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Saturday, October 10, 2009

They call me Ishmael

Well, no they don't actually. I was just making a literary reference to a book I've never read.

I get a call last night from my buddy Chris. "I want to do a 10-11 miler tomorrow. You in? I thought we'd go to Bur-Mil."

"Ah. Ahem. Yes. Bur-Mil. Where I was nearly killed last weekend."

"Yeah. I want to get some trail running in."

"... where I de-rooted trees with my face."


"Yeah dude. Of course I'm in."

I woke up this morning and looked outside. Soaked with rain. Nice and slippery. I bet the trails are even more covered with leaves now, too, I thought. I'm going to die.

I didn't think I'd be able to get a bandaid to stick on my twice-bloodied toe,what with the rain and all, so I gave the Vibram's one more try. I've cut the back of the heel practically all the way off with a swiss army knife. Looks like it was chewed up by an angry woodchuck.

"You still want to do this in the rain?" I asked as I got in his truck in the parking lot of the Buy Rite, hoping he'd say something like "hmm, that is a little dangerous. Let's stick to the road." But no.

"Yeah man." And off we went.

I have nothing to report. I got back on that horse, made a concerted effort to lift my feet. It worked. We ran sevenish/eightish miles around the lake at around an 8:15 - 9:15 m pace, depending on which map you use. Neither one of us tripped once. I didn't kick a thing. It was... anti-climactic to say the least.

After the trail, I ditched the shoes as we ran an additional 4ish miles on the path. I felt like tiring myself out, so we picked up the pace (Chris is one of those super fast runners. I think he has one of those letter jackets, or whatever they're called. The jacket with all the pins and stuff that jocks wear to attract the ladies. Man, I don't know anything about running culture). We finish, at which point I confide how nervous I was.

"I thought you were mad at me for something and wanted to punish me."

"Nah, man. You got to return to your ... what's it called? Rival? Scene of the crime? What am I trying to say?"

"My nemesis? No that's not it. Return to the horse that... no..."

"Your Moby Dick! Return to your Moby Dick!"

"I don't know if I'm comfortable saying I returned to my Moby Dick. Seems inappropriate, somehow. And please, don't say that so loud. People are staring."

1 comment:

  1. Congrats on a successful slog and besting your white whale. Avoid reading Moby Dick at all costs. Within untold pages of descriptions of whaling, boats, knots and other slumber-inducing material, a good story actually exists, though.