Pick a Race, Any Race

It’s been another crazy surreal week out there on Allen’s road *back* to Boston.  Here are some tidbits to share:

  • I backed out of Hood to Coast.  Again.  Coach is going to kill me.  (Note to homicide detectives – that was a joke.  Mostly.  But if my body is discovered somewhere in the woods near the Davidson cross country trails, question Coach Spano first.  If he’s cleared, then you can move on to my exes.  But hope and pray Coach did it, because if you start investigating all the exes, well, let’s just say I hope you carry a Snickers bar in your briefcase.)
  • Multiple failed workouts this week, a couple of them epic.  Age?  Heat?  Fat gut?  You be the judge.
  • Karhu Flows were officially retired this week.  After exactly 124.1 miles, the heels are shredded.  I can honestly say I got my money’s worth out of them.  But in the process, I have a new found appreciation for the Karhu Fast – 262 miles with little signs of wear.  Fast = Mary Stuart Masterson in Some Kind of Wonderful.  Flow = Lea Thompson (you think you want her, then you get her, then after taking her out a few times, you realize the Fast was always there for you, and while maybe not quite soflashy, they were oh so reliable!)  (ST, does this count as a review?)
  • Technology failed me this week, over and over and over:
    • Case #1 – One morning, my heart rate monitor never registered above 69 BPM during my run.  Maybe some of those urban legend street surgeons broke in the night before and gave me a heart transplant while I slept.  If so they, must have broken in and swapped the heart back out before Saturday, just in time to watch me crash and burn.
    • Case #2 – I plugged my Garmin 610 in to charge Saturday night.  It was at 33% when I went to bed.  When I woke up Sunday morning, it was at 7%.  Maybe one of my burglar surgeons stole my watch after the operation, wore it on a long run, then came back and re-connected the watch to the charger.  After giving me back my shitty old heart.
    • Case # 3 – Saturday night, I stepped onto my fancy, wireless body composition weight scale and it said I weighed 152 pounds, with 13% body fat.  Sunday morning, when I stepped back onto that exact same scale, I somehow weighed in at 168 pounds with18% body fat.  Apparently, I had gained 16 pounds in my sleep.  The only logical explanation?  My intruding surgeons,  while performing the heart transplant, shoved 16 one-pound containers of Crisco into my open chest cavity.  Obviously.
  • Saturday morning (after my abysmal workout failure), I ran into the DetermiNation crew.  It was worth the crappy run to see pals Scott Helms and the Patania’s (you may know them as TomLo or LoTom or even ToLo).  We hit Liberty East to meet Amy Grybush (out with a stress fracture) for breakfast.  There, the 2 Southerners (can anybody guess who they were?) in the crew ordered livermush to everyone else’s chagrin.  I was introduced to a hilarious new pastime – reading Facebook statuses into an Iphone app that records your voice and turns it into a song, not unlike this.  For the best effect, read 😉 out loud as “semi-colon right parentheses”.  (See Tom or Scott for app name.)  Much fun and laughter.
  • Repeat Saturday night, this time at Brixx in Birkdale.  Replace livermush with Mexican Pizza.  Scott and I donated $2 to the DetermiNation cause for every beer Tom drank.  I’ll just say that we made a sizeable donation and leave it at that.

Mini-story: Tom posted this picture from Brixx to Facebook. When my brother-in-law Craig commented, “2 out of 3…not bad”, Scott responded with “Eff you Craig Rivers”. To my brother-in-law, the pastor. In Scott’s defense, he did not know that Craig was my brother-in-law or a pastor. I’m sure he could never have imagined that I would be friends with a pastor.
  • Sunday, I actually had a decent 16-mile run (1 mile for every pound gained overnight).  I got 7 miles in with Kevin before I took about a 10-minute sauna break in a port-a-potty.  Pretty sure I lost the 16 pounds in there, if not by perspiration then by, um, other stuff.  Then I took my papier-mâché butt and hands (every sweaty runner who’s ever used a port-a-john mid-run knows exactly what I’m talking about) and met back up with Kevin who had joined a group of the DART fast kids, including, but not limited to,  Todd and Adam Mayes, Chris Jones, Chas, and more.  I chased those guys for a while, maybe 3 miles (all of which were at or below my goal marathon pace), before turning around and heading back to finish my run at a more manageable pace.  Ran by a former Olympian, Fam, and exchanged greetings – he was the second multiple-Olympic-trials competitor I’d spoken to this week.  (I talked to Megan Hovis at McAlpine earlier in the week, while she was getting her hair braided (ponder on that one for a while).
  •  Oh, and I signed up for a marathon, one last shot to qualify for Boston 2013 .  For now, I’m withholding the details.  Maybe I’ve heard just one too many people say, “Oh my god, I was tracking you at Boston and thought what the hell happened to him?!?”  Maybe I’ll run this one without the pressure of knowing everybody back home is watching me crash and burn.  But don’t worry, you know that I’ll gladly offer up all the sordid details of every step, be it speeding or staggering, afterward.  You’ll just have to keep reading.

One Response to “Pick a Race, Any Race”

  1. Brenda B Says:

    Major points for the Some Kind of Wonderful reference. Best of luck to you on your training and your Marathon.

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