How am I doing right now?
At this point, Truest Believerest, we both know that you can tell how I'm doing just by casting a wandering eye at the freakish mishmash of words, nonsense, and apos'trop'he's thrusting up from the title of this post. A sorry excuse for writing! Who is this asshole? Or whose asshole is this? Both viable questions and they will be answered in dude time.
Let's be honest. There's no way I can wrestle this post safely back into the realm of goodness, sanity, and gluten-free/verbiage-free elocution. But, I mean, Jesus, if your diet isn't verbiage free by now, how are you even still LIVING, LET ALONE JOGGING?
I mean Jesus! But sometimes you mean, too! COMMAS!
After the 50-miler DNF, I felt lost. Depressed. Confused. Horny. Introspective. Dangerous bedfellows, to be sure. The following weekend I hoped I could gain some sort of clarity by at least finishing a race that I started. So I went with a 5K (better safe than sorry!). In all denim, for whatever reason. 18:41 (the denim adds at least 1:30 to your 5K, FYI).
But after 3.1 miles of denim-induced chafing, then applying lotion to chafed areas, and then preemptively applying lotion to certain other areas multiple times (and at high velocity), I was still not sure what I was supposed to do with my running life. Sometimes, though, upon reaching an impasse life suddenly presents you with a sign. For me, this sign came in the form of a never-refrigerated, cardboard box full of life-affirming whole milk.
I was udderly speechless. The answer was so obvious to me now! Register for THE VULCANO ULTRA TRAIL 60K! Perhaps a bit of milchmädchenrechnung? Hahaha, where the fuck did some German come from? I can't even speak that word. LOOK AT THAT THING! HOLY MOLY! Hahaha, fuck it. I'm drunk.
But I dye grass. I'm fully psyched beyond stoke about this race. Just look where it's gonna be at, FOOLZ$!
We goan go round dat muthafuckkka!!! WOO!
Given the nature of the course and the powerful competition I will face, one thing is clear: I'm going to need more (a Whole lot more) rigorous physical conditioning. I'm going to need to fill my soul and body appropriately, that is to say, with mountains, milk, and some powerful/focused "ego"-stroking.
CUE THE MUSIC!
Thanks, Kanye, you coked-out nutcase. Your timing could not have been better. Also, to be accurate: Daniel's racing the 30K option and I don't know what Matias is up to. Moises and Max are in the 60K, though. So that'll be rad.
But despite some halfway decent training and tons of soul-st(r)oking, I really wanted some science to back me up and confirm: Yes, Patty-boy, you're on the right track. So, I did what any good runner would do and entered a bunch of data into Jack Daniels' new Strava app for my iPhone...check out where I'm at!
Heh heh heh. I think I jumped the goddamn shark with that one, True-Blue Believer-You. If you didn't think I was unbalanced before, I'm sure you do now! (Check out this transition) And speaking of unbalanced: Why the fuck do I always fall on the same side of my body? My left knee is seriously getting pissed off with me. Look at this:
Starting at the righthand side of the photo: 1) Fresh pink scarring/scabbing/swelling from last weekend. 2) Old scar just below knee cap. 3) Darker scarring from fall in June. 4) Some cuts from thorns, I think. Also, my left hand is always fucked up with cuts, scraps, little rocks stuck in the skin, etc.
Weird right? I mean, I always-always fall on my left side. I also tend to develop heel/Achilles problems on that leg, but I tend to get hip/hamstring problems in my right leg. Well...I think it's pretty clear that I now have some imbalances that are both mental AND physical. HOORAY!
Ok, I'm done. That's all I've got for you, dear. If you're up top, I hope your fall/winter is OKEEDOKEE and if you're down here, I already know that your spring/summer is awesome because HOLY SHIT IT HAS BEEN HOT AS FUCK LATELY! I love it. Love it.
As always, take what I say with a grain of salt, True Believer. And a never-refrigerated cardboard box full of whole milk.
I love you!