This past weekend, I clocked 15 miles. Not bad considering my slow come back into the world of shin splints, runner's knee, achilles tendonitis, ankle sprains, iliotibial band (ITB) syndrome, plantar fasciitis, and hamstring sprains. The joys of running. The only sport that allows you to injure yourself without any help from others.
Saturday, I ran 9 miles (twice around Lake Merced) without my ipod, which I had forgotten at home. So, I resorted to mumbling whole conversations under my breath to entertain myself. And for additional excitement, after I made a quick trip to the port-a-potty, my car key that was supposed to have been in the pocket of my running shorts was missing. Wonderful, I'm thinking. I backtracked along my route and found a key on the trail. Unfortunately, it wasn't mine. I re-entered the port-a-potty, took one look down the shit hole and prayed that I would not see anything resembling a car key. Alas, I did find my key tucked in my shorts. It manuevered around to a location I will not mention.
Sunday was race day; the Wharf to Wharf in Santa Cruz. Chris and several members of his TnT cult were running the race also and I hitched a ride on their shuttle bus that morning. There were approx. 15,000 runners for the short 6 mile race along the wharf. Can you imagine the amount of people milling around at 7:30am in chilly, foggy weather? Don't they have something better to do on a Sunday morning? I guess I shouldn't be talking.
Lucky for me, Chris got a spot right behind the seeded runners so I wouldn't have to bump, shove, and elbow my way through the first mile or two in order to get past the slower runners. After Chris told me he would stay by me, a mile into the race, he left me in the dust because I was running a slower pace than he was used to. Bastard. I'm still talking trash to him about that.
On a side note, thanks for your comment, Amir. I'm glad I'm not the only one reading my ramblings. :)
It's all about SAFETY
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