Adventures in Marathon Training

Meb Keflezighi won the Boston Marathon this morning, finishing in 2:08:37. 

I ran a 12 mile training run in 2:13:07.

Thankfully, I'm not competing against Meb. I'm also not competing against Rita Jeptoo, who won the women's field with a time of 2:28:57. They are what I like to call super-human. Those times are insane. Admirable, but insane.

I'm just happy to be on this journey to complete my first marathon, hopefully sometime in the range of 4.5 - 5 hours. 

Here's my issue. Give me a few hours of running and I'm bound to find several ways to make an idiot of myself. Today was no exception.

Around mile 8, I became trapped on a cul-de-sac by a rather large dog with unknown intentions. She appeared out of nowhere and she definitely wasn't going to let me pass without some form of groveling. The problem is that, by mile 8, very little blood is flowing to my brain, so it took me several minutes to remember what I've learned in my time in animal rescue. All that came to mind initially was yawn and smack my lips. I also decided it was best to sidetrack into the woods on my hands and knees with my eyes averted, all the while still yawning loudly and smacking my lips. Yes. Yes, that totally happened. 

All's well that ends well, though, because she apparently felt sorry enough for me that she allowed me to crawl past her to freedom. Still, it takes chick a good mile or two to recover from becoming some bitch's bitch. And about the time I was starting to feel good about myself again, I came upon a large group of people out for a morning stroll. The man at the front of the group suddenly threw his arms up in the air. I took this as the international sign for "You Go, Girl!" and threw my arms up, woo-hooing in return. Wait, is he? Is he yawning? Yes. Yes, he's totally yawning. 

Whatever. I'm 10 miles into a 12 mile run, my achilles thing hurts, I'm running out of water, and my stomach keeps growling despite the 17 gnats that I've swallowed on my journey. At that point, I couldn't even be bothered to look embarrassed. Yes. I just woo-hooed myself. You wanna judge me? Try picking up the pace a little bit first. See how clearly your brain works then.

Apparently, running makes me resentful.