If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years as a runner, it is that you should just put away your running shoes when the temperature rises above 100.
(Early morning Sunday, after we’d already put in the first three miles of 16. More on that and being chased by coyotes later.)
This morning I awoke to the sound of my Garmin falling off of my bedside table, crashing to the floor, and coming completely undone.
Being the parent of teenagers is kicking my ass. I won’t lie. I prefer to substitute #$% for the s’s in that word so as not to offend anyone, but these days I must tell the truth.
Yesterday it poured rain in Southern California for a brief moment, and that isn’t the big news.
A funny thing about a bad race is that it sure will light a fire under you. During the last few weeks, I have been dialing it in, going through the motions of training.
I realized a few days ago that I am not, in fact, a bulk eater. When you are feeding teenage boys, you don’t have much of a choice but to buy everything in bulk and then cook it up all in massive vats. That is unless you don’t value your life.
Because the holiday weekend meant real-life plans for most of my running buddies, I invited MFP to come run a trail with me on Sunday morning. He is generally equal parts run and sleep in. I caught him on a run day, luckily.
(I apologize for my brief absence. A virus on my computer figured out how to attack my FTP files on the server. It took me, ATT and the hosting company five days and countless hours working together over lengthy phone calls to figure it all out. In layman’s terms: I couldn’t get to the blog to update it.)
I would love to tell you that I have been riding high on awesome training miles over the Labor Day weekend, but the truth is, I have struggling a bit mentally with this whole running thing. (I did have one amazing run, but I will talk more about that tomorrow.)
I had no idea he had it in him, but apparently MFP is quite the recovery expert.