Indications of springtime: two ducks making sweet love in our backyard; first run of the season in shorty shorts.
When you’re as pasty white as I am, springtime is a much-welcomed opportunity to add a touch of color. However, I think it’s pretty unfair that the fattest parts of me are still the whitest. I still have -albeit very faint – lines from last year’s runner’s tan, and today I kick-started this year’s runner’s tan with a long run in my favorite shorty shorts.
Normally I like to keep things casual on Saturdays. I wake up earlyish, but continue to lounge around in bed; stumble out around 10, drink coffee in my jammies for a few hours and then head out for a mellow three or four miles, or whatever the hell I feel like. Then on Sunday, well-rested and decidedly unhungover, I buckle down for my long run.
Today I switched things up, set my alarm for an unheard of 7:30 and drove across town to do a long run with my homies from Indy Runners. (They may or may not know my name, but we are homies just the same, I assure you.)
Remember how I joined that running club months and months ago? I’ve gone running with them a whopping two times, and then second time, it was something like 0° outside and Kate and I were the only runners present.
We met up in front of the Brugge (alas, this run did not end with a tripel de Ripple) and then promptly scattered to the four winds. I teamed up with a girl who claimed to be slow (LIAR!) and we headed out at a pace common sense told me was utterly unrealistic for me to maintain for 9 or 10 miles. (I forgot my Garmin so you’ll just have to trust me on this one.)
I started feeling some nasty tightness in my left calf but pride kept me trucking along and when my running buddy turned around to head back around the three mile mark, I took the opportunity to slow my ass the frick down to a more comfortable pace.
The tightness continued and got worse, but I was stubbornly determined to finish without walking, and crawled in at probably something like an 11:00 pace the last few miles. But I still ended up doing 9.5 in about 1:40, which tells me just how way too fast I started out. Eight miles probably would have been wiser today. That last mile and a half was reeeeally pushing it.
But I’m not dead, so I’ve got that going for me.
We all ended up at Ripple Bagel Deli for coffee and seriously kickass bagel sandwiches. Do you like…anything? You’ll like this place. Mine had turkey, avocado, cucumber, sprouts and provolone.
My calf was still killing me when I got home, so I went at it with the rolling stick and…fffffffffrick. It was excruciating. I should have had a chunk of tree bark to bite down on like those old-timey women who used to give birth in the days of yore. But it worked. I rolled all the knots and icknastiness out of it and now it feels only marginally tender instead of all ohshitowwy.
I am now sitting with my leg elevated and iced, and I’m appropriately enjoying a Southern Tier Farmer’s Tan Imperial Lager:
Neolithic humans evolved from nomadic hunters into a more settled agricultural society, changing life forever. The ‘founder’ crops they raised included wheat & barley. It is little surprise that the first examples of brewing appeared during this age.
Brewers owe much to that epoch. Similarly, we thank our farmer friends of today for cultivating the ingredients that are responsible for the beers we now enjoy. Their laborious days spent outdoors under the hot sun earn them respect, as well as a mark of distinction: the farmer’s tan. Yes, the inevitable red & white hallmark of hard work.
I usually avoid lagers, and I can’t really explain why. I guess because in my formative years, the only lagers I knew of were at best not completely disgusting, and what you did to overcome that was drink about 16 of them.
But this one turns the traditional idea of lagers (or mine, at least) on its ass. It’s a fine Saturday afternoon post-run beer.
It’s got the word imperial in it, which tells you it means business. It is 9% ABV, but maybe your Saturday afternoon post-run beer differs from mine. And Southern Tier has kind of cornered the market on imperials. They do a lot of them, and they do them well.
It’s light and easy to drink, but has enough taste and booze so you know you’re drinking a beer. Fruity, sweet, orange-y, malty; finishes sharp and clean. I am happy.
And now, for your question in bold:
What’s your favorite lager? Or, what’s your Saturday routine?