On Sunday I had the longest run of my life. I began running at one o'clock in the afternoon when the sun was high and the sky was cloudless. I would finish 12 miles later and feel like it had taken days to complete. (It didn't take days, but it did take long enough that you won't see the actual time in this post, if you want that info you'll have to check back at the end of September in the Personal Running Log.) The temperature was 88 degrees but I wasn't worried. I'd been hydrating properly and Pat had really made me feel like a wuss when he mentioned on his blog that he likes to wait until the temperature drops to around 101 before he goes out running. I think maybe he lives in hell. The plan was to run a 6 mile loop twice, which would allow me to grab a Clif shot and some water at the house after 6 miles, because I hate carrying that stuff with me when I run. What am I, a mule?
The first 5 miles went by slowly, but generally without incident. I didn't even get mad at the motorist who blazed through the crosswalk ahead of me. Then, as I began to approach home - the halfway point - my body began to tell me that we were almost done. "No! We're not! We're almost HALFWAY done," I reiterated. My body was having none of it. My legs knew this stretch of road was always the final stretch, they knew that they were supposed to be tired by now. This internal debate went on for almost a quarter mile with my legs insisting that they were almost done and ready to stop, and my mind trying to override my body's desire to quit. Then out of nowhere my body played its trump card; "not only are we done running, but now you have to pee!" What?!? Awww man! Well played. Now I have to go inside, making it more likely that I'll call it good at 6 miles.
My body however, is seriously underestimating how badly I want to complete this 12 mile run. I get back to my house, grab the drink and Clif shot that I left on the porch all the while jogging in place. I jog into the house to... "wow, it sure is nice and cool in here, I mean it's almost chilly," it feels like a refreshing swimming pool on a hot day. Focus. Still jogging in place I head into the nearest bathroom, and determined to not lose my rhythm I attempt to jog in place while I pee. Bad idea. Do you remember that scene in Backdraft when the firemen lost control of the hose and it was spraying water everywhere? Yeah, it looked exactly like that but with pee... and a longer hose. (Lying.)
Now my body thinks it's won because I'm going to have to clean up that mess and you surely can't jog in place and clean up pee, but once again my body has underestimated how badly I want to complete this run. Because I'm in the kid's bathroom I just leave the mess knowing that my 4 year old will likely take the fall for it, while claiming he didn't do it and being scolded for lying. It's OK. It will teach him a valuable lesson that life isn't fair and that authority figures can't always be trusted. It's a brilliant idea, but hold on to your shorts because I'm not done with brilliant ideas yet.
I head downstairs, remove my shirt, turn on the fan, and finish my run in the cool basement on our treadmill. I'd run shirtless outside but I'd have to carry a stick to beat off women, plus I've been warned before about the glare that it causes for passing motorists. Checkmate. My body has no response, superior intellect has once again triumphed. I logged the final 6 miles on the treadmill and showed my legs who wears the pants around here (metaphorically speaking of course). That was Sunday. Monday and Tuesday my legs have been killing me. Maybe next time I'll be more inclined to listen to them... nah, I doubt it.