My plans were grand, you guys. I was going to tell you all about the last few weeks of training for the Wineglass Half in Corning, N.Y., which is the next race I’m really running with any intentions. But there’s really not much to tell — and for reasons I’ll explain later, my brain isn’t putting words together well right now.
Short version: I’ve been running. Sometimes the runs are long; sometimes they are full of intervals and speedwork. With just a couple of exceptions, I’ve run them as directed. With, of course, various amounts of grousing.
Full disclosure: I’ve mostly groused about the speedwork because I hate it. I would rather mosey for ten miles than move quickly for three. Which means that the speedy stuff is what I most need to do, mind. But, ugh.
Perhaps the only notable run was my last long one two weeks ago. Fourteen miles were on the schedule. While fourteen is really freaking long, it’s within my capabilities. What I didn’t account for was going for an overnight trip to the New York Renaissance Faire the day before with my kid, two of her friends, and another mom.
Because, yes, a Renaissance Fair nerd is just the kind of nerd I am. If you are also that kind of nerd, to you I say, Huzzah.
Anyhoo, at said Fair, I did nothing but walk and eat my weight in fried things. Which then decided that they all needed to leave my body at about mile eight the next day. Which seems to be a trend lately, the mid-run gut explosion. It’s happening on more and more runs (no pun intended) and I suspect I’m eventually going to have to figure out why.
Upside: I do know where every public bathroom in a four-mile radius of my house is. So there’s that.
Barring the gut explosion, the run was fine. I got out there, I ran, I sat for five minutes in a public park bathroom, I kept running, I went home.
Now, I taper.
But none of that was part of my grand plan for this post. What I decided to write about when I was at 30,000 feet on my way to Portland, Oregon, was to write about running through a certain Sarah Bowen Shea’s neighborhood, which is what I did before we packed ourselves in the minivan to drive to Spokane for the 2017 AMR retreat.
When I came up with this plan, I neglected to account for two things:
Thing one: When you get up to go for a run at 6 a.m. in September, it is dark, which makes taking cute selfies impossible.
Thing two: When you shift your body clock three hours after having been on a plane for seven hours and not getting nearly enough sleep before you got on the plane, forming coherent sentences is hard.
With that in mind, you’ll just have to trust me that running in Portland was lovely, because it was. I slapped on some borrowed knuckle lights, half looked at a map, and took off into the drizzly dark. It felt great and I didn’t get too lost.
I’m hoping that after another night of decent sleep, I’ll feel less like I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards and will be better able to put words in nice neat rows. Or, at least, take really cute selfies. Or, if I can’t even manage that, find a public restroom when out on the run.
A girl can dream.
Question for the Tribe: Have you had gut issues mid-run? How did you solve them?
Speaking of Wineglass, I’d love to have an extra hand or two at the Expo if any BAMRs out there have the inclination. Please send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org if you’d like to hang out with me on September 29 or 30 for a few hours.