Dragging

After gorging myself on tasty treats and lots of red wine over the holiday, I'm having trouble gaining steam. Did manage to get a whole 20 minutes in on the Elliptical at the gym today, and on the Hill setting non-the-less. Woot.

Why Zombies Walk with a Limp

Peppermints every half mile and my special Gatorade mix worked their magic and I passed the finish with surprisingly little distress. The problem with an easy run is the smugness that follows. Smugness is like a disease that rotts from within and catches the body by surprise. Smugness causes a well-seasoned runner to say things like "no, I don't need to ice my knees, I feel fine!" or "I've had plenty to drink today, I don't need to push fluids." So the frozen peas went into a pasta salad yesterday instead of on my knees where they belonged and I leisurely sipped on hot chocolate all afternoon instead of water.

But today, my smugness has caught up with me, like all smugness eventually does. I've got a killer head-ache that I have no doubt is dehydration related. My knees, however, are the biggest problem. I'm beginning to wonder if I was actually worked over by some goons with a baseball bat because of the money I owe Big Harry.

My painful moans are drawing suspicious glances from the couple at the next table as I pray that the waitress poisoned my Tea in pity. Perhaps I better stagger out of here before they phone in an Exorcist.  

The Rise of the Undead

Year 2011 has been a bust, running-wise anyway. I've done nothing, nadda, zippo. No road races, no trail runs, not even a measly little sprint triathlon. My toes are in pristine condition, all my chaffing spots have completely healed, and I haven't used my inhaler in months. I'm slowly slipping back into the soft and plushy world of humanity. Well NO MORE!

I've decided I can't let the year conclude on such a wimpy note. So this weekend, the Undead shall Rise Again! I'm going to run a Half. No, I haven't trained for it; and, no, this is not something I recommend. This is a desperate attempt to salvage some runner's pride and jump start training for next year. I'll probably crawl across mile 13.1 on my face, bleeding and broken. But then, isn't blood one of the great joys of running?