11 miles (13:01)

Confession: I guess I became a creationist during a week in Pope Hell. I saw this cartoon midway through my shift and didn’t get it at all. I thought about asking, but I was too embarrassed. It was only EXACTLY when I got in the car, finally through with all things popey pants, that it dawned on me. Comet. Ha! SCIENCE!!!! Luckily, running is more of an evolutionary process.

Beef stew and banana pudding! Man. I had two burger king cheeseburgers, which took EXACTLY 16 minutes to obtain through the drive-thru lane. SIXTEEN FREAKING MINUTES!!!! You must miss the old job greatly.

On the bright side, it was 80 degrees at the start of today’s run, which plus or minus a margin of error of 5, is pretty much running in the mid-70s. So it was glorious. 11 miles (13:01) on the mile course. I need a name for this course. I think it’s the only course I’ll ever run here now. Perfect. Except for the name. Got anything? It’s the abandoned road from the art gallery to not quite Surfing Jesus and back. One mile loop. I have been calling it Jesus Etc. in honor of the Wilco song, and then just Mile, but I’m not smitten with either. What have you?

Anyhow, the run felt great. Miles were all consistent and comfy in the 12:40-13:20 range I’m supposed to stay in for long runs with a target 12:00 marathon pace. And then I picked it up for the last few and ran the last mile faster than MP. No woes other than YOU FORGOT TO REMIND ME ABOUT THE BODY GLIDE DAMMIT. So I was walking like a cowpoke fresh off the trail during my shift tonight. But all’s well otherwise. Except for my total lack of banana pudding. Which would probably work as body glide in a pinch, while providing a delightful midrun treat. Dammit.

p.s. We can scratch vanilla bean GU off the list of edible products. No bueno. Or maybe it was expired. Hard to tell BECAUSE THERE’S NO FREAKING EXPIRATION DATE!!!! Yes, this pope shift has left me a bit edgy. Amen.

p.s.s. I was feeling all smug about my 11:50 pace on the last mile when two female college (i assume) runners came by. They were wearing bun huggers for a training run, a sure tipoff that you’re not going to be seeing them for long. One had a tattoo of a bunch or writing on her right shoulder blade (sadly, no armadillo), placed perfectly in relation to her singlet. Probably something along the lines of “if you can read this, you won’t be able to for long, because I’m totally going to kick your ass.” Which, of course, they did. Probably running 6:00 or 6:30 and they looked like they were just goofing off. As they quickly faded out of sight, I realized. I must get bun huggers. I just must. At least now I know what’s been holding me back …

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About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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