Pantsless Photography

Dang, have I been busy! I mean, do you have any idea how long it takes to pickle a human kidney? Multiply that by 7 and you're looking at a week where the blog falls by the wayside, submerging into a brine whose contents, surprisingly, taste wonderful with ketchup. But then again, what doesn't taste wonderful with ketchup? Not a pile of detached toenails, I'll tell you that much.

Anyway, my foot acted up last week, but I finally ran long today, and want to share some pictures (all taken while pantsless, so I had to deal with the adversity of passers-by dry-heaving IN THE SHOT). It's like a slideshow! Feel free to hold your applause until after the boredom-induced sadness-coma subsides.

The river was filled with Sparkles. If it were last year and I was talking about the Hudson, that would be in reference to dead strippers.

The beginning of the Cox Mountain climb. Yada, yada, yada, the mom of someone who doesn't check the blog climbs this a lot. Like, all the time. And 10 times on Sundays. Also, the person who doesn't read the blog smells like garlic bread....down there.

This would make an awesome fort. Is a thought I would have if I weren't so mature. Wall Street Journal! 10-Day Forecast! 21 Jump Street! Wait...what?

Now a few from a complete rest day (the first in just about forever) last week:

Creeping on strangers at the Duke Gardens gazebo. This was taken just after I sniffed them, and just before I grunted my approval. Mhhhhhhhmmmmmm.

Duke is actually a fairytale land. Even the unicorns pop their collars!

It's a parable about parenting. Gotta watch out for those photographers wearing buttonless trenchcoats. I think Aesop said that.

Anyway, things are wonderful. Durham is amazing, as are the people in North Carolina. On top of that, the most perfect girl in the world lets me hold her hand, which, in an upset of expectations, does not come with inflatable orifice attachments. I guess I am just really fortunate, and I want to thank you guys for everything, even if it is just a click of the blog now and then. Hope things are absolutely perfect!

Groundhog Gallop Trail Half-Marathon Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:17:39. It was extremely muddy on the second lap, which provided an exciting in-race frolicking opportunity. And post-race, it provided a convenient excuse. Luckily, I won by 9 minutes, because I had lots of fiber the day before and the splatter radius was at least 20 feet.

Mud. Yeah.........mud.

Post-Race:
Saturday was our Valentine's Day. It was also our April Fools Day. WE DON'T SUBSCRIBE TO YOUR CONFORMIST CALENDARS. Or do we? It's a Valenfools mystery! Anyway, we were both still a bit sore from the half-marathon the week before ("we" of course refers to me and my imaginary girlfriend. Pet name: Sasquatch. Theoretical beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Unfortunately, sometimes all-too-real back hair is as well. In our case, love hurts the most when it scratches a cornea.). After wearing racing flats for 13.1 miles, I wouldn't have been surprised if a group of Midwestern, homonym-susceptible famers followed me around, ready to slaughter my useless, flailing calves to make veal. Since they were from the Midwest, I evaded their butcher knives by trapping them in the apartment, and scratching out the telephone number to the local forklift company in the Yellow Pages.

After the race, we romantically shared Fritos Scops, peanut butter, and Capri Sun for recovery. It was like one of the aforementioned Iowans made love to a tropical melon using JIF lubricant....IN OUR MOUTHS. Limping back to Duke, we began the evening by watching the elite women's mile at the Husky Classic. Amazing person and close friend Lauren Bonds won an incredible race over Jordan Hasay! It is so cool that two of the people I am closest to, two of the best human beings I have ever met (Lauren and the imaginary girlfriend) might be Olympians one day. I WILL PROFIT MIGHTILY FROM MY LOCKS OF HAIR COLLECTION.


Watch more video of Flotrack Husky Classic 2011 on flotrack.org

With that amazing finish as a start to the evening, we proceeded to do some stuff that might be deemed romantic, had I not been oozing peanut butter and high-fructose corn syrup from my pores. When we returned to the car, we saw 3 policeman (with dogs!) shining bright spotlights on my pint-sized Suzuki Reno. We approached and asked if everything was okay, which led to being chided for being in a non-perfect part of town, parked in an abandoned park after-hours, all while leaving the doors open. So the officers searched the car, but before letting us go asked one question:

"Why are there so many empty Capri-Suns in the back seat?"

Ummmm...well, we are TOTALLY not dealers.
/smoke bomb
RUN MEGAN!
/post-race getaway limp


With that rebelliously refreshing day of foil-wrapped juice-drinks in our future, we drove to Greensboro, NC for a half-marathon trail race. After getting lost 3 times, we arrived at the race site, which is good because at this point of Western North Carolina, it was either that or a gathering of inbred mutants intent on using our extremities for chainsaw practice. We signed up, warmed up, romantically pooped in the woods, AND THEY'RE OFF!

Last second hydration in the "Delicious" division.

Race:
The first 3/4 of a mile were on park roads, after which we hopped onto twisty single-track (my specialty, I think), plunging down towards a river. Suddenly, I found myself circumventing a wooden structure that looked oddly like a gallows, and was immediately confronted by a fallen tree next to a dilapidated bridge. There may have been a troll, but I am not 100% sure because I turned around as soon as the sinking feeling of losing the trail seeped into my loins. Seeing my mistake, I promised myself I wouldn't repeat it on the second lap. (FOREBODING GONG SOUNDS)

With the urgency sapped by my flirtatious dalliance with the troll, the race transformed into an exploration, consisting of skips and jumps, thinking as much about my partner-in-Capri-Sun-crime as my own body. Hitting wider horse trails (trails.....MADE OF HORSES), I had a disconcerting feeling. In an upset of expectations, it was mud, and not troll herpes. Opening up the stride on the grassy, solid sections, I tried to accelerate whenever I could, while taking the more treacherous sections more easily.

Back onto the single-track, we came to the first of four stream-crossings. There were also rocks for the daintier among us, and being a delicate flower, I did an uncoordinated Black Swan routine across the Boulders. After doing an out-and-back whose divots were impregnated with horse poop, I finished the first loop with a substantial lead in 37:14. Little did I know what awaited me on the quickly thawing trails.

There Will Be Mud. And puns.

After the road section, it was clear that the trail would play tougher on the next 6.5. Bounding down towards the river, I (of course) paid the troll another visit. He refused to pay child support, so I was on my way, back on the trail, trying to stay upright. Hint: I failed. Luckily, if there is anything that playing football taught me, it's how to go down.*

*Let's forget I ever worded a sentence this way

Getting up from my 3 falls, I decided to take it super-easy on muddy sections, then sprint everywhere else. The gap to second-place opening, the only remaining obstacles were the last 2 stream crossings. Lapping another racer, I showed my cutthroat urgency:

Such a gentleman. And I hear that he rarely lets his poop splatter on strangers!

After the creek, it was only a mile until the finish, where I excitedly awaited the arrival of my beautiful Valentine. She was amazing, and won the women's race by 7 mintues over Team Montrail's Annette Bednosky (a super-cool, really nice person). It was a perfect day, and it is so exciting to be living in a moment that I know, on some distant Valentine's, I will look back on and think:

That was the best time of my life.

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope everything is perfect. You guys are awesome :)

Heart and Sole Half-Marathon Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:11:04. I registered under the name Kilgore Trout, which is the pseudonym Kurt Vonnegut used for himself in many of his books. Abstract literary references are SO FREAKING GANGSTA. Also, it is kind of a pseudonym inside of someone else's pseudonym.

*BRRAAAAAHHHHMMMMM*

Pre-Race:
Up until this point, I had never finished a road race over 10 km without walking. So the thought of a half-marathon was horrifying, but I was buoyed by the beauty and enthusiasm of a very special person who also raced, and ended up winning after registering under the last name 'Butthead'. In an unfortunate case of art imitating life, it was a descriptive pseudonym. The upshot of her deformity is that when you kiss her, you get your daily dose of tossed salad.

Cookie Monster, you are disgusting.

Anyway, on Wednesday I found myself stranded at school with no running clothes or shoes. Because it was 70 degrees, I did the logical thing and went to the Duke Athletics practice field, where I proceeded to strip down to my briefs. After realizing that the tuck and run is not as easy as the tuck and stand on Greenwich Villages street corners, I hopped behind the bleachers to turn the briefs around. I then proceeded to run 40 minutes on the field before two baseball players appeared. They gave me curious looks, at which point I had an epiphany--the opening in the briefs, now facing my ship's stern, was agape. YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO DOWN THAT RABBIT HOLE, ALICE. I scurried away somewhat shamefully, but not before getting some strategically situated Vitamin D.*

*Ummmm.......let's forget I ever worded a sentence this way

Off that recovery run, and two other easier days, Ms. Butthead and Mr. Trout traveled to Goldsboro, NC in conditions which would make it much more efficient to travel by ark. I mean, after the all-too-accurate reference to Greenwich Village street corners, it is safe to assume that I was transporting 2 of every STD. Arriving at the race site after coffee, a banana, and penicillin, we went to the registration tent. Apparently Butthead is a common name, because no one made any comments. I guess they assume it was Buttheadowicz before Ellis Island.

15 minute warm-up, strip to shorts, AND THEY'RE OFF!

A bit bulky. Probably triathletes.

Race:
I think my failures to date at anything over 5k are not due to conditioning, or pacing, but fear. Today, if nothing else, I was not afraid. Though after a few steps in 40 degree rain wearing compression shorts, I realized immediately that certain extremities would seem afraid in the race pictures.

LIKE A FRIGHTENED TURTLE.

Alone after a mile, I came to the first of five turnarounds. Retracing my steps and seeing a gorgeous smile, a wave of endorphins neutralized any remaining apprehension, and I made a decision. Go. Opening up the hips and bounding over the gravel road past three miles, my breath assimilated with the mist, while my numb feet fell like phantoms. Freedom. I couldn't tell where my skin ended, and where the air began. I couldn't separate the wandering thoughts from the blowing leaves.

The rest of the race became a blur. I remember crossing the start line at mile 6, and feeling completely fresh. I remember going up a hill at mile 9, and fighting off brief fear of frostbite. That complete numbness in my toes (and other extremity...which was actually very, very scary) created an empowering liberation from normal sensory experience. Every few miles, I would see Ms. Butthead, her breath as controlled as mine, and be hit by sudden, euphoric happiness. There was always someone with me out there, even as I hit the aid stations before they were prepared, even as I crossed the line 12 minutes before the next racer. I am not sure there is a such thing as loneliness anymore....I am not sure there is a such thing as fear....and that--well, that is fucking empowering.

Mouth Vomit Part III: Return of the Bile. Anyway, I had not looked at the watch the entire race, so I was thrilled to see 1:10:xx when I glanced down (I must have messed up a bit when pressing start). Ms. Butthead crossed as 1st woman (5th overall!) in her first ever run of that distance. The extremities thawed from frozen pig-in-a-blanket status. And no one laughed at the awards ceremony when Butthead was announced. This may be evidence that the terrorists have won. Thanks so, so much for reading. You guys are amazing :)