So sometimes life just comes upon you. At times you get to go to work to earn money. At other times you get to do home renovation projects. This is a week of home renovation projects. Painting the house, grinding concrete, smoothing down walls. So what happens to the runner with all of these things happening at once? He runs early, runs hard, and packs his whole run into a shorter amount of time than he would really like.
A usual week comprises a Monday grunt run. This entails dragging ones booty out of bed for the beginning of much running in the week. This happened to me on Monday. I hope it happened to you also. Five miles. 50 minutes. Not Dead Yet.
Tuesday is sort of a rest day in which you recoup what sanity you bled out onto the road on Monday and hope that Wednesday gets better. Tuesday was no rest. It was 8 miles - 1 hour and 20ish minutes. Grinder run. More brains and sanity lost along the pavement of what we quaintly call life.
Wednesday is traditionally the longer of the runs in the middle of the week. This actually was this morning and it was 5 miles again - and in 50ish minutes. My dog is not quite up with the fact that he is a pawn in my evil scheme to dominate City Creek Canyon. He does however lament that he did not get to chase a black kitty into the bushes on the start of the run on Monday. I believe that he echoed Don King - "I was Robbed!" or something of that vein.
Thursday is tomorrow and I am banking on not having to run tomorrow. Unless I have "crazy leg" syndrome and I am itching for my 18 miles. But I feel somewhere down deep that the sanity will prevail.
Friday is traditionally the rest before the storm. Your mind is now in full control of your body and you get itchy and twitchy. You ruminate upon why world peace is not really possible and indeed why it might not be the right solution. Your psyche starts to store up the needed gumption to run. It begins with putting ideas in the head such as: "you are an IT guy and you don't work that hard - 18 can't kill you." Followed by: "Were you born this slow or did you devolve into this pile of loose flesh and macabre fascination with Twinkies?" "Why don't you just hang up the shoes and buy insulin because that would be the easy way out..."
My response comes from Admiral Farragut: "Damn The Torpedoes! Full Speed Ahead!"
Yay, Dave!!!!! Full speed ahead. Your DOG was robbed! Gonna follow. I have to see if you kill yourself.
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