Saturday, January 22, 2011
Granola, lipstick, rottweilers, blahblahblah.
Last week after basketball practice, I drop-kicked my cell phone down a flight of stairs. It was a total freak accident. So I went to the Verizon store to activate a new one. The Verizon man didn’t believe a person could drop-kick a cell phone unless they were inebriated, and the more I protested the more he didn’t believe me. But honestly, who plays basketball drunk? I have a hard time playing well sober. Anyway, the Verizon man winked at me, and I couldn’t figure out why because I thought America was over the wink. But then he gave me the head nod, told me he was reactivating a new cell for free (hello $20 that will remain in my pocket), and winked again. I was so annoyed. I kept thinking that if he had an actual conversation with me, there’d be less winking and more blinking…because he’d be falling asleep. Because I drop more facts about the brain than a sailor drops curse words. But I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I took that $20 to the grocery store and bought 6 boxes of generic-brand granola. Growing up is hard.
I like being a girl, not only because it increases my allotment of granola but also because I can do this if I want, and it’s totally okay:
Plus, girls are better at managing pain, long-term planning, and metabolizing fat over the long haul, so we’re really made to ultrarun. I used to think boys had an advantage over girls in sports, and in many ways they do. Their lungs and hearts are bigger. They have more muscles. And while they were doing formative athletic things in their youth, I was playing hair salon with my collection of “My Little Ponies” and decorating my face with my mother’s lipstick.
("I'm asking you to trust me. I've done this to myself at least 7 or 8 times.")
In basketball, I’m at a disadvantage because the boys are more aggressive. But I try to make up for it in positivity and in the simple joy I get in running around. The ability to run 100s covers a number of ills. I can feign competency and am always fit enough to hang on. True confessions: I like when they set a pick and I run right into it. Maybe I’m wrong, but picks and screens are like conflictual hugs. And it’s nice, like oh, you were thinking of me and blocked me with a wall.
Oh, gosh. I was just thinking that I hope none of my professors ever, ever, ever come across my blog because I would lose all credibility as a mature thinker.
This weekend, my training is very important because I am using it to determine what I will race in February. On the table are a 50K, a 50-miler, and a 100-miler. Depending on how I feel and how this weekend goes distance-wise, I will pick one of them. The 100-mile is my wheelhouse (definition 3), but I have a lot of speedwork built up now from basketball, cold morning sprints, and from the two families on Route 565 in Vernon who think their rottweilers know they’re on underground invisible fences. THEY DON'T KNOW. THEY HAVE NO IDEA.
In summary, girls are awesome, and I’m heading out for a run now. Ready set go.