My Watch Must Be Broken

For the first time since September or October, I decided to wear my watch on last night's run. I knew that after the marathon, I would not be setting any land speed records so I ditched it for some recreational running. Now, I guess I'm starting to feel that training bug again.

Last night's five-miler was also the first time Martini and I ran together since before the holidays. I figured with the unspoken competition of our runs that my time might better reflect what pace I'm capable of running. However, the extended downtime must have affected my watch's counting ability. It was way off.

It claimed that I was slower than a March Hare on his way to a tea party--nearly two minutes slower than my race pace of a similar distance. Nonsense! Blasted thing must be broken.

Well, nevertheless, I completed some serious carb reloading and fluid replacement afterward in honor of the Ohio State Buckeyes getting stuffed in the BCS national championship (again). I helped devour a large pan of lasagna and a cache of beers leftover from a New Year party.

[Drunkard note: Obviously, I was not drinking beer at that party.]

The best part of the run was that I was wearing shorts and a longsleeve tech shirt and wished I had worn less. Nothing like a January heatwave to get your spirits up!

Cheers.

Beer Healing

I decided last night that I would not in fact go for a run. My knee didn't feel all that bad, but it was sticky balls hot outside and iced knee sounded better than icked knee.

What I did do was engage in two of my favorite non-running like an idiot activities. I grabbed my keys and went down to the pub where I plunked myself down in front of the projection screen TV to watch baseball and asked the kind barmaid for a draft beer.

It's been awhile since I've gone to the bar by myself, and I don't often get the chance to watch a game. I am of bare pocketbook and no cable so I usually just listen to the radio broadcast and wait for the highlights during the news.

But last night seemed special. I am near payday so a little $10 beer holla seemed like a cost-conscious splurge and the Cleveland Indians were about to sweep the Minnesota Twins in a three-game series with the grand finale that wasn't between C.C. Sabathia and Johan Santana. Basically, the game was over after the first inning, which ironically I listened to on the radio while I was eating my dinner at home. But despite not seeing too much action it was still a nice treat.

And we can just call it carb-loading for my eight-miler tonight.

Marathon Countdown: 29 days.