00:38:57

That's me waving...

Right, so I'm still running even though I've only been yammering about cake and sewing and cucumbers so it's ok if you're taken off guard by this post.

You might rightly think I'd gone totally inactive since I think the last time I said anything running at all was back in March when I made some vague reference to my wussiness since I still hadn't signed up for the Rock 'N Roll half in October, but hey look at me! I signed up for a 4.2 mile race in May!

Anyway, that's why the time looks all weird. This was a 4.2 mile race to commemorate Pat Tillman and since he wasn't #31 or #62 or #131 when he played for the ASU Sun Devils (um, he was #42, but you knew that), we ran a random 4.2 mile course (with surprise hills, yay) which provided very little for me in the way of useful race information except that I appear to have shaved some serious time off my mile/min time.

I do believe that's a 9.16 min/mile time right there, folks.

Which is down from 10.03 min/mile last November, 11.46 min/mile in October (I can't be expected to keep up a good mile time when there are 13 whole miles to run, come on) and 11.05 min/mile last April. Plus - there were hills! Don't forget the fucking stupid surprise hills that were nowhere to be seen on the race site since they didn't have an elevation map I could find despite all my extreme eyeball searching.

Oh well. Hills or no, it appears that the torturous interval training that Kelli suggested might actually be working. As in, I was feeling guilty for only running 4.2 miles on a training weekend when I was supposed to be running 9 miles, so instead of running the race twice (thank you, Bubba, for this hysterical suggestion), I ran 5:1 intervals and tried not to die when one interval landed me right at the base of a surprise hill.

That particular one minute of interval sprinting was a lot more like interval chugging at the speed of a brisk walk because of the big uphill you know.

WHATEVER - I improved my time on paper, which makes me feel better about not running the full 9 required by my very technical training schedule and then afterward I went and treated myself to a perfectly sized small Camelbak for the upcoming long runs that will require water.

I worked through last year's training by ditching out at schools and parks to drink all fast-like from the skanky water fountains and I won't do it again this year. No no. I am going to look like a loon out running super slow, sucking down water from my backpack and maybe even eating some gel shots because they gave us a bunch after this race and I figure, why not.

So, I'll be the weird slow girl who Thinks She's So Hardcore out running with her Camelbak on and doing Jell-O shots even though she's traveling at a snail's pace and huffing like she's on the verge of certain death. And I'll thank you all not to judge me or point me out to your friends if you see me on the street.

Also, in case you're worried about my sodium levels (and who isn't!?), I have a strict strategy in effect for that: Race Fries. As in, after every race, regardless of the distance, Bubba takes me for fries (and also usually a cheeseburger) to re-establish the sodium lost through my relentless sweating.

Race Fries

It is a very important part of my training and we can just go ahead an ignore the fact that I'm probably negating the fat-burning effects of running by enjoying this not-lowfat meal immediately afterward. Whatever.

Wuv you!

And just as a quick status update, I have still not yet officially signed up for the half marathon in October for which I am currently training, wearing a Camelbak like a fool and eating Jell-O shots in public. Like I said, I'm a wuss.

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.

31:11:00

No, I did not run the 10K on Thanksgiving, in case you were doing some uneducated secret wagering or anything. I ran the 5K and came in with a 10 min/mile pace, which for me, is good and an improvement.

Especially given the obstacles the race organizers set before us on that great day of Thanks.

I will sum these obstacles up in a hackneyed holiday list of Thankfulness, yes.

I am thankful for:

• my ability to recognize the letters, "V-Z", from across a sea of sporadically bobbing ponytails and ballcaps, despite the inopportune placement of the registration area

• my ability to balance on one leg while simultaneously zip-tying a ChampionChip to my shoelace, dodging occasional blows from passing doublewide strollers (really, people?) and giving directions to the alphabetically challenged toward the registration tents which were LIKE RIGHT THERE CAN'T YOU SEE THEM?

• Bubba coming equipped with an enormous amount of patience so that when some old bag snarks at him for letting the dog pee on the grass in the giant park which is usually home to a thousand homeless people and their dogs, he does not hit her square in the jaw and remind her that she has probably already stepped in worse, you stupid woman
  
  
• the powerful brakes with which I apparently come equipped. Without which I would have 100% crushed a small woman hovering over the starting pad while she waited for space to clear ahead of her small self, thus allowing her to have a more advantageous chip time while the other 6,000 of us tried to advance at any pace in order to avoid said crushing
  
  
• the fact that I didn't realize there were any hills on the race course until they were upon me
  
  
• the 5K turnaround
  
  
• my wisdom in forgoing the cheesy race Tshirt and post race "goodie" bag because I think we all know that stuff is crap anyway
  

So, yes, the race was something of a shitshow which I'm sure was directly related to the extra 4,000 or so people that showed up, and for whom the race organizers were inadequately prepared.

Apparently the group organizing the event underestimated the staggering drawing power of the Thanksgiving Day Eat All You Want and Don't Feel Guilty About it in Your Stretchy Pants Free Pass, which is what got me there, lest you think otherwise.

I mean, it was 40 goddamn degrees outside and I was not there just to test out the CoolTech in my new long-sleevy running top. Even though, I will say that it was nice, as was my vest, and if my toes weren't little frozen nubbins until mile 2.5 when they turned to hot fiery toe coals, I might even say I was almost comfortable. Except for the toe thing. And the bruises I sustained while trying to dodge the doublewide strollers that did not heed the "Families and Strollers in the Back" rule.

Can I just ask The Universe one thing, here: Why do we have rules, Universe, if no FUCKING one is going to pay attention to them but me? Also, why do people wear those Batman tool belts full of Accelerade for a 3 mile race?

Thanks, Universe. That's all I want to know. Just because I know it clearly said in all the race materials that there were no headphones or dogs allowed on the race course and all the strollers had to be in the back of the crowd, but, like, there they were, all rocking and trotting and rolling around with the rest of us. As though they were allowed to be there, ramming into us and making a big stink about how come it's taking so long to get across the starting line when they're not even supposed to be running the race to begin with.

I'm just saying, you know.

After all was said and done though, it was a fairly decent way to start a Thanksgiving Day. Especially when I had specific plans about how many (four) desserts I was going to be eating and how little movement I was going to be participating in until faced with said desserts. Plus, we supported local charities and walked the dog long enough to justify a two hour truck ride to my folks'.

I was also very thankful for Race Fries and Bubba's steadfast dedication to the rule that all races must be followed by the consumption of Race Fries and their usual accompaniments (cheeseburger and DC).

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.

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

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.

How things went with the race.

And that is Mt. Rainier. On a clear day. I stared at it a lot.

You'll recall that I did not do any hill training for this race. The one with the scary looking elevation map?

You remember.

I didn't end up doing the big training I thought I was going to do because I realized it would suck and I didn't want to spend my sabbatical time with guaranteed suckage. I was willing to face the consequences in Seattle because, my thought was, one day of hill suckage is better than a dozen, which is how many I would have spent running hills at The Dish had I actually gone through with my Big Talker hill training.

I'll just have one day of suckage, during the race itself, and that will be better than many days of torture leading up to something that's so obviously going to suck regardless, was my thinking.

Well, I'm so happy and proud and gloaty (not a word) to say I WAS SO RIGHT!

Sort of.

See, it didn't suck that much at all, these hills.

I mean, it wasn't like I was all, "WOO! HILLS! Someone pinch my behind because I think I'm dreaming!" or anything but at least I didn't approach the first hill shrieking, "Oh shit. It's The Hill."

Some lady next to me did, though, and I never did see her again after that so I'd wager that perhaps she might have benefited from some sucky hill training.

Me though? It was so not that bad.

I recall running the hills and thinking that they were way scarier represented as peaks and valleys on the dramatic-ass elevation map and also congratulating myself on my intense laziness that prevented me from going through unnecessarily torturous hill training.

And, new thing I learned from a legit runner friend of mine was realized on these Oh I'm So Scary hills - running downhill like a jackass is way fun.

I ran down all the hills like a maniac. You know, like little kids do before they find out that you can easily fall and scrape your face off or snap an ankle running like such an asshole. But it was a stupid kind of fun in which I indulged because:

1. Real Runner Friend told me she does it
2. I wasn't doing the full marathon so felt perfectly fine behaving like the fraudulent running impersonator I knew the marathoners to consider me to be.

So yay! I fly down the hills past so many people! And hey marathoners - enjoy that extra 13 miles once we get into the city! Woo!

I did not, for the record, scrape my face off or snap anything important but I do believe it was this ill-advised activity that had my quads sore for the following two days. Although I can walk while bending at the knees now, an ability about which I could not boast four days ago. Especially given the careful planning that went into descending the single shallow step off my friend's back porch. Fucking precarious, man.

As for the rest of the course, beyond these mild hills, it was pretty entertaining and scenic.

Please note that none of the entertainment and only part of the scenery was courtesy of the race organizers.

While I may participate in these Rock and Roll races, with their many stages of live bands and what not, I have zero interest in listening to the worn out cover songs they play or, even worse, the original songs they've constructed in their parent's basements.

Instead, I have my iPod turned up to Maximum Annoying Sound Blockage and progress through the race with Marilyn Manson scream-o-ing Armagoddamnmuthafuckingeddon in my ears so that I don't have to bear the brunt of old dude band music or those people who insist on talking to their race buddies about useless minutia between strained breaths in an effort to pass the time.

Really? Do you think it's necessary to comment on how nice is this weather anyway we're so lucky for, like, the 80th time in four miles? Just stop talking and try to get a handle on your breathing before you pass out and have to be carried to a medical station on the back of some dude's bike.

Another weird thing about this race was the frequency with which people randomly fell down.

Yes. I will admit I laughed quietly to myself while hoping I wasn't dooming myself to a similar fate by making silent fun in my head.

It was weird. Twice I saw two seemingly able bodied people totally bite the dust for no apparent reason and then not get up. I'm not sure if it was the shock of the catastrophe or exhaustion setting in, but both falls were detrimental enough to where they were still lying on the ground (with medical help approaching - I'm not cruel!) when I passed by.

In an effort to spare myself being struck down by a stray bolt of lightening, I chose to Learn Something from those poor souls and just watch where I was going and not drag my feet.

Lesson learned. I did not fall down.

Although, there was a moment where I thought the whole race had lost its mind and everyone might start falling down when the entire pack in front of me veered suddenly to the right and began pulling out cameras and cell phones.

(Yes, I too, was curious about these people that carry cameras and cell phones during a BQ race, but let's not get into that. You know how I get.)

Turns out there was an impressively huge and gorgeous bald eagle just sitting there on a branch hanging over Lake Washington. With only the clear blue sky hanging behind his form, he was truly a stunning sight to see. Something you don't see every day. And if you live somewhere other than Washington or, like, Alaska, you probably just don't see at all. Which is why I feel justified about my very honest and sincere reaction to this Sight of Beauty.

When I saw the eagle, I admit to yelling (I could hear myself over Marilyn, so, it had to be loud), "HOLY SHIT. THAT'S...WOW."

Because it was, well, wow. To the point where the alarmed runners on my left side, who were initially startled by my outburst, just smiled and laughed and agreed that, "Yeah - that shit is pretty wow."

Thank you. I thought so, too.

Beyond all that, the drama was kept to an unprecedented minimum. There was no seventy year old dude in American flag shorts. There wasn't any barefoot hooker bouncing along in front of me waving to bystanders as though they were going to tuck a fiver into her sports bra. There wasn't even a near death experience as I tried to take in my Luna Moons and water around hour one.

In fact, the biggest drama of all happened before the race, when I was trying to navigate the logistics of getting my body to the starting line and that ended up being no issue whatsoever because my sister, BLESS HER SOUL, told me I was an idiot for thinking she'd let me take the bus anywhere at 4am and hello, I'll just drive you to the race start because Tukwila is 20 minutes from my house.

Oh.

And then, when we saw the traffic stacking up four miles before the off-ramp to Tukwila, she shortcutted us, as only a seasoned local can, through some windy backroad that dropped me off one wooded block from my corral.

Well. Look at that. And everyone else is still waiting in line on the freeway. Including the stupid shuttles. And probably some buses.

Wuv you, Chelle.

It was super excellent. To the point where I never even thought twice about the fact that she'd Surprise! woken me up an hour early because, in setting her alarm clock the night before, had accidentally set her clock back an hour. Thankfully, it only takes me about 2.5 seconds to go back to sleep and that extra hour where I didn't have to circumnavigate the globe via bus and shuttle was probably my edge for this race.

This race with hills. In which I achieved a PR. And did not make a hot public mess of myself in my sister's city. And got to trot along with the 4:13 marathon pace group masquerading, albeit briefly, as an actual marathoner.

Those people look good. I think I need a trainer.

Next up, San Jose in October. I *may* try to train my way down to a 2:TEENS:00 time, but we'll see.

Race fries. With feta. It improves the sodium reuptake levels. Yes, I just made that up.

Running Update: All tapered

Hearkening back to last year when I reached the same point, I laughed out loud a little bit this morning as I cruised into the driveway from finishing up the last run of my 1/2 marathon training because...

My taper week was done.

I was all tapered out.

Tapering was finished.

TAPER!

POOP!

SLAM SHUT!

I'm a six year old in the morning, is what it comes down to. I'm assuming you know this joke when I make this reference but if you don't... Anywaaaay...

I finished my last training run for this race and thus finished my week of tapering. This run,- a gloriously short and grilled-cheese-fueled 2 mile run through the neighborhood without the accompaniment of my watch or iPod - put an excellent and short lid on Taper Week which started with my Run That Doesn't Suck from last Saturday.

This is where I did NOT call it a "Fun Run" like a douche, but where I skirted convention and just ran down all the streets I always see from my standard route but never get to tour because I Must Stay On-Route.

I can be so bossy.

That was a grand little run, I should say, too. I just went wherever the hell I wanted and when I ran out of fun streets to tour (plus, was getting sweaty since the dumb sun was all OUT and everything - stupid 8am) I just ran home and went about my day like a normal person without catastrophic runs or debilitating exhaustion or inexplicable boob pain.

AWESOME.

And then Tuesday and today I ran shortie 2 milers at what I perceived was a fast pace, but what I'm sure was more like a normal person's running pace.

Have I told you I'm slow? I am. It's fine. I get there eventually with my slow and steady wins the race pace and try not to make comparisons between how fast I'm "running" while old people with those four pronged canes are walking nearby at nearly the same pace.

Makes me self-conscious, those canes.

And now I'm actively involved in the pastime known as Psyching Thyself Out To The Point of Mild Nausea.

See, the time, she passes so quickly. And it's moments like these, when I'm mere days from staring down the barrel of a 13 mile run, that I think to myself, "Self - what the fuck were you thinking?"

And then my self says back, "Duh bitch, you were there when we hit Submit on the registration page, so don't get all weird on me."

Tomorrow I'll go to the race expo and pick up my bib and a pacing wristband (free) and then not buy any of the hokey crap that they sell like seat covers with the race emblem embroidered on the front.

Then on Saturday, I will not run at all and will instead engage in some champion sleeping in until about 7am (we suck at sleeping in here) when I will probably walk the dog and try not to think about in 24 hours I will be standing at the starting line to run 13 miles.

I'll do these mind-numbing calculations all day until I get to the point where I am sure that "24 hours from now I'll be done and eating race fries" and then I'll start to fold and refold my shorts until it's time to leave for the race.

Because. I. Am. Crazy.

Here's to hoping I don't make a shameful heap of myself in 55.5 hours.

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.

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.