50 miles on the week.
On monday, the start of my specially designed period of super scientific physical body-sculpting, i was running.
Running with legs filled with chicken hearts.
I was as tired as an unloved chicken heart and it showed. Dutifully. Pitifully. I ran up the cerro as always.
Lo and beerhold, there appeared a man running up the cerro also. past the trees and the easy no-big-deal part and then he started the hard, pretty-big-deal part and i thought "whattt the hell?"
Right here in lil' old talca, there's a guy from girona spain who is also an "ultra" runner and who will be competing next saturday at 4 a.m. in the Peter North's Facial Ultra Marriagethon of the Andy's.
On thursday Joaquim and I met up to run in the hill pastures beyond the regular trails. It was a day filled with ducking under barbed wire, jumping rivers, bushwacking, searching for routes. At one point, a storm moved in and soaked the air with thick fog and mist. It was impossible to tell if I was 10 feet from the valley or 1,000,000...which was really good. total loss of perspective. Another time, we started descending along an animal path and found ourselves in the midst of a herd of mountain goats, which we had obviously spooked. For a minute or so, we bombed down the trail out of control amidst 20 or 30 goats all doing the same. It was pretty fucking righteous.
Yeah, the race is next week, which should be nice.
Gabbo lives in Santiago and came down to Talca to visit. We cooked a lot and drank a lot of beer and wine. It was nice.
Give'em hell, ya'll. It's what they deserve.
Love,
pat.
2 comments:
Word...
This is a great bllog
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