I did it: it's done
Wow, I can't believe that I haven't blogged since Wednesday. Oh wait, yeah I can: I've been ridiculously busy. Shall I recap? No? Who cares what you think - get your own blog.
Thursday I went to my running clinic and they said, "Are you running the half on Sunday?" to which I said, "Hells, yeah!" and they indicated that I shouldn't be running. I was supposed to be taking it easy and winding down. I went to for an 8k tempo run and did pretty good. Hubert, my French Canadian future lover, asked what time I was looking for at the half and I said an hour fifty, or an hour fifty-five. He looked at me incredulously, as did the guy running the clinic (all because I killed myself on the 8k run, so I looked momentarily good). Hubert figured I could do it in 1:45. I laughed and said that no, I was pretty slow. The prior two years I had clocked in at 1:53 and 1:54. They seemed convinced that I could do 1:45 and some discussion ensued as to whether I would finish in 1:45 and then loiter around just before the finish line to increase my time to prove a point.
Friday H came over and we had some Chinese and I lost at chess. Saturday morning I attempted to impress him with my culinary prowess. I ended up being reprimanded for depressing the plunger on my bodem too quickly after pouring the water in, and for putting water in my (teflon) frying pan after I was done with it, but while it was still hot. It's like I'm dating my mom or something. Hot.
Michael came over later in the afternoon and then we met up with Lor and Big D for dinner at Enigma: fun! Service was a bit spotty, but I enjoyed the food and more importantly I greatly enjoyed the company. I hadn't seen Lor or Big D in a long time and I felt that everyone got along so well together. I kept thinking to myself: I have such awesome friends and then giggling silently, as though it was a secret.
Sunday was tough. We got up at 5:30 for a 7:00am start time. I was so tired. I ran the first 10k with Michael, which I have never done before: he's much faster than me. Then I lost him at a water station. At kilometer 11 I thought I had a small rock in my shoe, agitating the ball of my foot, so I pulled over for my first ever "technical difficulty" during a race. I pulled off my shoe and sock and - no rock! What the? I realized it was something else: perhaps my sock was bunched up and agitating my foot, who knows. Nonetheless, I had another 10k to run and I felt a nice blister developing. Then it started to rain. And not just a bit: it was a torrential frickin' downpour. Water was streaming off my hat. My capris were plastered to my legs and my tank was suctioned to my torso. It was the ultimate wet t-shirt contest. It was raining so hard I could hear people squishing as I ran past. There was one guy that was singing and I contemplated that he might be delirious. I passed him and no, he was quite lucid. And melodic. Okay, good cardio to be able to sing Neil Young's "Heart of Gold" at kilometre 16 of a half marathon.
Before the Burrard Street bridge I had a bit more energy (yay! Gatorade) and I motored over it and started running pretty hard with another lady. We both kept each other going at a nice clip and I flew over the finish line, looked up and saw 1:48. I was quite happy! I knew Michael would have finished, so I looked for him just after the finish line. No Michael. I went and got some water. No Michael. I started to get cold, since my body was cooling and it was still pissing. No Michael. About ten minutes later, bordering on hypothermia I commandeered a garbage bag to try and retain some body heat. Finally found Michael. My body was shaking violently and I think my first words to him were, "Can we go now?". He was also freezing to death and retrieved a garbage bag. We were both too cold to punch arm holes in them, so we walked to the bus in garbage bags, with just our heads poking through. I thought I might die. He was like, "Where were you? I looked for you". I was like, "When? Why didn't you see me?". He said, "I watched for you at about 1:50". I said, totally nonchalant, "Oh yeah, I crossed at 1:48". He got all excited. I have no bigger cheerleader than Michael. It turned out my final chip time was 1:46 and his was 1:41 - so I was only five minutes behind him!! Anyways, we were saved from hypothermia but the kind bus driver that cranked the heat while we shivered noisily in our garbage bags. Michael kept saying the bags were the best idea I had come up with ever. Gee, thanks.
Spent the rest of the day with him. Wandered down Main Street. Had some coffee. Forgot where we parked and became convinced my car had been stolen. Ate and oat and fudge bar.
Went to see H afterwards. We watched Pan's Labyrinth. I spent a lot of time lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling asking "Can I come out now?" due to the graphic violence. Well, I'm assuming it was violent because I didn't actually see it, but heard lots of nasty sounds and screaming. Made tentative plans to see each other later in the week. He seems busy. Maybe he didn't like the way I depressed the bodem plunger. Huh. He should've seen me waterlogged, blue lipped, wearing a garbage bag at 9am this morning. I's dead sexy.
Thursday I went to my running clinic and they said, "Are you running the half on Sunday?" to which I said, "Hells, yeah!" and they indicated that I shouldn't be running. I was supposed to be taking it easy and winding down. I went to for an 8k tempo run and did pretty good. Hubert, my French Canadian future lover, asked what time I was looking for at the half and I said an hour fifty, or an hour fifty-five. He looked at me incredulously, as did the guy running the clinic (all because I killed myself on the 8k run, so I looked momentarily good). Hubert figured I could do it in 1:45. I laughed and said that no, I was pretty slow. The prior two years I had clocked in at 1:53 and 1:54. They seemed convinced that I could do 1:45 and some discussion ensued as to whether I would finish in 1:45 and then loiter around just before the finish line to increase my time to prove a point.
Friday H came over and we had some Chinese and I lost at chess. Saturday morning I attempted to impress him with my culinary prowess. I ended up being reprimanded for depressing the plunger on my bodem too quickly after pouring the water in, and for putting water in my (teflon) frying pan after I was done with it, but while it was still hot. It's like I'm dating my mom or something. Hot.
Michael came over later in the afternoon and then we met up with Lor and Big D for dinner at Enigma: fun! Service was a bit spotty, but I enjoyed the food and more importantly I greatly enjoyed the company. I hadn't seen Lor or Big D in a long time and I felt that everyone got along so well together. I kept thinking to myself: I have such awesome friends and then giggling silently, as though it was a secret.
Sunday was tough. We got up at 5:30 for a 7:00am start time. I was so tired. I ran the first 10k with Michael, which I have never done before: he's much faster than me. Then I lost him at a water station. At kilometer 11 I thought I had a small rock in my shoe, agitating the ball of my foot, so I pulled over for my first ever "technical difficulty" during a race. I pulled off my shoe and sock and - no rock! What the? I realized it was something else: perhaps my sock was bunched up and agitating my foot, who knows. Nonetheless, I had another 10k to run and I felt a nice blister developing. Then it started to rain. And not just a bit: it was a torrential frickin' downpour. Water was streaming off my hat. My capris were plastered to my legs and my tank was suctioned to my torso. It was the ultimate wet t-shirt contest. It was raining so hard I could hear people squishing as I ran past. There was one guy that was singing and I contemplated that he might be delirious. I passed him and no, he was quite lucid. And melodic. Okay, good cardio to be able to sing Neil Young's "Heart of Gold" at kilometre 16 of a half marathon.
Before the Burrard Street bridge I had a bit more energy (yay! Gatorade) and I motored over it and started running pretty hard with another lady. We both kept each other going at a nice clip and I flew over the finish line, looked up and saw 1:48. I was quite happy! I knew Michael would have finished, so I looked for him just after the finish line. No Michael. I went and got some water. No Michael. I started to get cold, since my body was cooling and it was still pissing. No Michael. About ten minutes later, bordering on hypothermia I commandeered a garbage bag to try and retain some body heat. Finally found Michael. My body was shaking violently and I think my first words to him were, "Can we go now?". He was also freezing to death and retrieved a garbage bag. We were both too cold to punch arm holes in them, so we walked to the bus in garbage bags, with just our heads poking through. I thought I might die. He was like, "Where were you? I looked for you". I was like, "When? Why didn't you see me?". He said, "I watched for you at about 1:50". I said, totally nonchalant, "Oh yeah, I crossed at 1:48". He got all excited. I have no bigger cheerleader than Michael. It turned out my final chip time was 1:46 and his was 1:41 - so I was only five minutes behind him!! Anyways, we were saved from hypothermia but the kind bus driver that cranked the heat while we shivered noisily in our garbage bags. Michael kept saying the bags were the best idea I had come up with ever. Gee, thanks.
Spent the rest of the day with him. Wandered down Main Street. Had some coffee. Forgot where we parked and became convinced my car had been stolen. Ate and oat and fudge bar.
Went to see H afterwards. We watched Pan's Labyrinth. I spent a lot of time lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling asking "Can I come out now?" due to the graphic violence. Well, I'm assuming it was violent because I didn't actually see it, but heard lots of nasty sounds and screaming. Made tentative plans to see each other later in the week. He seems busy. Maybe he didn't like the way I depressed the bodem plunger. Huh. He should've seen me waterlogged, blue lipped, wearing a garbage bag at 9am this morning. I's dead sexy.
posted by Duder at 9:43 PM
1 Comments:
let me see if I am getting this straight. Friday night H came over and you played chess, SATURDAY MORNING you cooked, I am deducing that there was a sleepover. Would I be correct in that assumption? Did you have a pillow fight? Were there smores?
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