M(uuuugggggggg)y

Yesterday's run was hard. I thought getting out there at 6:30 am would be early enough to avoid the intense heat, but no! I started sweating in the first minute--the humidity reminded me of my childhood summers. It was a 4.5 mile Level 3 run (Level 1 is where you can talk to your running buddy and tell your life's story easily, Level 5 is approaching death, at Level 3 you should be able to communicate in 1-word sentences and occasional grunts.) That doesn't stop the conversation in my head however, which was quite loqoacious. It mostly was directed at my coach, Glen. Kind of like how birthing women get mad at their husbands, triathletes take it out on their coaches: "He probably looked at the weather schedule for July, found the prediction for the absolute hottest day, and scheduled this blasted workout for today!" "Thanks a lot, Glen!" "Rackum frackum %&*&^$%%!!!" Not that I REALLY think that. He's actually a very nice guy. He is an Ironman Champion, so he can be intense, but he can only do the challenging tough talk for so long before he has to profess his love for all of us. Having lost a loved one to lymphoma, he appreciates what we are doing and volunteers hours of his time to whip our sorry butts into shape. And really, all he wants is for us to do well, make it through race day without injury, and have fun along the way. As a bunch of novice triathletes, what more could we want from a coach?

Back to the run, I was glad to have my shoe tag with the emergency numbers on it on my running shoe that day. Besides the mental conversation with Glen, I had a morbid scenario of me going down from heatstroke playing in my mind. Wondering how long it would take to locate the shoe tag depending on which position I landed in. Who would find me? Judging from the early morning Forest Park jogging crowd, it would probably be a 22 year old blond woman with shorts that barely covered her bottom and a sports bra that would fit around my arm to hold my walkman in place (if we were allowed to use them, that is: no electronics in the race, so none with the workouts.) Since she would be in fantastic shape, then after a brief moment of indecision of whether to interrupt her stellar sub-6 minute mile workout to help me, would make it back to civilization rather quickly. I would be ok. But just in case, I didn't quite push it to a level 3.

I think Glen has a 6mile loop scheduled for Saturday's group practice; 3 miles uphill to Pittock Mansion, then 3 miles downhill. Meanie. I love you, too.