sized participant bibs and...um...race coordinators starting races without the use of starting guns or bullhorns...and...blue buckets!

Yes, I said blue buckets. Or, more specifically, Blue Bucket.

See Donk! That's for you!

See, my dear friend Kelli, who had a pivotal role in me actually deciding to sign up for this too-soon event, shared some multisport advice she'd received prior to her half ironman - get a bucket.

Like, a smallish one that can hold your bike shoes and a small towel and your helmet and gloves, if you're into that kind of thing. And then, when you get to the transition zone and you're all setting up your crap on your little towel, turn the bucket over and set it at the end of the towel so that you can sit on it to change your shoes when you are coming in from the run and going out on the bike and vice versa.

This was cool even though it looks like I'm taking a shit right there. I was not.

HOT.

Now, I will admit I had my hesitations about showing up with all my shit in a bucket like some sort of toddler going out to make sand castles, but I thought through the process and determined that even if no one else had a bucket, at least one person would see me sitting on it while easily changing shoes without having to balance on one fatigued leg to do so, and would be thusly jealous and/or impressed with my multisport savvy.

And, aside from the one girl I saw carrying her shit in an old milk crate, there weren't any bucket sightings on my watch. So, it's possible that everyone thought I was Some Douchebag With a Bucket, but I felt really smart or at least smarter than I would have felt if I'd foregone the bucket and then taken out the bike rack while I tried to balance and put on shoes. Because you know I would have fallen and knocked over someone's $6000 Tri bike or something.

Anyway, it worked out, the bucket. Thanks Donk!

Also on the It Worked Out Even Though I Doubted It List: the clip-in pedals and bike shoes.

I think I smiled like a horse's ass the whole time because I was happy not to kill anyone.

So, you know that I was originally planning to do the bike portion of this race with my heavy platform pedals and running shoes. And you also know that Bubba got wind of that idea and was found five minutes later in the garage, changing out my platform pedals for the clip-ins. And that he shamed me into using them, "because why else did we buy them if you're not going to use them in a race. Come on."

And, really, had I ignored him and used my old heavy pedals and running shoes? I'd have been hating my life.

I'll just say it now, so that it's out there in Official Internet Land: the pedals and shoes made a difference. Not one I can substantiate with comparison times or anything, but definitely one I felt when I was able to crank on the pedals and get the benefit of continuous momentum only possible when you can push and pull the pedals because your feet are attached to them.

Pedals + Shoes = Score. Thanks, Bubb.

And while I didn't necessarily doubt the bib belt apparatus in theory, I did sort of doubt how much I *needed* one for this race. But then I realized it was only a few bucks and I was mid-shopping spree at REI, so why not just get one and try it out and I didn't regret it.

It was nice not to have to safety pin my bib to my top all straight or whatever and then, when I got on and off the bike, it was easy to turn from front to back and vice versa per the rules even though I was the only one following them.

For anyone wondering which socks I settled on - well, I went with a random pair of cushioned running socks that don't give me blisters if I keep the mileage in the single digits. They're not cute like the bee ones or all Company Man like the branded store ones, but they also don't give me blisters while they DO go up over my bony ankles and therefore got my vote for the race.

And let's just say that I didn't need any more distraction going into my already wild outfit of neon green top, spandex shorts, red headband, blue shoes and orange bike. Yikes.

So, what about the race itself? SO FUN.

Which is probably what I should have started this whole post with, but we all know how involved I get with color coordinating and obsessing over things like buckets and crashing, so sorry.

The first thing Bubba asked me when I crossed the finish line (after my congratulatory hug and kiss even though I was all sweaty and nast) was whether I'd do one again and my immediate answer was something like, "Hell yeah that was fun!", and I wasn't even lying.

As it turns out, for short attention span people like myself, multisport events are a marked improvement on single sport ones. Like, during each of my half marathons I've had moments where I was thinking, "Really? Are we still running? This is boring. I want to do something else." No matter that, "something else", was really mental code for "get a beer and sit down", but whatever.

At no point in this race did I think, "Gee, am I still running/biking? I'm bored." because as soon as I might think such a thing, it would be time to run back to transition or get off the rapist bike seat to run again or WHOOPSY we're all finished here.

Best ever!

And to be all This Is A Race Report, for those of you who like that kind of thing, here you go:

Run 1: 13:36, Pace: 9:04

This was a 1.5 mile run that started when the tiny race coordinator girl yelled, "Ready, Set, GO!" without the help of a bullhorn. Sort of anti-climatic and "We're really more interested in the triathlon" of them, but it was fun in a casual kind of way and I took off with my 100 other duathlete friends. 

My pace for this short leg was right at 9 minutes, though, had I known how much gas I'd have in reserve, I would have pushed it harder and locked down a pace in the 8s. Fast, fun and it was so foggy I could feel the drizzle. Nice.

Transition 1 (T1): 02:54

I told Bubba and anyone who'd listen that I was going to take it slow and easy in the transitions so that no one got hurt and TEE DAH, mission accomplished. Also, I felt vaguely superior as I swiftly scooted the bucket under my bum and easily swapped shoes, snapped on my helmet, ripped on my gloves and headed out of T1.

Go Bucket!

Bike: 46:44, Rate: 15.4 (I don't know what this means)

So, if I felt like a rookie loser before this event, the bike portion alone helped boost my ego a little since, as I was exiting T1 and mounting my bike, the woman behind me was folding up her pink raincoat and placing it ever so carefully into the handlebar basket of her fixed gear cruiser.

Extreme Athlete Alert.

Getting out onto the ocean view course helped a bit more, since it was flat and fast and had a fun turn that I could pedal into and get that fun WHOOSHing effect from as I passed the cops standing guard on the course. 

There wasn't much to report about the course itself, since it was only 12 miles of flat travel, but there were a few chunky parts that gave my jawbone a good rattle and I got to entertain myself by TEE DAH passing some people and working through the gears that are smooth as smooth thanks to the recent tune up. 

Thanks, funny German! I won't embarrass you!

When I was reading the race material and they were all, "When passing bikers, it is customary to call out 'Left' to alert other cyclists of your intentions." I thought, "Yeah, well, that's nice. I'm not going to be passing anyone." And then I totally did. Pass people, that is. Lots of them! And not all of them were riding purple cruisers so shuttup.

Transition 2 (T2): 02:35

This was where I was really happy to have the bucket because my legs were noodley from the bike. Even though I could have pushed harder and been noodley-er, I was still happy to sit on the bucket for a minute to change shoes and then stand around like a retard looking for Bubba to take my picture. 

I told you - I was taking it easy. 

Run 2: 24:54

I took off out of T2 right behind another gal, which didn't bother me until she decided she was going to slow down so we could chat.

Folks - I don't run and chat. I find it extremely annoying. To talk while running AND to hear other people talking while they're running. I've covered this before.

Anyway, this woman wanted to talk and I didn't want to run faster to ditch her because my legs were noodley like I said, so we talked for about a mile or so about her running the Paris marathon and some other stuff I can't remember and I'll admit, it wasn't horrible. I mean, I annoyed myself the whole time because it's hard to get out a full sentence when your legs are all noodley and you're still trying to keep your pace in the 9s, but I did find that this first mile of the last leg went far faster than the second mile and a half that I endured on my own after handing this gal off to another runner at the water stop.

And then I hit the finish line and Bubba took me out for brunch.

Race Booze.

OK, so that's not a very detailed race report, but it seems you're all more curious about what kind of post-race sodium boost I pair with a duathlon rather than a run, so I've decided we'll move on here to those more important things.

For the duathlon, I had my famous and usually-reserved-for-after-the-race Race Fries on Saturday, as my pre-race sodium boost (the race coordinator said to have salt! Really.) and then for my post-race sodium, I had pulled pork over grits and a huge Bloody Mary for brunch which I think really caps off the whole sodium situation.

I'm still bloated from this. And it was so worth it.

In sum, Running = Race Fries and Duathlon = Booze + Pork.

I feel like that makes total sense.

Super Cocktail Time + recipes

I have this annoying habit of skipping our Friday night (or Saturday night, as the case may be) cocktail hour if I have a race in the morning.

Which I did, this last week.

So, when Bubba came home from work all ready to Cocktail the Fuck Out, as he so gently put it, while spiking his laptop on the dining room table and ripping his shirt off, he was none to pleased to find me sipping off a beverage devoid of the telltale G&T lime wedge.

"What? No cocktails? This is bullshit."

Agreed.

But, while I may not know much (evidently not enough), I do know that alcohol is dehydrating and so I avoid drinking the booze before I race by at least 24 hours. Sure, I don't drink enough water to counterbalance the stunning shriveling effects of one Gu, but I know not to compound my monstrous errors by having fifty drinks the night before I have to run around for 6 miles.

Sometimes I'm not completely retarded. I guess that's what I'm getting at.

And so I drank my water and Bubba drank his bourbons and we went about our pizza night like no big deal. We also watched our body weight in Heroes and so I dreamed about lizard people and being electrocuted by a snotty blonde, but whatever.

But when Saturday afternoon rolled around, after the race and its fries and the lion's share of my whining had passed, Bubba declared Saturday evening to be Super Cocktail Time during which he would light the fire pit, start the grill and we'd drink more than our usual 1 or 2 drinks because I'd skipped out the night before and was now in arrears in the way of cocktails.

I had, somehow, offended Cocktail Time and that was unacceptable to all involved. Especially my store of gin that was apparently offended sitting all unloved in the bar.

And because of the big post-race lunch I'd had I thought I should probably begin to reintroduce nutrition to my body and I don't care who calls ketchup a vegetable (or fries or pickles for that matter), my body knows a real vegetable when it sees one, so I couldn't be messing around.

Hence forth came the greenGREEN salad and some grilled leeks. Recipes which I will provide here for your dining and farmshare killing pleasures. And I guess it's worth noting that you don't have to run 6.2 miles and/or eat a nutritiously-vacuous lunch in order to enjoy it.

greenGREEN salad
Recipe by moi
Serves 3

Ingredients
1/2 head of green leaf lettuce, leafed, cleaned and chopped
2 lbs of fava beans, shelled, quickly boiled, de-husked
4 radishes (french breakfast and cherry bomb work nice), chopped
2 stalks of green garlic, white and light green parts sliced
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper

To make
In a bowl, toss: lettuce, fava beans, green garlic and radishes with olive oil, salt and cracked black pepper. That's it. Not much of a recipe, but there you go. It's very green. Especially if you serve it in a green bowl like I did. There.

Grilled Leeks
Recipe by moi
Serves 2

Ingredients
2 large leeks (1 per person), sliced in half and rinsed REALLY WELL
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper

To make
Start your grill (gas or charcoal), and while it's heating up, brush the cut sides of your halved leeks with olive oil and throw on some salt and pepper.

Line the grill with a doubled over piece of foil large enough to accommodate your leeks and allow them to grill along with whatever else is cooking - or for about 10 minutes. They're done when the cut side has begun to caramelize.

Serve with grilled tilapia and the greenGREEN salad and some bread or not.  But, if at all possible, it should be eaten in front of a raging fire pit which is burning the remains of an old broken pallet that's been bugging the crap out of you lying in the yard for a year and a half.

Good times.

00:29:14

And now we can all be thankful that I got that sub-30 5K PR that I've been shooting for so that no one has to listen to me making up sorry excuses for why I didn't get a sub-30 5K PR and if you don't understand all these obscure acronyms and number references then I guess you can be thankful that you're a literate person with reasonable communication skills because obviously I am not.

And that was a pretty incredible run-on sentence. Feel free to be thankful for that too, if you want.

Let's just all go eat five desserts now. And race fries.

Happy Turkey.

Running naked

Wow - really? No one was intrigued by the Running Naked comment yesterday at the end of that long ass nonsensical post about cake?

Oh. Maybe that was it. By the time you got to the bottom of that thing, you'd already begun to string yourself up to the rafters with your network cable.

I get it. I'm not offended.

Meanwhile - Running naked - isn't that an interesting and riveting post title? I thought so.

I thought so while I was running along, all naked of the wrist, head and back, being thankful for a nice, non-stressful run where I was simultaneously not timing myself, shading my eyes from the scorching sun ball or sucking hosey water from my self-mounted Camelbak.

Post-race running is the best! Because of the nakedness!

And also because, now that it's fall, the weather is acceptable to me and does not require me to cover my head in a sweaty hot hat or dodge from one side of the street to the other in my ongoing quest for shade.

And then sometimes, when I'm really lucky, I have The Best Run Ever because it's foggy and chilly and sorta drizzly when I set out for my Saturday morning shortish-long run (6M) after sleeping in to the positively restful hour of 8am.

Oh yeah, it was the best - last weekend's shortish-long run. And also where I thought up that lovely and intriguing post title that you all could have cared less about. WHORES!

Kidding. I love you still. In that way where you still love your friend even after she ditches you at the bar and takes a cab home without telling you she's leaving but then texts you in the morning to be like, "Hey! I'm at Taco Bell. Do you want anything?" And because you're so hung over from your extra fifteen minutes of drinking that you forgive her because, after all, she is a nice chick who lends you her cute purse because it matches your outfit and, well, she's about to bring The Great Healer of Hangovers, Taco Bell, right to your doorstep. You feel sorta like a sell-out, but you really want a Crunchwrap Supreme, so you let it go. Still loving her, but hating yourself a little bit at the same time and feeling ashamed you're about to eat something as horrific-ly bad for you as a Crunchwrap Supreme.

You know what I mean.

And, just to refresh your memory, I was talking about my awesome run before I went off about Taco Bell. Sorry. I guess I'm feeling a little random today.

SO - The Best Run Ever - which was the other tantalizing-yet-ignored comment from yesterday's post was, indeed, quite good.

And since I haven't really said much about running since my last half concluded back in the first week of October, I felt I should give some sort of update so that you didn't think I'd hauled off and eaten myself into a chocolate-cake and apple-pie induced coma.

First, in a string of running type updates about which I feel you should be aware, it has become cold out in the morning hours. To the point where I've resumed wearing my fruity running tights and long-sleeves. And, during a moment of clarity while outlet shopping with the girls, I snatched up a pair of running gloves at a nice little price and have found that they are, indeed, something I needed very much.

Which is in stark contrast to what my doubtful mind had me thinking for, oh, the last three winters of running as I repeatedly visited the Athleta site and monitor-molested the gloves they have for sale.

I was, like, $27 for gloves? Come, now. That's ridiculous. They're just going to get all sweaty and boogery (don't act like your nose doesn't run when you're out in the cold) and gross and that's no way to treat an item that costs $27. I'll just let my hands warm up as I run. In fact, that will maybe motivate me to run faster.

Um, no. All these reasons are stupid. The gloves I got are great and are, RIGHT NOW, improving my life as they dry out from this morning's short three miler. I love them, is what I'm saying, and I can't believe I tortured myself for three winters when they could have been had for so little cash.

Meanwhile, I am a little proud that I held out and got the Nike ones for less than $20 because they also have a key pocket on the palm and a soft nose-wiper on the thumb. Handy and gross! Plus, I look like I think I'm a superhero or something wearing these things with my tights and my breathy long-sleeve top and we all know how much I like looking like a fucking idiot while running slowly around town.

So, whatever, it's not my favorite time of the year for running attire, but it does mean that the likelihood that I'll be running in the fog rather than under the blast furnace of an angry sun is very good. I like that. Running in the fog. Though, when it's foggy like it was last weekend, to the point where it has begun to drizzle, it means I can't wear my sunglasses without them hazing up.

I have yet to come across a pair of acceptable shades with a good set of lens-mounted wipers, so I'm left to prop these babies on my head and wait until the drizzle passes. Which it did last weekend, at about mile 5.5. Which - big whoop - because I was only out for an hour, which equates to 6 miles. Oh well. Small price to pay for an hour of foggy running goodness.

Another helpful update, more for me than you (sorry), is that I broke down and got another pair of my regular running shoes even though I said some things about moving over to trail running after last month's race.

Well, so you know, I haven't taken my show on the trail yet, so to speak. I figure that will probably come sometime in the spring when I have the wherewithal to drive to a running location rather than just run out my front door onto the paved streets of San Jose.

Plus, and this is pretty mind-bending for me, I'm back to enjoying my runs. Like, I don't begin to dread my Saturday morning long runs on, like, Wednesday, because I'm only going out for six miles and WHATEVER I'll be back in an hour, so no need to call out the cavalry if I don't drag my lifeless corpse back down the driveway in two and a half hours.

Which is what it starts to get like at the end of my half marathon trainings. It's all dramatic and annoying and I'm sure Bubba wants to stab me when I start clanging around in the kitchen at 5am so that I can get in the miles before the heat takes over.

No - now it's like super easy. And I've been expanding the ease at which I partake in my shortish-long runs by not only dissing the Camelbak and Luna Moons, but also leaving my watch behind (don't worry, we'll be back to Garmin-fueled running in no time) and forgetting the hat.

All these things make me feel more like I'm out doing something I want to do rather than something I've forced myself to do because one day I got all Big Ballsy and signed up for another half marathon because it seemed, like, so far away what's the big deal?

I can be such a jerk sometimes.

Anyway, I guess that's it for running updates. It's cold, I'm dressed like a freak, I have new gloves and shoes that don't leave my shins ON FIRE with splints and in a few weeks I'll go back out and trot for turkeys so that I can eat fries on the way to my mom's for Thanksgiving dinner.

Hey - at least we're consistent around here.

2:25:08

Yes, you read that right, that is not a PR.

That is also not a 2:TEENS:00 time.

What that is, however, is the second half marathon time in one year.

And a watermark over my chest because I'm not paying $80 for 5 digital photos, thankyouverymuch.

So, you know, I could sit here and be all Woe is me I didn't get a PR during my second half marathon of the year and WOE I didn't make it into the 2:TEENS even though I kept up a 2:15 pace until mile 5 when my thirst took over all my other senses and led me by the ear from water station to water station, but I'm not all that woeful.

Because - for one - I killed my goal. I ran two half marathons in a year.

And - for two - now I can do something NEW.

I can go out into Nature and run around on NEW trails I've never run on before. I can see NEW things like wild animals (although, please no mountain lions) and farm animals (goats - I'm coming for you) and animals like squirrels that will make any runs with my sidekick, Jada, really fucking interesting.

I can try out NEW gear like running shoes with weird tread and socks that cover my ankles. I can try out NEW features on my Garmin like the compass and the mapping that will tell me how to get back to my favorite routes even when I'm not on roads carefully mapped by Google.

Ahhhhhhhhh - I love NEW.

And because most everything about yesterday's race was not NEW, I will spare you the mile by mile details because it was basically just like last year's race of the same name except with the following refreshing, surprising and horrible differences, respectively:

1. No old dudes in American flag shorts

Now, the lack of American flag shorts wearers was not a difference that I missed. I mean, I really don't need the blow to the ego of some 70 year old beer gut chugging past me at mile 9 just as I'm working up my big internal "You can do it" speech. It's just not that motivating to watch all that red, white and blue hustle by as you dig deep down and try to muster all your energy to push on.

See - no American flags in sight. How can this be?

However, I suppose it's possible that there were American flag shorts wearers and I've managed, somehow, to move my ass up in the crowd just far enough so that they don't pass me at my lowest moment. Perhaps. Or perhaps their shorts were in the wash and they instead wore their Elvis costumes.

2. I managed to see my next door neighbor on my way to my corral even though there were 12,000 other people there

Another Mystery in Racing was the moment when I was approaching Corral 8 (just like all 3 years I've run this race - see, the same), felt a tap on the elbow and turned to find my neighbor, a man who recently dusted me on a training run even though he was nursing a sore ankle, there to smile and wish me well and stagger off to Corral, like 4, or something. He's a very nice man, who's always very encouraging and camaraderie-ish about the running, otherwise I'd say something snarky even though I'm not sure what that would be because he is just that nice.

But I should note here that our (mine and Bubba's) ability to find friends in large crowds (over 5,000 people is our specialty) is starting to border on Super Hero-like. Seriously. Three years in a row, we managed to bump into our two close friends before AIDS Walk SF (25,000+ people) without any pre-arranged meeting place or even knowing we were all going. I managed to run into a good friend and my "It's your fault I'm running" buddy at the Turkey Trot (6,000+ people) a few years back while just standing around with the dog. I had a chance encounter with my cousin at a race we were both participating in (granted, only about 1,000 people, but still)- which doesn't sound all that chance except that my ability to recognize faces or do any other cognitive activities while running is pretty lousy.

And now this - my neighborly neighbor just right there and Hey! Have a great race! even though there is, like, a 1 in 24,000 chance that I'd even see him.

I do hope this is the early development stage of our Super Hero Friend Finding Powers because that'd be excellent. Make finding each other on the mountain in Steamboat a lot easier, too.

3. Two people died during the race

What's not excellent, though, is that two people died during the race yesterday. I'm not going to go into details or get all religious-y on you because I'm not the news and I'm not religious, but I will say that it breaks my heart.

I always imagine, when we're crowding into our corrals before the race, that we're all there filled with similar emotions and anxieties and excitement and expectations. We're all fiddling with iPods and watches and doing stretches where there's no room to stretch. We're all looking around at other people's pace bands and funny shirts and trying to make small talk when in our heads we're all just thinking "PR PR PR".

And it makes me feel better, when I'm all wacked out with the Pre-Race Crazies, that in a couple hours we'll all be crossing the finish line and getting our orange wedges while some nice volunteer wraps sacks of ice around our aching knees and we admire the newly earned medals hanging around our necks.

It just never occurred to me that all of those folks who started the race wouldn't finish the race. That this race would be the last thing they did.

Makes me sad is all.

And hopeful that they said the same goopy goodbyes and good lucks that Bubba and I do before races and that they felt the satisfaction of competing in a race for which they'd long prepared. And, in the end, they'll still get their medal. If not an orange wedge and a good ice pack. One without holes that's tied tight and doesn't leak down your leg when you start walking to the car.

I'll just hope for that because that's what I know how to do.

And before this race recap turns into a big sad sob-fest, let me tell you that I have signed up for another race.

Go ahead - laugh if you must.

And feel free to point at the screen and go, "FINNY LIES!", because I know I just said I was going to do something NEW and this race, the aforementioned Turkey Trot, is not NEW, but I've assumed since the last Trot that I'd do this Trot again and I kinda like the tradition of Trotting before The Thanksgiving of Many Desserts, because of the minuscule amount of guilt it removes (about 300 big calories - whoopy) and because it means I can have race fries before Thanksgiving dinner on the way to my folks'.

Yesterday's Race Fries + Bonus cheeseburger! I think I know why I'm not "streamlining".

Hi mom! I eat fries on my way to Thanksgiving at your house! Forgive me! I'll bring a green vegetable!

I should say though that the course of this year's Trot is "Brand New" and, I believe, removes the oh so treacherous freeway on-ramp that had us gaining, like, 70 feet, or something, so I guess that covers off the NEW requirement. And as long as they really prepare for the nearly 10,000 people they're expecting and it's not a total shitfest like it was in '07, I'll keep up this tradition even if I make the switch to trail running the rest of the time.

But if I get slammed by even one stroller - be it single or double-wide - I'm done. No more trotting with idiots who think that the 9 minute pace sign really says, "Hey, smush all your strollers in here because who wants to stand waaaaaaaaaaaay back there by the Strollers and Families sign".

Turkey Trot people - take note.

And that is all the running I've got to talk about.

Commence Post-Race Break Week.