Welcome to what may be the most stream-of-conscious running post I’ve ever written. Really glad you’re here! I hope you don’t regret this.
I woke up this morning physically and mentally prepped, truly eager for my scheduled 19 mile run. Really excited. After Handsome drove off to do some serious office battle, I fed all the animals, tidied up the house, and basically did stuff I knew I wouldn’t have energy for later in the day. I started an extra load of laundry then immediately regretted it, knowing that by afternoon I would not feel like getting it in the dryer and subsequently folding it all. Oh well. Goodbye clothes and towels.
Then I ate more breakfast than I normally do and just… laid down. On the front sidewalk. Because by 10 am the sun was so warm and buttery that I just couldn’t resist. Then Mia the gander cam and sat with me, because he just couldn’t resist. He waddled from my bony shins, up to my knees, then to my more comfortable thighs, then he settled on my belly. He just sat there forever, honking softly. I loved every minute of it, until out of the blue he loosed about a quart of hot goose poop onto my favorite red t-shirt. Not my favorite t-shirt; that’s black with Mr. T on the front. Just my favorite red t-shirt.
So I scolded him, dismissed him harshly, and hurried inside to soak my goose-pooped-upon clothes in cold water and soap. At that point there was not much point in continuing to delay the inevitable run, so I changed into my outfit. When did I lose interest in this run? I asked myself. Somewhere between animal chores when we noticed all the garden work we could be doing on such a gorgeous day. I answered myself.
Anyway.
At the golf course where I chose to run today, there were some gardeners trimming back crepe myrtle trees along the fashion of “Crepe Murder.” You know what I’m talking about. That horrible chopped off, top heavy weird way that leaves no leaves? Or natural shape? I wondered who should be notified. I gave them tsk-tsk looks and kept running.
Geese were everywhere. I can’t get away from geese! What the heck. I did lots of goose dodging, and somehow all of the neighborhood smelled like cow manure. That’s a thinker. Also so many squirrels.
Energy coursing strong through my body, I felt really great. Until.
Until around mile 7, when I panicked mildly because the soles of my feet were on fire. Like molten lava hot. A problem with my new shoes maybe? I came very close to throwing in the towel for the day because I remembered last year Handsome telling me about this guy who ran a marathon and the bloodied soles of his fell off. THEY FELL OFF. What the farfegnugen.
But I literally prayed to God, please will you let me keep the soles of my feet if I keep going? And I instantly thought of that Sally Fields-Phil Hartman skit on old SNL episode where she mocks overly detailed prayers like please don’t let the mashed potatoes be lumpy and the like. I hoped against hope that my prayer was acceptable, that the soles of my feet might be more important to God than mashed potatoes and their smoothness, then I remembered that just thinking about how hot and painful my feet were was probably making it worse. So I shuffled my music a little and consciously started a brand new train of thought.
My gosh there are so many geese here!
By mile 9 I had forgotten about my feet completely, and they felt better, and I know this because when I stopped for water I checked a blister on my ankle and realized that was my only foot complaint. Cool. Thanks, God. You are the bomb.
He does not mind me saying that, I say it all the time. And He keeps on answering prayers, not the least of which have to do with running. Because God is cool like that.
There is a scattering of soccer fields in the middle of this city block situation around which my running path wraps, and every time I stop to visit the ladies’ room I pass this goal post and have to work really hard against the urge to climb up there and do some penny drops because when I was nine that the pinnacle of my life accomplishments so far, until I bore witness to my sister’s birth.
That was a crazy long sentence. Here is the tempting goal post.
Backtracking a little. I ran the three mile track first counter-clockwise, then clockwise, a true loop, but somehow (and I do not comprehend this whatsoever) the clockwise route was infinitely more difficult. Like uphill all the way, even though I know for sure the other direction boasts several little hills. Is that even possible? Help me understand this, super smart friends. It’s like the old, “back in my day I walked uphill to school both ways” thing, and I just. don’t. get it. But it drove me so crazy that for the remainder of the day I ran only counter-clockwise. My favorite direction anyway.
Problem (un) solved.
On the back end of the track is a semi-wooded creek area that is just lovely. Below is a photo. This year the creek is actually flowing with clear water, which is so nice, yay for rain! Scenes like this always remind of of the Bridge to Terebithia. Such a beautiful story, but so sad! Really sad. I started thinking about this and was boo-hoo crying out loud as I ran, possibly owing in part to the Peter Gabriel playing my trusty new earbuds, but anyway running and crying out loud in public is not cool. You know what, never-mind. I hate little creeks like this.
Have you ever noticed that people walking large dogs are generally very attentive, but people walking tiny dogs act like they just cannot be bothered with other people? Or leashes? Barring the boxer incident from last year, I tend to have much better luck encountering large dogs in public. Today all the chihuahuas and weenie dogs in the world seemed to be on my side of the sidewalk. And none of them were not interested in my ankles.
Something weird and wonderful happens on long runs, once you’ve firmly rededicated yourself: the first few miles are the hardest, ironically, then around the halfway point your body gets this light, buoyant, powerful feeling and maybe (if you’re like me) everything is funny. It feels not entirely unlike laughing gas. That’s a little weird to admit, but anyway today around miles 15 I experienced it. And it was a nice reprieve from crying about the Bridge to Terebithia.
Right after that moment of levity I stopped at my Jeep for water, which was both dwindling at this point and quite warm. But I didn’t care. Glug glug glug.
Then two miles later I was still so thirsty that a half empty gallon jug of water on the sidewalk tempted me. It was lidded, but crumpled, and as I said only half full, but still I wondered… How clean is it? Clean enough? I was so thirsty. The sweat on my technical fabric tank had dried into salty little rivulets. And salt was crusted on my breastbone and around my ears. I passed on the jug of water, but just barely.
It’s a lot of fun on long runs like this to repeatedly pass the same people going in the opposite direction. You only barely nod to each other, but it’s a nice, simple encouragement to keep going. Now… passing people going in the same direction? That’s even better. But totally selfish. Probably not that encouraging to the other runner.
At the end of the final lap i just jogged and walked back and forth for about half a mile then stretched. The amount of energy still in my legs was so surprising! It felt awesome. Thrilling. But holy smokes was I thirsty.
Aren’t these daffodils pretty?
Stopping at a nearby On Cue on the way back to the farm, I didn’t quite get my Jeep’s emergency brake in place, and some motorcycle cops next to me started yelling, “You’re rolling, you’re rolling!” I was super embarrassed.
Handsome and I arrived back at the farm within about ten minutes of each other, him exhausted from a crazy Monday and me just out of the shower (I had lots of dried sweat to scrub off). This knight in shining armor offered to go buy us a quick dinner instead of me grilling chicken outside as I’d planned. Yes please! I ordered my favorite southwest grilled chicken salad from McDonald’s AND a chicken sandwich on the side. Back at home I ate the sandwich first, forgetting I had the big salad too. When I saw it sitting there I was so happy I almost started crying. Nineteen-plus miles makes you hungry.
As I sit here the wet laundry is still in the dryer. Handsome and I will nibble some popcorn and watch a movie then call it a day. An awesome day, all told.
I still have two feet soles. In tact. And now I know I am ready for the April race.
Whew!
XOXOXOXO
