20 miles is a long eff’ing way to run, in case you didn’t know it. It’s actually a long way to bike, and even can be a long drive if you are in traffic, your kid is throwing up, has diarrhea or is crying. I tried to map out yesterday's 20 miler so it would be shorter or feel shorter, but when the day is done 20 miles is just 20 miles.
It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down (thanks Tom Petty), and even though the thermometer said 29*, I knew it would warm up soon. We got a big spring snow on Friday, so the mountains looked amazing in the bright sun and the roads were clear. We parked Ken’s truck at the ten mile mark (he was doing only ten), drove home and started from there.
Ken and I hardly talked for ten miles. Some runs are just like that. When you’re with people you don’t know that well, you feel obliged to make conversation. When you’re with your spouse you can ignore them and it’s all good.
Mile 2:
Me: Wow, that smells.
Ken: Yeah, they’re burning weeds.
Me: Oh.
Mile 5:
Me: I’m stopping take off my gloves
Ken: Okay. I’ll take a gel.
Mile 7:
Ken: Can you believe Kansas?
Me: They suck. Ruined my bracket.
Mile 8:
Me: I need to stop again for some Tums.
Ken: It’s getting hot.
Mile 10:
Ken: Do you have another ten miles in you?
Me: I hope so, love you. See you at home.
Back to the Tums. Yeah, I took one at mile 8 because my belly started talking to me a bit. Just some minor cramping that I thought would pass (foreshadow). Unfortunately, when I hit mile 12 the seizing up continued and I knew it was just going to be another Shut Up and Run poop story. Thank god I crap myself regularly so I have something to blog about.
Here’s a pic at mile 12, just to show you the beauty of the day. Not the beauty of my colon, which was now attempting to hold in last night’s sausage, onion, mushroom pizza, 2 buffalo wings, one Alaskan Amber and a glass of chardonnay. Oh, and some Jelly Bellies in bed. Could it be possible I deserve these problems? (Note to self: re-evaluate what you eat/drink the night before a long run).
Miles 12-15 went pretty well. I was cruising along trying not to become one with the many pelotons of cyclists that came whizzing by me. These cyclists always think you are annoying as a runner because you are running on their shoulder of their road and are in their way. Dicks.
I only had a near heart attack once when some guy in a 1980 VW Jetta proved how big his penis was and nearly side swiped me while honking his horn. Nice job. I hope that made you feel really good about yourself. You almost hit a 110 lb runner with your 2 ton car. You win. And, you managed to honk the horn while almost hitting that runner. Amazing way to multi-task. Your mother must be very proud.
At mile 16 I squirted in my tights. At mile 16.25 I stopped at the place with the bathroom tip jar and took a dump. I used the Glade air freshener to cover it up and felt good about myself for leaving an evergreen scent intermingled with the distinct smell of turd.
Mile 20: I walked in the door and ran for the loo (I’m so sophisticated and British) to let it all out. Not pretty, but what shit is? Best part was, I went to flush and the toilet was clogged. By whom? My eight year old daughter. That apple not only didn’t fall far from the tree, it got stuck in its branches for good. So, I had to grab the plunger and deal with that whole disgusting business. No one, and I mean no one, likes plunging with turd in the toilet.
The rest of the afternoon was shot. I bet I hit the bathroom at least five times. I got a lot of reading done. Did you know celebs workout with pals and get parking tickets, just like me?? That is so freaking cool. Did you know you can use your Ugg boot as a potholder?
There you have it. A messy 20 miler done in 2 hours, 59 minutes (8:59 average per mile pace). I’m happy with that.
I’m signing off for now to go into my workshop to perfect my running shorts with the built in Depends. God knows I’ll need it for my marathon.
Drinking: Kirkland brand coffee brewed by Starbucks
