I just got home from a long day at work and a short jaunt to the gym, and in the few minutes I’ve been in the apartment I have managed to polish off a monster tuna wrap and about 150 grams of chocolate covered peanuts. I guess that’s what happens when your entire caloric intake for the day consists of one bowl of soup. I know I should eat smaller portions more often, but I am terrible at budgeting time for meals. Guess it’s time to buy that intravenous kit I always dreamed about.
An IV drip probably would have done me wonders Sunday morning. I didn’t feel terrible when I woke up because I didn’t drink much (actually, I did, but it was over the course of a twelve hour day), but the fact I drank anything the night before a long-ish run was a bad sign. I can’t allow my willpower to lag right now, or I am never going to make it the starting line of the marathon.
Now, I don’t consider myself a problem drinker, but when I look at one of those questionnaires that discuss alcoholism I can usually check off enough boxes to put me into a twelve-step program. Blackouts? Check. Said or did something stupid while drinking? Check. Drinking for several days in a row? That’s what camping trips are for, silly. Either I need to dry out, or I gotta stop reading those damn pamphlets.
Needless to say, I didn’t feel up for a long run Sunday. I didn’t need to go out and do another 30K (that will happen a week from now), but I wanted to make sure I punished myself for my excessive bad behaviour on Friday and Saturday. I mapped out a short course (if you call a thirteen kilometer run short) with plenty of hills, put myself back together and headed out on the road.
I jogged from my sister’s house (actually, it’s in my name but she lives there) and turned onto the highway. It’s a particularly bleak stretch of road, pock marked by fowl swamps and dug out gravel pits, with a mile long incline that has claimed more than a few sets of quads in its day. I almost considered hopping onto an ATV path to avoid the pitiful scenery, but thought better when a group of young riders recklessly spun past me. No need to get run over just yet.
After I had enough of the highway I turned down Cozy Lake Road (there is a cozy lake, but I didn’t get a chance to run by it), took a right on Churchill Road, and landed on Golden Grove, my old stomping grounds. I passed the place where my dad built his first home (long since torn down) and jogged by a recently abandoned house that was already vandalized beyond the point of repair. It depresses me to watch my neighbourhood age and decay, but it’s still my home and I love visiting as much as possible, even if it’s not the same as I remember it.
After the trip down memory lane I made a right onto French Village Road and ended up on Dolan Road, where I had the pleasure of being clocked by a roadside speed trap. I wasn’t moving fast – somewhere between 12 and 13 kilometers and hour, according to the clock – so I was spared a ticket. Maybe next year.
Dolan Road ends at a ballfield/nature park, so I looped around the trails just to add some junk kilometers. The ground was uneven and full of nasty roots and branches, so I was happy to make it all the way around with my ankles still intact. From there I hit the highway for some more lovely scenery and hills, which left me motivating myself with the occasional expletive. If you ever see me uttering the occasional ‘fuck’ while I am jogging, please don’t think crazy.
After an extra long hour and change, I was back to my sister’s house. I didn’t feel great, but at least I got out the door. Hopefully I’ll get back on track next week, because the marathon is only 21 days away I don’t have much time left before I start cutting back on miles. I better make these next seven days count.