Training day: Long run no. 2*

*Spoiler alert: it did not go well and gross things ahead*

To cut right to the chase: I bit it. Hard core and within the first 20 minutes of my run. Damn it and ew.



It was a nice start. I was out on the road early, so it was quiet on the Cambridge side of the Charles River. My This American Life (Ep: #102, Roadtrip!) was a distracting delight and the river sparkled ahead, beckoning me on.

Suddenly, the gravel path reach up and grabbed hold of my pretty new sneaker and threw me forward so that I was sailing through the air with the greatest of unease. Mid flight I heard, through my earphone, an "Ooooooo" from a nearby pedestrian. And then I skidded to an elegant stop with the palms of my hands, obviously testing out a handstand-to-backspring landing, which failed miserably.

From my dirt landing strip I brushed at the sand and grit on my legs and peered at the now-bloody-palms, not quite sure what to do. A kind man helped me up and told me to take a breather but I assured him I just needed to wash myself off, as I smeared my hands across my McDonald's-yellow tank top.

A little rattled, yes. But I was immediately annoyed that this interference had to come so early in the trip and that I had to sacrifice a precious quarter of water. So I jogged on, a little wobbly and with hands throbbing.

It was really only at home when my heart rate slowed and, faced with the prospect of a hot shower, that I realized how bad my hands were. But, being a wait-and-see-how-it-goes kind of gal I gingerly washed the dirt from my body, poured shampoo on my head, swabbed at cuts with disinfectant and called it a day. We were in a rush, on to the beach and I figured an afternoon in the ocean water would cure all.

Beach trip, however, involved a new fabulous friend who is, unfortunately, a nurse who tsk-tsked at my unclean wounds and told me I had to scrub to clean them out. And, true to her word, the salt water did little to get the dirt and stones out of my hand so back at home, after a few beers and an hour soak in bubbly water, a baby shot of whiskey and an old Friends episode as a distraction, I (shiver) scrubbed (pawed) to meager success.

Gross.

I'm glad I could share that.

And so, my second attempt at a long run gets a less-than stellar rating. Pros: cold beverages, laugh-out-loud funny TAL episode. Cons: repeat route, bloody hands. Thus:

Mileage: 8.6
Approx. time: 1:37
Overall rating: 6.2

And now for some antibacterial remedy for the image I have just painted:




xoL

The job hunting antidote

Yesterday I had a missed called that I thought was a solicitor that turned into an actual voice mail that became an awkward call that morphed into a freak out that fell, trembling and slightly sweaty, into a phone interview.

Which may not have gone well.

So, what does an increasingly-desperate-and-down-trodden-journalist do in the face of such open-ended-better-luck-next-time goodbyes?

Watch Sophie's Choice. It's the perfect antidote to a bad day.

Does this sound familiar:

Think you royally messed up that phone interview?

Still haven't heard back about that pitch you e-mailed in months ago?

Widening your job search from journalism jobs into communication in general?

Still finding cobwebs instead of story ideas in that attic you call a brain?

Well then you need The Job Searchaway:

1. Insert one copy of Sophie's Choice.
2. Wait 120 minutes.
3. Go on with life.

Maybe I wasn't as prepared for that interview as I would have liked, at least my Dad isn't a bastard anti Semite.

Maybe that pitch wasn't perfect and I could just rework because, hey, I'm not about to be arrested for buying ham to save my tuberculous-stricken mother.

Communications is still journalism, right? Who CARES about such minute details, at least I'm not in love with a paranoid schizophrenic whose abusive tendencies are the only way I can quiet the HORRORs I lived through in Auschwitz!

And for God's SAKE, grow a pair, vaccuum out those cobwebs, and grind out some stories because at least the German's didn't force you to choose certain DEATH for one of your babies, ripping the girl from your clenched arms as her scream, bloody and curling, echoes across the train platform only to be consumed by the darkness of night.

See?

Dontcha feel better already?

Now, back to grinding that stone.

xoxoL

Training day, first try

I have returned to the blog (yay) because I am recently unemployed (boo).

There is much to catch up on but I think I will start with the most recent: Marathon Training.

That is right party people. I have signed up for the Chicago Marathon and it appears as though it is time to start training. The math wiz in me thought I had another week but my running buddy told me, um, no. So I gathered myself together, eased any sort of anxiety with new equipment purchases and went on my way.

My first purchase was a little water bottle belt. What seemed like "big time" in the store became incredibly practical during my first long(ish) run. I filled two of the four 8-ounce water bottles with ice water and the other two with some sort of protein-make-you-keep-running-when-you-want-to-keel-over sports drink. The latter was not mixed with ice water which means in the 80-degree-by-8-day those water bottle were a boiling around my hip.

Thus,

Lesson #1: Do not fear the ice. Freeze everything for it will surely melt (in the summer).

The running store where I purchased said belt and new running sneaks had a nice little Run Boston map. I studied the hieroglyphics that made up my new map and found a route that followed the Charles River from the Cambridge side to the Boston side and back. I whined openly the night before about wishing my video ipod was a little less cumbersome and (*poof*) R produced an ipod mini he had stashed away in a drawer.

Thus,

Lesson #2: Whine openly and you may, possibly, receive.

Since returning to running I have found that This American Life is a delight to run to. So I loaded a few onto the mini pod, with some backup running music and set my alarm for a less-sweat-inducing Saturday morning run.

Dorkily equipped, meagerly warmed up and well stretched I ventured out onto the open road. And it was awesome. The route around the Charles River was splendid. A little hot and dry on the Cambridge side, but plush and environmentally distracting on the Boston side. Midway through my return trip on the Boston side I was awed and then accosted by a family of geese which made me stop and hobble via wide-birth into oncoming traffic to to avoid the hissing mother.

Just as my TAL episode (a completely entertaining trifecta on the subject of Kidnapping and/or being trapped) was coming to a close I began to feel what has to be the most relentless, awkward, Achilles heel of running: the inner thigh chafe. I mean, hot DAMN that is painful. I yanked and maneuvered my sweaty shorts down and around but to no avail. At times I even ran as though carrying a gallon of water between my thighs (not a pretty sight). No dice. From mile 6 to mile 8.5 I had to just grin and bear the chunky-thigh reality.

Thus,

Lesson #3: Embrace the spandex.

Besides the last lesson, the first long run out there was actually enjoyable. I think a new route had something to do with it and the boiled protein I consumed throughout, but in terms of the surprise that was week 1 of training, I'd say it was a success.

Estimated mileage: 8.6
Estimated time: 80m
Pros: Route, TAL episode, new sneaks, ice water, no IT band pain
Cons: Geese, the chafe
Rating: 7.5