It Was All About The Pancakes

May 3, 2011 by

I registered for a 5 mile race with my friends Laurie and Tara.  We agreed to meet at the start around 7:15 AM, do the five miles and then go out for pancakes after. This particular race was the first of a three race series to benefit The Ohio Canal Corridor (aka The Towpath).  For each race you run, you get a very nice tech running shirt to commemorate the day.  Participation in all three races gets you a snazzy bonus shirt. Laurie arrived at the start shortly before I did.  The race was to begin at 8AM, but the roads leading to the start were closing at 7:30.   Laurie sent Tara a text message to tell her where we were parked and then we sat in my car waiting for her to arrive,...

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I Hate Running

Apr 22, 2011 by

I hate running.  I really, really hate running.  In spite of my white hot dislike for running, I feel compelled to keep trying it and continue to register for races.  I have heard that quote about the definition of insanity, something like “The definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing over and over, while expecting different results.” That perfectly describes my relationship with running.  I keep trying it, hoping that one day I will actually enjoy it, but I never do. There are certain things about running that I don’t hate.  For example, when I am running on a regular basis, I can eat like a horse with a tapeworm and not gain weight and that is indescribably wonderful, but that doesn’t mean I love running. It means I love food...

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Mid-Life Sampler Platter

Mar 30, 2011 by

I got in my car the other day and the tripometer read ‘26.2’ and I thought to myself “This must be a sign that I should register for a marathon.” I later realized that it was probably not the universe telling me to train for a marathon, but rather my car telling me that if I really feel the need to travel 26.2 miles, I should do it while seated and at a speed of 60-70 MPH, not on foot at 5 MPH.   That’s the problem with signs.  If you read them wrong, you may wind up doing something stupid, like running, or calling an ex. I hate running.  Not that you can really call what I do ‘running’.  It’s more of a ‘wog’.  Not really walking, but slower than jogging.  For some reason...

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