Unintentional Cross-Training

Despite being in the midst of a heatwave that has me quite bothered and most definitely hot, A and I are determined to continue our training for next month's race.  It's not like it'll be any cooler in Tahoe, so we might as well suck it up.

We planned a run for yesterday evening.  Unfortunately, due to a high-spirited motorcycle appropriately named after an equally high-spirited playwright, A found himself stranded five miles from home.  Like a champ, he rolled up his pant legs, grabbed a few library books from the saddlebag, and got to walking. He made it just in time for our four mile run up over seven hundred feet.  I gave him an out, but he buckled down and got 'er done, sore feet and all.

It was a good accomplishment and a nice show of resolve.  His resolve will again be tested next week when we'll be in weather that looks like this:

Our training will not be thwarted!

The Buzz

Exciting news in the world of caffeine!  Turns out that coffee is great for runners for more than its well-known powers of irrigation.  This is sweet vindication because what I have always contended despite popular belief has been proven true: when consumed moderately, coffee will not dehydrate you.

Now if only they’d only do a study explaining why one’s pool game improves relative to the number of pints consumed, then my beverage theories would be two for two.

With Bells On

As I’ve mentioned before, wild animal encounters are chief among my many concerns about our trail race next month.  I keep reading that most animals don’t want to run into me even more than I don’t want to run into them.  Taking a cue from our brilliant cats who wear bells on their collars to help prevent any feline ambushes in our living room, A bought silver bells from a local craft store.

On our eight-miler last Sunday, I ran with one bell on each shoe.  I thought I would sound like a sleigh ride the whole time with two bells going, but the ringing was very thin.  At one point I think the ball got stuck in a cranny because I didn’t hear my right foot ring at all.  Ultimately the jingling was so quiet that I don’t know that even animals with the keenest sense of hearing would pick it up more than a few feet away.  I almost bagged the whole production until A found a Bear Bell at a noted outdoor equipment retailer.  It is much bigger than what we bought and too cumbersome to fit on my shoe.  One of the reviews stated that it is effective enough but simple bells from a craft store would be just as good.

Convinced by the sound opinion of an anonymous internet commenter with questionable intentions, I am giving my humble bells one more try.  A bought a pack of ten so I’m doubling down and running with two per shoe this evening.  I hope the streets will be jingle bell rocking tonight!

UPDATE: The post-run verdict is that four bells were only slightly louder than two.  Bottom line is the bells might not help, but they don't hurt either.

Swedish Recluse

I hate running in groups.  I know people love it, and there are countless run clubs all over to prove it.  I’ve met people who develop their whole identity and social circle through various running organizations and good for them.

A just forwarded me this article about Venezuelan runners who must run in large packs to safeguard themselves against the rampant crime in Caracas.  Some nights the group is three hundred runners strong.  When I’m running with A, there are times when the sidewalk isn’t wide enough for the both of us.  I can’t imagine trying to run with two hundred ninety eight others, although I suppose it’s preferable to getting robbed, kidnapped or killed.  I am glad I live in a place where on average the greatest adversities I face while running are side stitches, pavement cracks, and cranky gas station attendants who tell me the bathroom key is “lost”.

BYOV

I remember once as a little girl, I went out to dinner with my parents.  As the waitress was delivering our beverages, my dad asked her if the restaurant’s drinks were “bottomless”.  I’ll never forget her look of utter confusion as she held up the glass, looked underneath it and said, “Um…no?”

I was reading the literature for our upcoming trail race, and no less than seven times do they mention in all caps: THIS IS A CUPLESS RACE!  The first and obvious assumption I made was quite alarming since, whilst I don’t know much about jock straps, any race where a guy would even consider wearing protection over his nether regions is one I don’t want to be a part of it.

Turns out, it actually means that the organizers are providing water dispensers along the route, but the onus is on the runners to provide their own, well, cups.  Additionally, since we'll be running throughout the night, there will also be a hot water station.  They suggest you bring two containers, one for hot liquids and one for cold.

While it’s not specifically stated, I believe all this cupless-ness is in order to prevent litter on the trail.  Anyone who’s participated in a 10K will be familiar with messy water stations and garbage bins that runneth over with sopping paper cups. I applaud the effort to keep the trail clean, but I must admit that I hate having to carry my own cup while I run.  Like any good American, whatever concern I have for the environment is completely trumped by my own self-interests.  I suppose I could buy a water belt, but I’ve spent too many hours mocking people who wear them that I can’t bring myself to join their ranks. 

I know I’ll end up holding an empty water bottle to refill as needed.  I suppose it is far better to Bring Your Own Vessel than to die of dehydration.  All I know is that once I’ve finished running my cupless race, I intend to fill my vessel with celebratory libations that will undoubtedly be bottomless.

Kersplat

I had a text conversation with a friend yesterday afternoon about a twilight trail race she participated in over the weekend.  She said it was a lot of fun, but footing was an issue.  It was so dark and the path was so uneven that runners were falling over like flies, including her friend who took a nasty spill.  I responded that at least if one were to hit the ground, far better to do it on a soft dirt trail than a rough city sidewalk.  I also humblebragged that I almost succumbed to gravity on my last trail outing but managed to stay upright by strategic arm flailing and sheer determination.  I couldn’t remember the last time I went down.

So, guess who fell on her run last night?

I’m not sure if I stubbed my toe on a sprinkler head or just tripped over my own hubris, but I knew the minute I broke my stride I was hitting the pavement.  I broke the fall with the palms of my hands, which I learned ten years ago is a pretty good way to crack an elbow.  Fortunately I avoided a repeat performance and instead tipped to my side and landed on my left shank.  I’m told that a cow shank is a pretty lean cut of beef, but on a person – at least on my person – it’s a pretty well-cushioned point of impact.

I couldn’t believe, after just discussing it, I took a header.  It reminded me of the time I attended an office party where prizes like sports tickets and restaurant gift cards were being raffled off.  A coworker just finished telling me how he never wins anything when his ticket was pulled for the best door prize of the night: a brand new Apple laptop. 

I’m not sure if either case is karma, kismet, or coincidence, but I know two things are true: 1) a bruised shank is better than a broken elbow, and 2) I never win the lottery.

A Site for More Highs

As we embark on our (hopefully temporary) foray into trail running, I’ve found a great website that has helped us find and map some nice trail runs in our area: http://www.hikespeak.com/ (Hike Speak? or Hikes Peak? or Hike’s Peak?).

Thankfully the name is the only thing that’s confusing about the site.  The route maps are great, there are tons of pictures for every hike posted, directions to the often hard-to-find trailheads are very detailed, and the trail descriptions are pretty spot on.  And the Hike Finder slide rule search tool on the home page lets you search by distance and elevation change.

I’m sure I’ll find something wrong with the site eventually since my water bottle is always half empty.  But since I’ve proved adept at compiling hate lists for every occasion, I felt compelled to prove that every now and I can see that the bottle might be half full.

Fifty-Seven Dollars a Foot

Yesterday was day two on my brand new shoes.  This is noteworthy only because I have fifteen days to decide if these are the ones for me, and I fear that I’ve fallen in love.  Who doesn’t love love, right?  Well, me, when love ends up costing triple digits.

Considering I’ve developed an identity around being a runner so wholly that I’ve started a blog about it, you would think that I would be more discerning about the single most important piece of equipment a runner needs*.  But my last pair of shoes was from Costco, and like all the pairs before them, didn’t cost more than sixty bucks. 

 

After a year of commendable service, I found myself coveting the latest iteration of that same style.  These new shoes were bright and beautiful and nearly double what I paid for their ancestor.  I agonized.  The Never More Than Sixty Dollars principle was a steadfast rule of mine for thirteen years running (pun intended and apologized for) and I wasn’t keen to break it.  I went to a number of stores, tried on every pair of my brand on the discount racks.  Nothing felt right.  I flared my nostrils at the salesman who told me there’s a “real big difference” in comfort and quality between the fifty dollar price point versus the hundred dollar price point.  I rabidly scoured the internet looking for deals on this pair like a cheated-on girlfriend rabidly scouring her boyfriend’s text messages while he’s in the shower.  I made spreadsheets that included columns for shipping, promo codes, and my credit card special rewards, trying to whittle it down to under a Benjamin with no success.  After weeks of agonizing, and in part using the fifteen day guarantee as weak justification, I bought them for one hundred fourteen dollars.

My first run in the new pair was on what auspiciously turned out to be National Running Day (who knew that was a thing?).  It might have been the first time I actually hoped for a blister.  Eight miles later, I still haven’t found anything to complain about.  But I still haven’t thrown out my old pair yet, those sixty dollar workhorses from humble beginnings that served me so well.  I feel like the mean husband in The Good Earth who mistreated his first wife who bore him sons and lavished expensive gifts on his younger, prettier wife number two.  I might hang onto my old pair, even after the fifteen days expire.  Just to remember where I came from.

*Yes, I’m completely disregarding the “barefoot is best” argument.

Laboring Through

I fear my mind sometimes can only operate on one track.  Right now, A and I are in the middle of organizing another distance relay team and one could (and A would) say that I’ve been a wee bit obsessed.

This past month, I’ve been overly preoccupied with recruiting runners for our team.  I desperately wanted a friend of mine to join, she being one half of a great couple who would be fun to spend a sweaty, woodsy weekend with.  When I asked her, she politely declined because, “Surprise!  We’re having a baby!”

My mind said, “Fuck!” but luckily my mouth managed to squeak out a thin, “Congratulations!  Guess you don’t want to run pregnant, huh?”

I read an article this morning about a woman who was training for a half marathon.  After a ten-miler, she experienced severe back pain she attributed to typical post-run soreness.  It was worse the next day so she went to the emergency room where she promptly gave birth to a six and a half pound baby, despite never gaining weight (yea running!) and her husband’s vasectomy.  The article doesn’t say whether he is a runner too, but you can draw your own conclusion.

I had half a mind to email the article to the expecting couple, but thought that might be a little pathological.  And fortunately it’s unnecessary since A, who has been decidedly more laidback about this whole process, has found some great people to round out our team.  So it looks like, as of now, we are a fully manned crew (touch wood).

Now if only my strange back pain would go away.  I jest!

You See It Your Way, I See It Mine

I heard about a children’s book that retells popular fairy tales in verse.  It’s called Follow Follow: A Book of Reverso Poems by Marilyn Singer.  When you read the poem forwards, it tells the story from one perspective.  When you read the poem backwards, it’s from another.

Inspired, I’ve written a reverso poem of my own about my and A’s divergent attitudes towards trail running.  The question is: which one of us is right?

Me

This trail is long

and I hope

we're almost done.

We've barely hit the dirt but

I long for asphalt.

Who would ever think

I love it out here?

It's hot.

We are alone.

Shit.

Running in rush hour is

tough but

not like the wilderness.

There's always a chance you might

trip!

It’s a

crazy thing,

hitting the unknown trails.

I'd prefer

our routes are always familiar, that's why

we are city runners.

A

We are city runners.

Our routes are always familiar, that's why

I'd prefer

hitting the unknown trails.

Crazy thing,

it’s a

trip!

There's always a chance you might

not like the wilderness.

Tough, but

running in rush hour is

shit.

We are alone.

It's hot.

I love it out here.

Who would ever think

I long for asphalt?

We've barely hit the dirt but

we're almost done

and I hope

this trail is long.

Analogize This!

Yesterday’s trail run had me thinking about how dismally I did on my SATs, precisely because of questions like this:

Treadmilling : Trail-running ::

a) Pool swim : Open Water swim

b) Pescetarianism : Veganism

c) Cat-ownership : Parenthood

d) Crocheting : Knitting

At first blush the obvious answer is a), but as I learned lo so many years ago, when it comes to analogies, the obvious answer is always incorrect.  Put simply, while the leap from treadmill to trail is significantly harder, the difficulty quotient between doing laps in a pool versus swimming the open ocean is exponential.  Obviously, this is assuming that average conditions prevail (i.e. I’m neither talking about a trail run through Death Valley on an August afternoon, nor a swim in the Atlantic during a shark migration).  In other words, yesterday morning as I was huffing up a long three-mile incline, tripping on loose rocks, dodging animal turds, and miraculously avoiding a spill that had the potential to be epic, I was thinking, At least I’m not doing a half-mile in the ocean right now. 

So b).  Also wrong, but getting closer.  As a pescetarian for many years and an accidental vegan on days when I run out of cheese, bridging the gap between seafood to a cholesterol-free diet is difficult but manageable.  But considering I’m still in the lacto-ovo world, I’m giving going full-blown vegan a bit of an edge over trail-running.

Onto d).  I can’t crochet.  My mother taught my sister how to crochet but not me.  I was left to learn how to knit from my Welsh coworker and the internet.  But since crocheting only needs one needle and knitting requires two, I’m going to say I learned the more difficult yarn craft, so there.  However, crocheting looks quite complicated and you can make fantastic circles crocheting that you cannot do with knitting, so I don’t think the learning curve is as steep between the two as it is from treadmill to trail, so quite obviously d) is the wrong answer.

Which leaves us to the correct answer, c).  Clearly if you’ve owned a cat, you can raise a child.  Between monitoring input and output, showering them with affection but disciplining them when they scratch the couch, there is very little separating a kitten and a kid.  The only difference is that a kid will eventually learn to tell you that you ruined her life, whilst a cat can only meow her disdain.  This distinction makes child-rearing significantly more difficult, just like trail-running.  And therefore your answer is c).