What I've learned: #837

While Michael Phelps may make it look easy and an intricate part of winning 9 billion gold medals, I struggle with this simple concept:

Yesterday, I learned that it is a BAD idea to spit while running under the following circumstances:
-The wind is blowing in your face
-You are running uphill
-You are so dehydrated that your spit has the viscosity of maple syrup

Results include, but are not limited to:
-SPIT EVERYWHERE (in your hair, on your face, on your clothes) creating a spiderweb of yuck
-Bystanders pointing and laughing
-A suspicious stain on your black shirt

LESSON LEARNED.

The next big thing

I have been training for the Chicago Marathon since, what, February? Well, not really full out training, but maintaining and allowing time for a very slow, gradual, comfortable, injury-free build-up. I started with about a 10 mile base, and would space my long runs out fortnightly. I was conscious of vacations, trips, events, and anything else that could potentially get in the way of running. So, needless to say, marathon #2 has been on the forefront of my mind for a solid 7 months.

Today at work, someone asked me when my next big race is. In my head, I wanted to respond, "Oh I am doing the Chicago marathon, but that isn't for a while yet." But as I quickly did the math in my head, HOLY SCHNIKIES it is only 3 weeks away!

I have my hotel booked.
I have my train ticket booked.
I have planned my outfit (which is really the most important part of running, wouldn't you agree?).
I ran a 20 miler last weekend (which you will get the juicy update on later this week).
I have my recovery planned.
I have studied the course and have it imprinted in my mind. Ask me the name of the governor and I can't tell you, but ask me the name of the street mile 18.3 is on, and BAM, I gotcha. (It's Ashland Ave, btw.)
I even know what I will binge on post-race. 3 words: MAC N CHEESE. Yes, "N" is a word.

So I mean, it sounds like I am ready, right? RIGHT?!

RIGHT?!

Slow as molasses... or Tupelo honey...

Let's just cut right to the chase here... 97% HUMIDITY?! REALLY!? 

My interpretation of 97% humidity is "3% away from running at the bottom of the ocean while wearing an Eskimo outfit." It is uncanny how much the weather impacts my running.

The Tupelo race was just a 14.2 miler, which at this point should be no big shakes for me. But dear sweet Jesus above, it was pure agony. The 5am start time didn't scare me at first glance, but that was before I realized I would be up until 11pm cheering on my Clemson Tigers as they beat the pants off Auburn. OK, so late bedtime, that's ok. When my alarm went off at 3:30am, I was less than jazzed. I somehow made it to the start line around 4:30am and stretched and wiped the remaining eye boogers off my face. Then set out at 5am sharp.

I would have taken a picture of the start line to share with you, but it would pretty much would have just been a big black square. It was completely pitch black out. So dark. And silent. It was great once the pack thinned out a little- I really enjoyed the solitude and serenity of running through the back country roads of Tupelo with nothing but the near-full moon to light my way. But I was also aware that this was the perfect setting for a horror movie. A man with a chainsaw jumps out of the bushes and I am held captive in his basement for 4 months... you get the picture. Fortunately, that did not happen. (Though around mile 9 I would have preferred that.)

The first 6 miles were pretty good. I was holding at around a 9:30 pace and trucking right along. I saw some horses, skunks, and meth labs. It was great. But then, out of nowhere, SLAM. Wall. At mile 7. MILE 7?! REALLY?! Who hits a wall at mile 7?! No idea where that came from. My legs felt like cement. I was miserable. So slow. Had one mile in there that was well over an 11:30 pace. I will spare you any more play-by-play. Just picture me running, then use your fancy Blu-ray DVD player remote to put it in super-slow motion. Like the kind of slow motion that makes faces look all distorted and eyes all squinty, and makes any and all speech sound like a dying wildebeest. Or better yet, like Will Ferrell getting shot with a tranquilizer dart:

Yea. That was me. "I like you, but you're crazy..."

Somehow, I made it to the finish line. That was the only place the photographers caught me. Ummmm really? I look like that? Mother of pearl.... I AM SO DEAD SEXY! *sarcasm, for those of you that have yet to master my sense of humor*

I wasn't shooting for any records with this run, just wanted to get the cool medal. Which I did. And wore with pride.

Finished with a 10:08 pace (2:23:49). Not that great. But I didn't die. Or get kidnapped. For those 2 reasons alone, I will mark this one off as a "win."