So the other day at the gym they made us clear the pool because this dude appeared to be having a medical situation. He was fine, but we spent a good 20 minutes loitering in the hallway while the lifeguards looked him over, determined he was just fat and let him go on his way as long as he promised to keep his doughy ass out of the hot tub for the rest of the day.
I used the time to size up all the other swimmers, in particular, how ugly all of their feet were. Of course, then I wryly glanced down at my own feet: bunions, blisters, chipped neon pink polish, and this nasty bruise I got the other day when I ran six miles with the tongue of my shoe bunched up all weird down at the bottom.
There’s no lesson here. I just wanted to tell you that I was thinking about how I have really ugly, fucked up feet because I jammed them into heels for too many years and now I’m paying the price. Actually I guess there is kind of a lesson: don’t be stupid and you won’t look fucked up.
Anyway, my grotesque neglected fucked up feet and I ran a few miles yesterday and a few miles today and I’m optimistic about a longish run tomorrow. I feel like my running has improved to the point that it wouldn’t be ridiculous to start considering my options for a fall half marathon.
There are a few too many “easy” runs on there (and not any weightlifting but that’s another blog post entirely). I’d like to see some more “hard” ones (do I have to say it?), but I have gotten my mileage up to the point that I can…continue to work on getting my mileage up. I want to do another month of 20 mile weeks and then, fuck, I don’t know, maybe once a week a tempo and once a week some very casual sets of 100s or 200s at a slightly faster pace than my tempo pace. Because I have a tendency to hurt myself and let’s not get crazy.
The Indy Monumental is November 3, and I sucked such ass the last time I ran it, it would be nice to redeem myself.
Finalish thoughts: I’m having an incredibly hard time coming up with shit for the blog right now. I’d like to write shit a little more profound than just run/beer, run/beer, run/beer every day, except I can’t really get my shit together enough to actually write coherent sentences, much less profound sentences. But I was reading through some of the shit in my archives this week, and ifIdosaysomyself, some of it was actually pretty funny, even though it wasn’t profound. So maybe we just go back to me posting my daily minutiae and if you like it, you can buy me a beer. If not, kiss my ass. (I think I just rationalized quantity over quality, but let’s just go with it.)
That said, last night I drank Left Hand’s Wake Up Dead, an Imperial Stout I picked up last month in Chicago.
It lurked in my fridge for over 1 month because I had trouble pairing it with anything we were having for dinner. Asian stir fry and imperial stout? No. Spaghetti and imperial stout? Gross. Pizza and imperial stout? Ew, no.
Plus, at 10.2% ABV, it’s not just a beer you just casually sip on at the dinner table while spooning your daughter pureed sweet peas and squash. But last night, I gave up on creating the ultimate food and beer pairing and drank an imperial stout with fish tacos. Don’t judge. (Actually go ahead. I do).
It was nice.
Now, I hate raisins. (I also hate dates, figs and prunes. Not that you asked.) But a slight raisiny undertone mixed with coffee, chocolate and a little camp fire was pretty delicious. A nice boozy burn ensures you don’t forget one drop of that 10.2%.
I should probably add that the other perk of me posting more often is that there probably won’t be as many words for you to slog your way through before you get to the beer picture. So you’re welcome for that as well.