I got the sweetest comment today on my blog:
Other trifles? That made me laugh. What is a trifle anyway? I thought it was a cake layered with fruit and cream in a pretty see-through dish. I am racking my brain, but I can’t recall ever writing about that kind of dessert. I guess I’m too busy yapping incessantly to remember. Oh, I get it. Trifle = trivial. Yup, that’s me.
I run almost everyday and at any given time am training for a marathon. I’m committed and I get it done. This blog could be a boring report of miles ran and paces. Or a blank screen if all I did was shut up. I like to mix it up.
Always remember: you have a choice to visit and read this blog or not. If it makes you miserable and annoyed, you’re just a mouse click away from freedom (although my response to him/her in my comments section wasn’t quite so nice).
Getting honest here, I was so not in the mood for today’s long run: 18 miles (actually ended up being 18.75, but who’s counting?). I woke up to dense fog and 40 degrees. In truth, the weather didn’t matter. I was simply in a tough spot mentally. “Mind over matter,” I thought as I munched on half a cinnamon bagel. “It is irrelevant that you don't want to go. Get your ass out there.” Out the door I went and was greeted with this (pics from my phone, so not the best):
I literally could not see more than a quarter of mile ahead of me. The only upside of this was that I knew if I had a toilet emergency I could pretty much squat in the road and no one would see me. I haven't run in this thick of fog before and what creeped me out was that I had no sense of distance and landmarks. I have run on this road too many times to count, but I felt totally discombobulated.
After about 5 miles the sun was trying desperately to make an appearance and things started to break up a bit:
It was extremely beautiful watching the fog intermix with the sun and the landscape. Finally, around the half way mark (9.4 miles) , I actually had a shadow!
At halfway, I stopped at my friend Joie’s house to refuel and pee. Her eight year old always asks, “What are we? A gas station?”
As a side note, last night I was pretty worried about how my colon would hold up on today’s run. We had dinner with friends and my intake was scary:
# of margaritas: 1
# of glasses of Pinot Grigio: 1.5
# of pieces of bread dipped in Swiss cheese fondue: 10
# of chips dipped in guacamole: too many to count
# of crackers with goat cheese: 2
# of cheeseburgers: .5 (that’s point five, not five)
# of fingerling potatoes: 5 or so
# of pieces of key lime cheesecake: 1
This list is a nightmare for my intestines. And I knew that. With every delicious bite I was imagining how crappy my long run would be. Literally CRAP-PEE. I would only have myself to blame. It was a risk I was willing to take.
But, guess, what? The turd gods were smiling upon me. I had absolutely no #2 issues on this run. None. Go figure. I don’t think I farted even once.
In fact, this was a pretty unremarkable run in all aspects.
18.75 miles in 2:45 (8:49 min/mile pace).
I stopped at the one and two hour marks to take a gel. With stops I was out there about three hours.
That makes 42 miles for the week.
I will give a big hug to the other anonymous person who write this in response to today’s post: “Sometimes our lives get foggy and discombobulated, but eventually we see that the road has been there all along—faithfully waiting for our return.”
Dammit, I should have thought of that. Such a great analogy and a beautiful summation of life’s peaks and valleys. Thank you.
I’m going to cease my incessant yapping now and go find something trifle to eat.
Don’t forget my headband giveaway. Hey anonymous! Have you entered yet? Maybe a new headband would make you less cranky.