Every time I go to shave, I assume there’s someone else on the planet shaving. So I say, ‘I’m gonna go shave, too.’
Week 7 and things are finally starting to progress in a manner that will allow me to stop worrying quite as much. For the first 6 weeks, all I did was bitch and moan about my progress, or complete lack there of. I apologize, as I was acting a fool.
The cynical blinders came off this week for a couple reasons:
- I ran somewhat faster, and
- I didn’t struggle.
Why should running faster dictate my contentment? Easy, I went from averaging around 7’15” earlier in the season to 7’45”-ish for Weeks 3-6 and when you’re trying to qualify for something by running 7’05” for 26.2 miles, that regression is a bitter pill to swallow. So now I’m heading in the right direction again, hopefully I can keep this momentum and continue to knock that time lower over the next 9 weeks.
My “Moment of Zen” occurred this week during Saturday’s 20-miler. The first 10 miles were kind of blah, and the next 5 were progressively better. Yet, it was the last 5 miles that were perplexing, as it was as if the first 15 were merely a warm-up and a switch was flipped at mile 15 and I was able to run carefree. How the hell does that happen? More importantly, I hope I’m able to capture that moving forward! Is it the result of the training? My attitude? The fact that the band-aids were still over my nipples? Who knows, but I liked it!
Odd that I would mention band-aids and nipples. It’s probably just as odd that I’d start this post with a quote from the late Comedian Mitch Hedberg about shaving; however some things just need to be discussed. I’m convinced that God made man’s nipples more apt to chaffing during running as payback for Sodom and Gomorrah. Yet being the compassionate God that he is, he gave man the capacity to protect himself from the unbearable pain of wet fabric to nip friction…enter the band-aid.
If you think that the band-aid alone would allow for this malady to disappear for men worldwide, you’re tragically mistaken. For man is covered in varying degrees of fur and band-aids don’t stick to fur, especially sweaty fur, for any prolonged period of time. Thus, man must shave his fur in order for the band-aids to offer the barrier against God’s wrath.
That leads us to 9:30 PM on Friday night. We had just returned from dinner, a few mojitos and watermelon shots at Giorgio’s (my favorite). What better time to man-scape?! I mean there’s got to be someone else on the planet shaving their chest?! So with a slightly tipsy hand, I was able to successfully navigate this escapade and set the tone for a successful run the following day.
Short and sweet, cicadas nasty. These little bastards are also obviously horrible with geography as they’re not supposed to be up here in New Hampshire. Please fly south, mate and then burrow and die. Like mosquitoes, your purpose on this planet is not justified!
Thanks for letting me rant. Just one last post after this until my hiatus (8/12). In the wise words of Curtis Mayfield “keep on keepin on”.