Pinch Your Fat

Posted: May 20, 2016 in Uncategorized

531Here’s a completely irrelevant picture of my toe from the week BEFORE the Burning River 100 last year.  I’m using it because its nasty as fuck.  I’m pretty sure that’s what the muscles on the back side of my right leg look like right now.  And after all was said and done, I had a pretty good second half of last year.  Anyways, onto my gripes and optimisms about this year…

Last year, when I was in shape, and could run, and was fast-ish… There was this scholarship race entry essay contest thing put on by the fine folks at Trailsroc.  I wrote my second blurb about why I don’t deserve to have a race funded for me, but why a couple of people that I know probably do.  As if by some cruel stroke of luck, I managed to have my entry to the Cayuga Trails 50 Mile National Championship Thing paid for as a result of my rambling about all the great people in this little town.  A condition of this is that the entrant writes a report about the event.  I figure, what the fuck, I’m writing 2 posts a year now, so I may as well get them both out of the way in the next 3 weeks.  Here’s one about the race I trained for versus the race I’ll probably run.

In October of last year I ran a 50k in 3:55.  A month later I ran 50 miles in 6:55.  At that point I kinda figured, hey, if I can pull a 2:5x marathon at DC in March, I’m pretty much on course for something close to 8 hours at Cayuga…just going kind of by feel.  So I ran a 2:56 with what essentially amounted to an intravenous stream of alcohol flooding my bloodstream and several weeks worth of crippling insomnia bogging me down.  10 weeks.  Don’t do anything stupid, Wekdeb…

Anything stupid.

Gain 20 lbs.  Run sparsely and keep saying things that addicts always say, like “yo, yea, I’ll start tomorrow…after these six packs.”  So when my volume should’ve been 70, 80, 90 miles a week, I was pulling down 25, 35, fucking 5.  Whatever.  I really injured my hamstring/glute/entire right side of my lower half about a week before DC.  It got better once.  Then twice.  Then I fell a couple times as I was trying to get my trail legs back after a winter of road running and pretty much destroyed every muscle on the back side of my leg.   So I ran more.  I figure, I’m 33 going on dead, there’s no seconds to waste not seeing what I can do.  Give it my best.  Right?  Even at the expense of the possible future that lies on the other side of me NOT DYING tomorrow or the day after.  Whatever.  I set this goal, 8 hours, and you better believe I’m going to do it…

Can we respectably use “LOL” in these posts yet?  What is it, like 2016 now? 2017?

So, with 2 weeks and a day to go, I’m starting to feel fit again.  For like 13 miles at a time.  It’s a shame I have to run 50.  Taper psychosis started like 2 months ago, when I decided to start training for this thing.  So now that that’s out of the way I guess I can just enjoy the last couple weeks of staggering around and squeezing my butt and pinching my fat and saying shit like “yea, I’ll quit drinking tomorrow.  I’ll quit mainlining veganaise for lunch tomorrow.  I’ll become Mike from 2012 again tomorrow.”  But that’s probably not in the cards.  I’m happy.  Typically.  I’m 33 and still alive.  I’m 33 and still kind of fit.  I’m a liberal-alcoholic-pansexual-vegan-black metal musician that is only hated by trump supporters, anti-woman-women and people that don’t find nipples and dicks funny.  I’m okay with that.

Now that I’ve sat down to write this and think for a bit about it, and to pretend that anyone should give a fuck about what I think or do, I guess running has been bizarre for me this year.  Which I should probably just smile about after having such a great 2015.  While my dearest friends and training partners are getting shoes sent to them by potential suitors and speaking on panels and joining semi-illustrious race teams, I’m comfortable trying to be that guy that the guys up top at Nike will shit their sweatshop stitched pants over because I’m poorly representing their women’s line.

I laid out a series of B, C, D, E goals for CT50 since realizing that my hamstring and ass will not let me run 8 hours.  The goals have been progressively forlorn.  B goal was stick to Amanda Basham for as along as humanly possible, before noticing that she’s been hammering 90 mile weeks with more climb per square foot than I have available to me in any square mile of this town.  C was to shit fewer than 13 times on the first loop.  D was to have Jamie Hobbs push me in a stroller.  He’s signed up for some other race that day.  E was simply to start the race.   So Ima stick with E and be happy that I’m spending a long day in a great town with some of my favorite folks.

Word.  See you guys out there.


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