When you go for a long run with someone new for the first time, you get nervous and wear your best spandex. Like it's a first date. Only it’s better because it's running. Discuss.
(My friend Matt just reminded me that I wouldn't know what a date was like. Cool, thanks.)
Taylor Swift just broke up with Jake Gyllenhaal, and everyone is freaking out in anticipation of her next breakup song. She writes songs about everyone she dates, so don’t date her if you don’t want to be in her songs. In the same way, I write blogs about the people I run with. I’m like an ultrablogging Taylor Swift, and lots of times, my running friends become a google-able aspect of my life. I’m sorry, but only kind of. Because you inspire me. And a lot of times, I feel like a squirrel. I’ll be running and think of something helpful or edifying or terrible, and I’ll tuck it into my cheeks like acorns and store it until I’m safely home to record it. That way, I can share my life with other people.
…Anyway, here’s to YOU, Bimblers, my new running friends. The Bimbler’s Bluff is a group of trail and ultraunners in the New Haven, Connecticut area. I’ve only just NOW figured out they’re here. It’s just like how it took me until November until I figured out how to turn on the TV in my room. But now that I know they’re here, life is so much better! And now that I can turn the TV on, I have things to occupy my mind while I do core work.
It’s important to have friends.
It’s also important to have ultra-friends because they understand you. Non-runners ask a lot of questions, which typically—when pressed—devolve into whether or not I run hundreds of miles out of psychosis or if they should be ashamed that they haven’t run one intentional step since high school gym class.
[Answer: Maybe you’ve noticed that I’m mentally stable in all other aspects of my life. It’s not psychosis. Don’t be ashamed, but maybe go run more. And while we’re talking about mental issues, why don’t you explain to me why you feel negatively implicated when I go run around.]
Training this winter has been nuts. There is a lot of snow, covered in ice of varying surface integrities. You never know when you’re going to break through. And the ice cuts your legs, so I have brand new leg scars. Using your legs to break the ice. This is a pun because of the dating theme. But because I announced it, it’s self-congratulatory and doesn’t count. A boy in my Symbolic Logic class made puns every day. EVERY DAY. And nobody liked the puns because he said them and laughed before anyone else could, and he found his identity in punning. He was the pun boy, and it wasn’t healthy. We probably didn’t like his puns because we were concerned for his health.
In other news, I’ve started wearing my Camelbak at inappropriate occasions, like at the dinner table because it’s way more convenient to have a hydration system strapped to your body than to hold a cup. And it seems like such an American notion—not even having to move, just drink from a tube hooked across your body, lower right to upper left, like you’re saluting a flag with a water tube. This is why the rest of the world is behind the runners. One day, they’ll catch on. Until then, I’ll drink from my Camelbak--definitely at dinners and probably at my wedding some day.
My next race is another 50K. 50Ks are short. They’re just little guys. It’s like when I was a 2-miler and my coach used to tell me to run the 800, too. And I would think, “Should I even bother to put on my shoes? It’ll be over in 5 seconds.” And then I’d get out there and DIE because it was so fast. Four times shorter. A billion times faster. (I’m rounding up.) 50Ks feel the same—-like acute burning leg fire. And if you’re going to run 31 miles, you might as well just finish off the last 69. That’s all I have to say about that.