While there are a number of valid reasons against venturing out for a trail run on a wintery November Sunday, "My laundry basket is finally empty and it's staying that way" is not one of them. See ya on the other side of this 5-miler. Snuggle me when I get back? Be forewarned though, I will smell like people.
ADDED: Back! I'm so glad I went. It was brisk, yes, but I had one of those runs that make up for the ones you slog through. I know it sounds like most of my runs are kinda awesome, but why would I get my blog on about the bad ones? For the sake of completeness, maybe I should mention the 10K that I raced in October. I was training with it in mind for some months. I got it in my head that I'd race my age. 41 minutes. Yes, it'd be very fast for me, but I was feeling very fast, my brothers. And I would have made it, too, but for that verchacta last mile. I was on pace through 5, not to break 41, but to run in the 41s. Around mile marker 5 my left calf inexplicably seized up and I staggered home in 43:10. For perspective, that's still in my top five for 10K, but it's not what I wanted. Should I really expect so much? Is it really a good thing for our reach to exceed our grasp? What does that even mean, by the way? And am I even getting the saying right? These aren't rhetorical, bitches, I'm asking.
Anyway, as I said, it was very cold and when I got home I had a serious need to pee and no time to waste. No warm up. Kinda pinched. You feelin' me? So I had that thing where you pee when your wiener is really shrunk and you think you're done and walk away and then totally piss down your leg some more. You know that thing, right? That's not a thing? Huh. Well, this just got a little awkward, didn't it?
Oh shutup. Like it's ever intellectual around here.