Detroit Half Marathon 2012 Edition

Lots of people standing around in the cold and dark at 6:15 am: it must be a fall marathon

In 2007 I made the Detroit Half Marathon my first substantial distance race. I had never run 13 miles in a row in my life and I signed up on a whim to prove to myself I could run farther than a 5K. Well, as we all know, that race led to seven more half marathons, five marathons, a Boston Qualifying effort, and too many 5Ks and 10Ks for me to count (though I could look them up, I'm too lazy).

On Sunday, October 21, I was back in downtown Detroit, where it all began five years ago, to run my ninth half marathon. I had put in the weeks of training necessary and I felt physically ready, even if I knew I wasn't going to be running very fast. I anticipated finishing in 2:10, though I really wished I could finish faster than my time from the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half in June (2:04:22).

The race started at 7:00 which meant we had to be parked downtown by 6:00 in order to avoid street closures (which meant we were up at 4:15 and left just after 5:00...ugh). I use a parking lot in the Greektown area for events like this, because it's easy to get to and I sneak into downtown off I-375 to the east, thereby avoiding the traffic jams caused by everyone trying to take the only way they know into town (Woodward Avenue). We zoomed past a gigantic line of cars backed up on I-75 waiting to get off at Grand River (SUCKERS) and reached my parking lot (almost empty and $5.00 for the whole day) without ever having to wait behind another car.

I'd tell you where to find it but then I'd have to kill you. MY PARKING LOT. MINE.

We walked to the starting corral area and I hopped into a porta-potty that had NO LINE to take my third crap of the morning. The coffee I made was doing its job a little too well. Then it was time to...stand around for a while.

Trying to stay warm

I wore a crazy bright shirt so I was easy to see

At 7:00 the first wave of runners took off. My wave didn't cross the start line until ten minutes later. I settled into my normal cruising speed and looked forward to the miles ahead. The visual of a long line of runners, backlit by the rising sun and ascending the Ambassador Bridge at mile 3 was, as always, the visual highlight of the race. The view from the top of the bridge was beautiful. We descended into Windsor, Ontario and at mile 7 entered the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel for the "Underwater Mile." I HATE the Underwater Mile. It's hot, stuffy, loud, and smells funny. When the cool, fresh air hits your face upon exiting the tunnel at mile 8, it feels SO good. People all around me were audibly going "Ahhhhhh." Shortly after leaving the tunnel, I spotted the Engineer in the crowd. I veered over to the barricade to give him a high five; then it was back to business. Five miles to go!

Around mile 10 my knees started aching. This bothered me as my knees have never been a source of discomfort in the past. I felt great otherwise, knew I was almost done, and forged on toward the end. I kept my pace steady in the final quarter mile and finished strong, stopping Garmy at 2:09 and change. While I was slightly disappointed, I knew that stopping for a bathroom break at 8.5 miles hadn't helped my time.

I found the Engineer and we went back to my car where I changed into fresh clothes. We walked backwards along the marathon course to the Motown-Ann Arbor hash kennel's beer check at mile 24.5, where I got to enjoy a well-deserved Stone Ruination IPA. (We were handing out PBR to the runners; I raided the secret stash of good beer.)

Every job well done deserves a beer!

Watching the tide of humanity stream past for an hour and a half cemented my resolve: I am going to run another marathon before the end of 2013. I will turn 40 next year and this is the goal I have set for myself before I hit that milestone.

The same weekend of the race, I dog-sat for my friends' little dog. I brought her to my house that Friday afternoon and...well, various hijinks and scuffles and shenanigans ensued. Bouhaki hid (I barely saw him all weekend), Darwin couldn't have cared less, but Melvin was VERY PUT OUT at the presence of this INTERLOPER in his house. Annabelle was sitting on my lap Friday afternoon and Melvin was circling my chair like a shark. He paused to glare at her and I snapped a picture. The Engineer turned it into a LOLCAT.

Feel the rage!

Thursday Thoughts: March Onward!

Howdy, folks.

Yes, I admit it's been a good long while since I last posted. There's too much to say, so I shall simply show.

Cat antics: Boo "helps" me fold laundry. SOCK ATTACK!

More cat antics: Darwin beats up on his favorite cat toy.

I reorganized my entire T-shirt collection. This one is from a cross-country invitational my sophomore year in high school (which my team won, by the way). Of COURSE I kept it...it's a priceless relic!

I did the American Lung Association Fight for Air Stair Climb at the Renaissance Center in Detroit for the third time. 1,035 steps in 12:28!

Red and I have done many midday runs together. We started with a mile on the University of Michigan track and are now running 3.5M on the sidewalk. The weather has been very cooperative.

Many delicious beers were consumed. These are two different IPAs at the Corner Brewery in Ypsilanti. I also visited a new brewery in South Lyon, Witch's Hat, for the first time.

I have hashed more in the last month than I have in a long while. I am now up to 66 hashes with my home kennel. This picture of me and the Engineer was at a weekday evening hash in Toledo.

In other news:

• I have lost about 15 pounds on Weight Watchers thus far
• I am running four to five days a week, perhaps 20 miles a week total.
• I registered for the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon on June 3.
• I am finally starting to feel like a "real runner" again.

Balls!

I wish I had taken a picture of them: five dirty, lonely bowling balls dumped in a weedy, watery ditch. Where did they come from? Who would do such a thing? I am reminded of another abandoned bowling ball, which was lying on a soccer field near the water treatment plant in Ft Wayne:

Alas, poor bowling ball, I knew it well

What is this epidemic of bowling ball neglect? i demand answers!

I was out pounding pavement after work because my 8-mile run didn't happen yesterday due to a combination of feeling poorly (the Engineer) and rolling an ankle on a railroad tie on Saturday (me)

Why was I running on railroad tracks? Hashing! I was running around New Haven, Indiana, with about 30 other folks, most of whom were dressed (as I was) in a kilt. Yes, we got a lot of strange looks and at least one "What's going on?"

Having an AWESOME time, of course! It was a beautiful day and I ran about 6 miles, which, when added to the 3.4 I ran Saturday morning, put me over 9 for the day. The 3.4 I ran on a path at the YMCA near the Engineer's apartment. I've run on this path several times with the Engineer, because during the winter we could count on it being cleared of snow. However, the other morning I ran with Holly from Rust Belt Runner. Run blogger MEET UP! I love those.

It was FAH-REE-ZING (25 ish degrees) when I went to meet her around 10:00, so I was in full cold weather gear, but I knew I would get warm despite the temperature, and that's exactly what happened. It helped that the sun was out. We did two loops of the path and then walked a bit. I visit Ft Wayne on a regular basis so I anticipate running with her again.

Nine miles on Saturday, none yesterday and thus today I was fidgety and anxious, looking out the window at the bright sunshine, itching to get home and into my running clothes and out on the road. It was as lovely out there as I had suspected. I knocked out the 8 miles and barged through my back door, scattering cats, then said, "Yeah, that's how it's done!"

It wasn't fast, but it was good, and hell, I'll take that.

Backsliding into November

In hashing, "backsliding" is when you fail to show up to a hash for an extended period of time. In my hash one can expect to flirt with backsliderdom after four consecutive no-shows on Sunday afternoons. I am happy to say that in the year and a half I have been hashing I have never been slapped with a down-down¹ for backsliding.

The same cannot be said of my weight loss. When it comes to that, I am backsliding. Badly.

This is difficult for me to admit, but laying it out here will make me accountable. I went to the doctor on Monday morning and SOP there is to hop on a scale before anything else happens. The resulting number was one I have not seen since early 2007. I knew it was going to be bad, but I was not prepared for just how bad.

Three and a half years. Three and a half years of weight loss essentially down the drain. I wanted to cry.

182. That's what it said. 182. One hundred and eighty two pounds. There. I said it. Do you know how fucking crushed I feel at writing that number? (On the bright side, this is still 40 pounds less than I was at my heaviest.)

Now I know why my pace has been falling into the basement. I'm carting around 25 pounds (that's one economy-sized box of cat litter) more than I was when I was training for Cleveland and New York in 2009.

I can point fingers every which way in an attempt to lay the blame for this debacle (injury! nasty weather! beer!) but in the end, all the fingers point directly at me. It's my fault. I became lenient with my diet and I wasn't exercising enough. I let things slide. Backslide.

A few rays of hope, though: one, I've been through this before and I know what I have to do to reverse this unfortunate trend. Two, the last time I weighed this much I was in the nascent stages of Phase II of my running career and thought that anything over four miles was impossibly far.

Last Saturday I ran 15.5 miles and felt fresh as a daisy throughout. Yeah, I went slo-o-o-o-w-ly (average pace was 11:06, but that includes a fair bit of walking), but I ran fifteen miles at once. And that's while weighing 180 pounds.

It's time to dust off my Weight Watchers cookbooks and start doing weekly meal plans again. That worked wonders the first time around. Having ingredients on hand for five or six preplanned meals does tend to thwart the temptation to eat poorly. The rest of it is willpower and determination.

Additionally, I have kicked what's left of my training for Thunder Road into high gear. Fifteen miles last weekend will segue into 20 this coming weekend (to be run on the Towpath Trail through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, one of my favorite places to do 20-milers) and I'm back to doing all of my midweek runs, including my Thursday runs with my peeps at the Running Fit store. The aggravation and frustration of August and September have receded and I am happy to report that my hamstring has ceased to be an issue. That is not to say I will be sprinting through the closing meters of any Beer Miles (or anything, for that matter) anytime soon.

One little bit at a time. I can't think "I have to lose 25 POUNDS?" or I will be defeated before I even begin. My first task is to just get below 180 again. Three pounds.

On a lighter note, the last weekend of October was an eventful one. Here are some pictures. Let me show you them.

 This was during my 12-mile saunter² around Ft. Wayne, Indiana, with the Engineer on October 30. We found a bowling ball in the middle of a soccer field. This is the most incongruous object I've ever seen on a run. After we finally got back to the car we visited the Trion Tavern in New Haven for some well-earned brews.

The Redhead and I FINALLY run a race together! This was the Run Thru Hell on Halloween. We are rocking some awesome Salvation Army-supplied Scooby Doo-inspired costumes. For the record it was about 32 degrees and I was freezing, but not as freezing as poor Redhead who is used to Florida temperatures and was wearing a sleeveless dress.

Spike as a socially awkward parental-basement-dwelling World of Warcraft player. He stayed in character the whole morning. The persona was inspired by "the greatest shirt in the world." His mom told him he had to get out and do something physical with people IRL. So he did. He also met an awesome girl who doesn't care about the weird satiny yellow shorts and crazy T-shirt and glasses wrapped with tape³. Oh, he also set a new 10K personal best. Not bad for a guy who hasn't seen sunlight in about two weeks.

The sign kind of says it all, doesn't it? For more riffs on the "Pure Michigan" tourism ad campaign, go here. You might not get it if you don't live in Michigan, but they're still funny. I laughed the hardest at "Royal Oak," "Downriver," and "U of M Football."

After all the excitement, what better way to relax than with a four-pack of Dark Horse Brewing's Scotty Karate Scotch Ale while I dole out candy to 200+ ungrateful brats?

And there went October. I have a little more than four weeks before Thunder Road...onward!

1: A "down-down" is when one is made to chug a small amount of beer as punishment for an infraction real or imagined. I have done many, many down-downs.
2: It took three hours, but in my defense, there was awesome fossiliferous limestone used as a building material that I had to look at and get all carbonate sedimentologically nostalgic about.
3: By the way that chick went home with him. Daphne, what a ho. Velma would never do that.

Scuse Me While I Go Insane

Thanks to Sunset and the song "Late Night Dawning" for the inspiration for this post title.

Why am I going insane?

Let's back up to Sunday, August 15. I did my 12-mile long run that morning as scheduled. It was a step-down week, and good thing, too, because seriously, folks, those 12 miles were some of the most uncomfortable I have ever endured. The warm temperatures and accompanying oppressive humidity turned those 12 miles into a soggy chafing-riddled death march. Once I was home, I stood steaming in my kitchen as sweat trickled down my legs and into my socks. There wasn't a single square inch of fabric on me that wasn't soaked through. My sports bra and shirt dripped onto the floor when I hung them up in the closet to dry out. It was disgusting.

All that badness aside, I was feeling upbeat. I felt as if things were finally gaining momentum. I was looking forward to the next phase of training.

And then I had to go and run that beer mile...

It was later on that same day that I met my hashing friends for a classic endurance event: drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Repeat three more times. Try not to barf. I was being supremely lazy, and I was having a great time. I was one of only three people who hadn't finished as the clock slid past 30 minutes. Yes, I had wasted 30 minutes "running" a beer mile. I finished my last beer and set off at a nice leisurely pace to complete my final lap. With only 30 or so meters to go, I decided to starting moving a little faster. And then I moved faster yet. And then I was sprinting like I hadn't sprinted in forever.

Then it happened: it felt like I had been stabbed in the back of my right leg as my hamstring simply gave up. Pain shot up and down my leg as I screamed and tried not to fall down. I staggered across the finish and immediately thought:

"Oh shit...what have I done?"

What did I do, indeed. I derailed my training like a 100-car trainwreck. I couldn't even walk without limping. Running was absolutely out of the question. A few days later I broke into a jog to try and catch my office building door before it locked, took two steps and felt like I'd been shot in the back of the leg. Ibuprofen and ice bags on the couch in the evenings, wincing when I moved the wrong way or bent down to put my shoes on. I waited 9 days before I tried running again. I made it about a quarter mile before I felt the tickle behind my knee that indicates my hamstring is very unhappy. Unwilling to admit defeat I pressed onward as the tickle became a hot stabbing ball of pain.

I was forced to walk. Sweating and cursing under my breath in the cool dawn air, I walked. I tried to run again. I had to stop a few hundred feet later. I was seething. I walked a little farther, then slowly trotted home despite the ache in my leg.

I let it go for a few more days, then tried again last weekend with the same results. Walk...slow, painful jog...stop.

Frustration. Anger. Denial. Despair.

Then, a tiny ray of hope: Sunday afternoon, out in the woods hashing again. This time I walked. Walked trail with my friend on a hot August afternoon, simply enjoying being outside. We must have walked four miles before losing trail and bumping into some of the other hashers. I thought, "Screw it, I'm running."

I ran...and it didn't hurt. I wasn't running very fast, but I was running. I remained hyperaware of my right leg, poised to halt at the first tickle. Except there was no tickle. My hamstring was quiet. I rolled into the beer check in a good mood. Even Budweiser in a can tasted good at this point. I was sitting at the picnic table chatting when for no reason at all I reached around and felt for the back of my waistband where I had stashed my car key.

It wasn't there.

Folks, never in my life have I said the word "FUCK" more times in less than one minute. The gentle wave of happiness I had been riding collapsed as I thought about the four-plus miles of trail I had just traversed. My car key could be anywhere.

"Stupid fucking useless Nike so-called pocket! FUCK!"

I wanted to cry. The bleak prospect of backtracking on trail in what would most likely be a futile attempt to find my lost key, a three-hour (at least) journey of being driven home, somehow getting into my house to get my spare key, driving back to the park, then finally being able to drive my own car home...

I stood up from the table, resigned and defeated. Sitting there moping wasn't going to accomplish anything. I started trudging back toward the woods. I hadn't gotten more than 50 feet away when my friend K called out, "Come back here and chill out for a second."

"NO!" I yelled.

He insisted I return to the table, and I reluctantly did. He launched into a seemingly unrelated rambling anecdote about the "trail fairy," who finds lost items on trail. "Flip cameras...cell phones...wallets...and car keys." He pointed.

My car key was lying on the table. My mouth dropped open and I screamed, "Oh my GOD!" I grabbed it in disbelief. "Who found it?"

Two of my hashing buddies had found it on trail where the path had divided to go around a tree. I knew exactly what they were talking about. It was the very spot where I had decided to start running. The key had popped out of the pouch almost instantly. They came across it lying in the dirt not long afterward and picked it up not knowing it was mine. Another hasher recognized it as the key to my Volkswagen. By the time they reached the beer check, they all knew they had my car key. How long would it take before I realized it was missing? And how long would they let me curse and rail at the heavens before the big reveal?

Quite a while, apparently, and not without some behind-my-back mirth on their part.

I was so relieved to have my lost key returned to me I didn't care. It seemed almost miraculous that they had seen a small black piece of plastic lying on the ground, something that could easily have been overlooked.

Life was good again.

Life was even better a couple of days later when I cautiously ventured out for a run. I walked about a quarter-mile to loosen up, and then began running. I kept the pace nice and slow. I ran about 1.75 miles of my 2-mile loop and it was completely painfree. Nary a tickle nor twinge from my hamstring.

With only six weeks to go until the Grand Rapids Marathon, however, I don't know if I can get this train back on the tracks in time. I should have done my first 20-miler (of a scheduled three) last Sunday. My long runs stalled at 17 miles. I feel woefully unprepared and undertrained. I want to try a longer run this weekend to assess things, and the outcome of that run could well determine whether or not I downgrade to the half marathon in GR or forgo it altogether and concentrate on the Thunder Road Marathon in December instead.

What a nightmarish turn of events, and I have only myself to blame. If only I hadn't decided to showboat the last few meters of that damn beer mile...karma, it bites hard.

In other news:

I have seen the "cherry on top" meme popping up all over the running blogosphere. Normally I ignore memes, but two people (Pigtails Flying and the Redhead) have specifically tagged me, so I feel I should be a good sport for once and participate.

1. Answer this question: if you had the chance to go back and change one thing in your life, would you and what would it be?

This one is an absolute no-brainer. I would have started taking voice lessons in college when I was 18-19. I would have gotten a ten-year head start, and maybe things would have turned out differently. Most of you who have been reading this blog for any length of time are aware that I am a singer with a modest talent and unfulfilled dreams of a career in opera. I have accepted, finally, that the window of opportunity has closed and I am never going to be a professional singer. However, I have had enough training that I am able to sing moderately well for my own and my family's and friends' entertainment. I sing every day, whether it's opera at home or indie rock in the car. There are few things more enjoyable for me than letting loose with a brilliant high C in "Chi il bel sogno di Doretta" or raging full throttle throughout "Mi tradi quell'alma ingrata."

2. The second thing you have to do is, pick 6 people and give them this award. You then have to inform the person that they have gotten this award.

Well, I squirm when forced to put people on the spot, so I'm just going to list my favorite run-bloggers, some of whom are awesome friends in real life, and some of whom I've never met. (Participation past this point is totally optional.) Whenever I see a new post from any of these folks in my Google Reader, it makes my day.

The Redhead of Caution: Redhead Running. Oh, my dear Redhead, where do I even begin? I am so, SO glad I have gotten to know you in real life as a friend and running partner, as well as rescuing Spike from moping around on his plaid couch and being trapped under mountains of dirty running socks.

TK of Pigtails Flying. Best booty in the run-blogging business, in my opinion. Relay team captain extraordinaire, graceful under pressure in the extreme (such as finding oneself lost in a maze of New Jersey highways as well as backing up the wrong way on a freeway on-ramp), and always good for a surprise free book from time to time just when I need it most.

Viper of the Booze Hounds Inc Running Team. I started reading Viper's blog in early 2008 and immediately knew I had found a kindred spirit. Rarely have I seen someone combine running, drinking, and writing with such skill. And not just drinking beer, but quality beer. For, as I always say, "Life is too short to drink bad beer." The Viper and I share a common region of origin, and one of these days (ONE OF THESE DAYS!) I am going to convince him to meet up with me for a beer when I'm visiting my parents.

Carolina John of Smoke Training. What started out as a chance meeting two years ago in the comments section of GQH's blog (I believe we first traded barbs over The Event Which Shall Not Be Named) grew into run-blogger friendship after we discovered our mutual love of "When Harry Met Sally," one of the greatest movies ever ("WAGON WHEEL COFFEE TABLE!"), thereby negating the pain of the aforementioned Event. When I travel to Charlotte, North Carolina, for the Thunder Road Marathon in December, I hope I will finally get to meet him.

Spike of Running Spike. How long have we known each other now? Three years? Two? You have been an awesome friend for many reasons, not the least of which is the ever-present candy bowl. Yes, that's right, I only like you for your dark chocolate Reese's peanut butter cups and mini-Twix bars. Seriously, though, being able to share my first Boston Marathon experience-- from the day I qualified to the race itself almost a year later-- with you was fantastic. And of course you know how I feel about you and the Redhead. I know it hurt to break up with your shower curtain, but it really was for the best.

A tie between Nitmos of Feet Meet Street and Glaven Q. Heisenberg of the Fourinone Blog, formerly known as Mostly Running...Some Bullshit (or was it All Bullshit...No Running?). I really can't pick my favorite of these two comedians. No matter what they write, it's going to be funny. I rarely laugh harder than I do when reading something they have written.

Finally, I have to list another blog whose thrice-weekly appearance in my Reader is eagerly anticipated: Sardonic Shock Syndrome. Not a running blog (shocking, I know!) but a well-written, witty, and frequently hilarious look at just about everything with an emphasis on current events and culture. If you're from the Detroit area you may find it especially entertaining. I know the author in real life as well, having contacted him after reading his thesis at work (see, cubicle jobs are good for something!).

3. The third and final thing is, thank the person who gave you the award.

TK and Redhead, you ladies rock my world. I am lucky to know you both. :)

The long weekend is almost upon us...to steal a couple of phrases from two of the previously mentioned folks, run well and drink well, and catch y'all on the flip side!

B-Minus 10 Days

In one week I will be on my way to Boston.

Am I ready for this race? I suppose. I will be able to run the distance, but I suspect this one is going to hurt more than the previous ones. I did two 20-mile runs, but the last one was almost 3 weeks ago. My experiment with self-guided training was largely a failure. I now know without a doubt I need the structure of a regimented training program. For my next marathon I am going back to my trusted friend Hal Higdon, whose Intermediate II program was the one I used for the Cleveland Marathon last year (the race at which I qualified for Boston). It worked.

I am well aware I am not in the same physical condition I was a year ago pre-Cleveland (amazing) or even six months ago pre-New York (still pretty good). I have felt sluggish for quite some time and I'm in a running mojo-less funk, which is not a great place to be when one is about to run the Boston Marathon. I know this race is going to be a slow one, possibly even slower than NYC (4:16). Having come to terms with this, I am going to bring my camera and my love of running to the starting line and just go out there and have fun. This is Boston, for crying out loud. BOSTON! I'm going to soak up every sound and sight available, and I can't do that if I'm obsessing about my pace and time like I was in Cleveland.

In other news:

Did anyone else see this story? OUCH!

The World's Most Annoying Dog problem I ranted about has abated this week because the weather took a sudden detour back into Winter. After Monday and Tuesday pushed into the high 70s, Wednesday kicked off a downward spiral which included the appearance of snow flurries this morning. Yes, that's right, SNOW FLURRIES. Welcome to Michigan!

A couple of days ago I got together with Spike for a pre-Boston strategy session, which consisted of eating candy while wearing our Boston Marathon jackets. We both ordered an obscene amount of official race gear (OK, mine was only mildly offensive, but his was truly obscene) and even though it's a huge Race Faux Pas to wear the gear before the race, I insisted we get a tiny bit of our dork on and wear the jackets inside, away from accusing eyes. After all, we both worked our butts off last year to BQ, so I felt we had earned it. Then, what did I do but WEAR THE JACKET OUT TO DINNER. (It was cold and rainy!)

OMG.

Running gods, strike me down now¹.

Proof of massive breach of race etiquette.

Last weekend the hashers invaded the Waterloo Rec Area for some trail running and cheap beer-drinking. This edition of hashing was co-hared by myself and two other brave souls. Afterward everyone came to my house for a homemade feast I spent several days preparing: two kinds of chili (black bean and and beef), an 8-lb baked ham (from my half hog), eggplant hummus, and two pounds of bacon. There was nothing left but a few scraps of ham after everyone left.

In my house it is a well-known rule that any open container will spontaneously generate a cat. Here Darwin has teleported into one of the coolers we used for the beer checks at the hash last weekend.

Earlier this week I attended an extremely good concert by a band I first discovered last summer, the xx. This show capped a period of concert-going which spanned almost a month and included some great (and, unfortunately, not-so-great) music. I have a break of a few weeks before the next wave of shows begins on May 10 with Local Natives in Ann Arbor.

The xx live: restrained majesty.

During the mini-trip I took for the xx concert, I went to a bar which had Founders' Kentucky Breakfast Stout ON TAP. This is one of the best beers in the world according to Beer Advocate. I had it for the first time only a couple of weeks ago, and because it is highly seasonal and enjoys limited release I wondered if I would be lucky enough to taste it again this year. I was.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

The xx: "Islands"; "Basic Space"

1: Not only did I wear the jacket out to dinner on Wednesday, three weeks ago I wore it ON A RUN while I was visiting my parents. Clearly, I'm just thumbing my nose at the Running Gods.

Just Another Day in the Underbrush

Sunday I spent a portion of the afternoon knee deep in mud, wading through water, and crashing through the woods. Oh, and I was also liberally dusted with flour. You want to see people give you strange looks, run past someone raking their lawn and be covered in mud, a strange grayish hue because of all the flour on your black clothes, and you're running at about a 7:15/mile pace. "Weird" doesn't begin to describe the way people were looking at me as I bolted through the quiet suburban neighborhood...

What on earth was I doing? Hashing, of course. I volunteered to be a co-hare at only my third hash, and Sunday I found myself in one of the 'burbs northwest of Detroit in my old shoes and stealth bomber outfit (to be less conspicuous in the woods, of course). I had brought with me 24 bottles of Michigan's finest microbrews (Bell's Best Brown Ale, Arcadia Nut Brown Ale, Dark Horse Crooked Tree IPA, and Founder's Pale Ale, all of which were intended to be an antidote to the cans of Bud, Coors, Miller High Life and Labatt Blue...seriously, folks, did you think I of all people would do anything less?) and six pounds of flour.

Once everyone seemed to have shown up at the starting point, my two co-hares and I took off, laying trail as we went. I did whatever I was told, tossing flour about liberally, sprinting to catch up, shoving past branches and vines, and eventually landing on my hands and knees in a swamp.

I was having the best time.

Eventually we were able to take a breather at the first beer check, having confused the pack enough that we had almost 10 minutes to chill in the middle of a field before they arrived. After merriment and mass consumption of cheap beer, we three hares left to lay the second half of the trail. Somewhere along the way I ended up wading through a mucky creek which wet me from the crotch down (but my iPhone stayed safe and dry in my jacket pocket). Eventually it was over and I had run/walked/waded/backtracked/staggered about 5.5 miles, but who's keeping track? The only things I cared about were 1) we didn't get caught on trail and 2) I didn't hurt myself, so NYC is still a go!

Then the real fun began as everyone dug into a huge pile of pizza and the rest of the beer. Every last one of the bottles I brought was consumed. I didn't have a single one to bring home with me, which is probably just as well, considering the marathon is in a mere five days.

I still have dirt under my toenails.

My shoes aren't fashionably black...that's just mud.

Karma....Bites

Or would that be dogma bites?

After my improbable string of good luck, I began to get uneasy. Surely this was too good to last. A successful BQ effort, two 10K PRs in two weeks, getting picked for the Mackinac Bridge Run and the New York City Marathon, winning the Mega Millions lottery...

Okay, that last one was totally made up. (If only.) However, the rest was true. I knew it was too good to last. Something had to happen to bring my big head back down to earth. Like the proverbial balloon, my ego was popped via a set of very sharp dog teeth. Yes, of the infinite number of available vector paths in the space-time continuum, two of them intersected at a very unfortunate juncture.

It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon when my running partner, FK, and I set out on the Lake Losee trail in the Pinckney Rec Area. What lay ahead was a three-mile loop of bicycle-free trail. Shortly after we started, the trail went up a steep, pebbly hill. Coming down the hill toward us was a man who was being dragged along by two dogs. The man was scrambling to stay on his feet as they came flying down the trail. Upon seeing us, the dogs lunged forward even harder. The trail was narrow, and the man tried to reel in his dogs and move to the side to allow us to pass. The dogs were lunging at FK as he went in front of me. The man said, "Oh, they're friendly." As I passed, the dogs were both standing on their hind legs straining and pulling toward me. I went by and the bigger of the two dogs leaped out as hard as it could and I felt a nasty sharp pain lance across my left arm. It happened so fast I was already ten feet beyond them before it really registered. I thought, "well, maybe that dog just scratched me with its claws." But having owned a dog, and having felt her claws on me as a matter of course over the years, I knew I hadn't been clawed. It just didn't feel right. I looked at my arm and there were teeth marks surrounded by a wet smear of saliva. I looked again. I stopped and said, "Jesus fucking Christ, that dog bit me! MOTHERFUCKER!" I was furious and upset. I looked helplessly back down the trail. As much as I wanted to sprint back down the trail and confront the guy, what good would that do? He wasn't even within sight any more. I spat out another furious "GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKER!" glared at my arm, and then gestured at the trail: "Well, let's get on with it." I grumbled and muttered the rest of the way and by the time we finished and returned to the parking lot, the teeth indentations had turned an angry red and the faint shadow of a bruise was beginning to appear. Now, several days on, the scratches left by teeth have faded to faint red lines but the bruise remains, a ring of purple with a clot of yellow in the middle. And it still hurts.

What do y'all think? Should I have stopped the moment I felt the dog's teeth make contact with my skin and raised a huge fuss? Fortunately, my skin was not broken, but...a strange dog bit me. On the arm, for crying out loud. Four feet off the ground. What if there had been a small child on the trail instead? Its cheek might have looked awful tempting. What's more, the guy never made any attempt to verbally control his dogs. No "sit," "stay," "down," or even a simple "no!" Nothing. Just the lame (and completely inaccurate, IMO) "Oh, they're friendly." Yeah. What the fuck ever, asshole. In my experience it's the dogs who are announced as being "friendly" that are the ones you need to watch out for, like the black bear in dog's clothing which attacked our then-three-month-old puppy on the sidewalk. As this tank of a dog came lumbering toward me and Hannah, its owner called out, "Oh, don't worry, he's friendly," just before the beast, hunched and bristling, plowed into both of us, knocking Hannah over onto the concrete. I was completely horrified and had no idea what to do. Hannah was squealing and I was on the verge of screaming myself and then the wretched "friendly" dog's owner arrived and grabbed it by the flab at the back of its neck and hauled it back into its house. Another "friendly" dog that was anything but. Every single time I go by that house and that jerkoff dog barks at me and runs up and down the fence in its yard, I narrow my eyes and think, "Friendly my ASS!"

So anyway...despite my tendency to shrink from any hint of confrontation, I think I blew it by not making a scene (okay, maybe just a small scene) immediately after the unfortunate intersection of Vector A (dog teeth) and Vector B (my bicep). I'd like to say, "Next time I won't be such a WIMP!" except I really hope there is not a next time.

In other news, this evening was the first gathering of this summer's session of Running Fit 501, the group training program I did last year. We met at the RF warehouse for a two-mile time trial, which I did in 14:21 (6:58 and 7:22). Our little Chelsea/Dexter group has grown considerably and tomorrow we have our first group run in Dexter, an easy run, since we had what amounted to a mini-speed workout tonight. After this, our Thursday group runs will be speed work(maybe some hill intervals, too? I'm not sure) at the track in Dexter. This is good, because I want to work on my speed. I'm determined to break 22:00 in a 5K before the end of the year. Bring on the 800 meter repeats!

And now, some random pictures:

If only it were this easy!

Randy Step, the owner of Running Fit, decides to forgo a plate and just eat pizza right out of the box. This was during the Swamp Party (literally, a kegger in the middle of a swamp) after the Tooth, Fang & Claw 10K "fun run" last week. I ran it in something like 52:00, got a free pint glass (leftover swag from some long-ago race), was harrassed by mosquitoes, drank cheap beer, and had a great time.

Speaking of bad beer...this can of Busch Light sits in the middle of chalk marks in the parking lot of a defunct Service Merchandise in Westland, which was the starting point for my first-ever outing with the Motown-Ann Arbor Hash House Harriers last Sunday. Yes, I am no longer a hash virgin. There was mud, mosquitoes, poison ivy (I didn't get any on me because I wore pants) and lots of really, really cheap beer. I drank...Labatt Blue Light...out of a can...forgive me, O beer snobs!

Finishing up the two-mile time trial. I'll see all my RF501 peeps at Thursday's group run!