WARNING: If sentence structure, grammatical correctness and unoffensive etymology are your preferences, just stop while you’re ahead. Because while I know how to write like that, none of it will be happening right now. I am in a mood. Once, a religious shrink concluded after an hour and a half of listening to my thoughts on life, that I had “pressurized speech” when I get upset (he meant passionate) about something. Well color me book #67 in his reference guide and reimburse me $150 bucks. Riveting.
I am usually, like hardly ever, in a mood. Seriously, I would cop to it if it were true but it’s just not the case. I laugh like crazy, am crazy, have fun, and am thankful for that which occurs on a daily basis. Therefore I have deduced that my present mood stems from lack of sleep. Hey, how about that for an appropriate “I promise to blog about my Boston training” segue?
Ok, I am freaking tired. I forget where I left off (side effect of tired), so let’s start here: last Thursday my alarm went off, per usual, at 4:10am. Went to see Evan at 5:00am and worked out every muscle above my waist (except for the waist, mind you, because that sucker plagues me. Thanks, genetics. You still suck.). Worked all day, per usual. Came home and was immediately ignored, grunted and eye-rolled at, also per usual. Made dinner and whatever else happened. On Friday morning, I ran 6 miles at 4:45am with the usual suspects. I kinda feel bad for those guys – dealing with me and my non-moods – but I’ll never tell them I feel badly about it. Mostly because they are always ahead of me and it’s in everybody’s best interest if no words fly out of my mouth when that is occurring.
Why only 6 miles instead of the typical 8, you may be thinking? Oh. Easy. Because the following day was the first 20-miler in this training regimen. Now, I have no idea the location of some of you reading this blog. However suffice it to say, that this has been and is THE WORST weather in the history of all things meteorological for Spring Marathon training. And Saturday was no exception.
The trails are snow covered. The roads are ice covered. The treadmill was not an option – not after having run 14 and 15 miles respectively the preceding two Saturday’s, and not after doing so inside the YMCA where only airport and mall people watching surpasses. So, one of the two usual suspects, in commendable fashion, met me at 7am to conquer 20 miles on a route which neither of us has ever driven, let alone run. We crossed over a road that begins with “US” and from there ventured so far into uncharted territory that at one point, my buddy muttered, “Well, at least you’re going to die doing something you love.” Shockingly, he knows me well enough by now to realize how to say things which prevent any recourse or argument (meaning only a polite, differing viewpoint).
We finished those 20 miles – soaked to the bone since it had been sleeting / raining / snowing / spitting / pick any miserable verb and it’s true – for 3 solid hours. I won’t even mention that the last 4 miles heading north on one long, seemingly endless stretch, was completed only through acrobatics and swearing that would make any Cirque Du Soleil sailor proud.
Yesterday, we ran at 4:45am again. Maybe 6 1/2 or 7 miles…no one knows for sure since we all ditched our watches in favor of trying to stay upright while channeling our best Michelle Kwan’s. And even though I tried to get to bed at a decent hour last night, even settling in with a book which is turning out to be one of my all-time favorites (drips with sarcasm), good sleep did not ensue.
Thankfully this morning at 5am, Evan was NOT in a mood and may have even wisely said as I was bench pressing for the zillionth rep: “Good job, you actually are pretty strong.”
Which is exactly what I thought when I got home, picked up my special coffee mug gifted to me by Liv’s best friend customized with inappropriate language, filled it with coffee strong enough to bring in police dogs, and broke the handle.
Thank you, irony. I will remember you well on April 21st.