Can I Complain Now?

Sunday afternoon seemed like a perfect time to run 14 miles in the summeriest weather yet: 95 degrees and 70 percent humidity. Is that hot enough for you, Jess?

I know I've complained about the heat before, but I swear this time it's warranted. It was so bad I even put on sunscreen. I thought if I just kept it slow enough and kept up with my fluid intake that I'd be fine for 14 miles. My poor biker was weaving just to keep balanced, as I was well above 10 minutes per mile.

My legs never had any bounce. The air I breathed felt like a warm kitchen sponge. My tech tank top was soaked by three miles and removed by five miles. Seven miles in I said, "We're cutting this short." I'm allergic to heat stroke, so the run lasted a plenty-long 10 miles, and took almost two hours to complete. Not my best day, but it was by far the hottest.

Thankfully, this was another step-back week, so I don't feel too broken up about not getting in the week's full mileage.

This weekend: The Summer Un-Solstice Challenge awaits.

Backtrack to My Last Track
Last Thursday, as noted, I ran 10 x 400s with the goal of going sub-1:45 for each interval. Sorry, Nitmos, still no failures to report. Ten intervals is way too many to list, so I'll give you the shortened version of the statistical rundown:

• Intervals: 10 x 400 meters
  
• Goal pace: Sub-1:45 per interval (7:02 per mile)
  
• Fastest Lap (10): 1:31.9 (6:06 per mile)
  
• Slowest Lap (6): 1:40.16 (6:42 per mile)
• Average pace: 1:37.2 (6:31 per mile)
  
• Total distance: 6.7 miles

Remembering Why I Hate Treadmills
While in New York City this weekend for a wedding, my running was forced into a Days Inn "fitness center," which contained one treadmill, one stationary bike and and one elliptical. If I had to run on a treadmill, I would not be a runner. Why subject yourself to this awful torture?

Six miles felt terrible. I was counting every tenth of a mile. Just getting the infernal thing started was a pain in the ass. My first mile was 11:06, as I was trying to get the settings up to my pace (Incline 2.0, Speed 6.0). After that, I marked 9:48 miles but that first mile pushed me past an hour of just-shoot-me-and-get-it-over-with running.

[Drunkard's note: I was probably picking sauerkraut from my beard at Nathan's in Coney Island when that plane collided with the helicopter.]

The Viper Strip Tease

Vegas, baby, Vegas.

You have to love a hotel convenient store that sells liquor. The Riviera understands my needs, despite that they stuck me in a smoking room and the remnants of my past habit keeps punching my nose. However, I'll deal with it if it means a pint bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label is keeping me company tonight.

Only, as soon as I bought it I realized I have to finish it tonight because I can't fly with it. And I'm supposed to be up at 7:30 tomorrow. And I only got a few hours of sleep last night because my flight was delayed two and a half hours and I arrived at 2:30 a.m. I could be a sloppy mess in no time. I hope in my soon-to-be-stupor I don't wander down to the wedding chapel on the floor below.

That would be an imperfect end to a relatively good day.

After my work duties ended, I headed out for a run. This was at 5 p.m. or so. The temperature was about 107 in the early afternoon, so you can make your guess to how little it had cooled down. I had this peculiar notion, as I sprinted past packs of slow meandering tourists, that I was getting strange looks as I made my way up and down The Strip.

Into the street on narrow stretches. Bounding up the stairs to the overstreet walkways. Weaving in and out of couples holding hands. These were my tactics during my 34-minute run.

On my way back to the hotel, I passed another intrepid runner. (It didn't appear to be someone I might recognize, so I didn't try to closeline him or anything.) When I gave a friendly wave, he said, "Great job!" All I could do was laugh. It was a sign of camaraderie, fools though we might be.

The blast of the Riv's A/C was exultant. My head felt light and I couldn't help but sway when I got into my hotel room, dazed afterward.

I followed my run with a delicious dinner at Tao, an Asian restaurant in The Venetian. I had a soft-shell crab sushi roll. roasted Thai chicken and a piece of wild yellowtail sushi with two bottles of Singha, a Thai beer. Yum!

Oops, just spilled some ice on the floor while refilling my glass. Johnathan, you bastard, you're making me sloppy. Time to go.

Cheers!

Akron Marathon Preview: Detox Special

And so the real training begins. As the Team Booze Hounds training manual dictates, runners shall go undrunk one week prior to a race. These are the rules. I just follow them.

In order to prep my mind, body and spirit for the long week ahead, this weekend I took a trip to Black Out Island. I had stayed away too long. I was invited to a six-kegger, post-wedding bash out in the middle of nowhere. Countless beers, the strongest Jell-o shots I ever tasted and even a sip of white lightening sent me stumbling on the dance floor and crashing on a foreign couch.

As we all know, marathon drinking just won't get along with marathon training. Thankfully, I decided there would be no running this weekend. I was, uh, resting.

Now, as we begin this final week of training minus the booze, the minutes will flee from my mile pace like underage kids when the cops show up to the party.

Marathon Countdown: 5 days

Fluid Replacement

The heat and humidity struck hard and fast last night during an attempted six-mile tempo run. The first mile was warm up, but done too fast. The second was right around the right pace, but too fast to keep up as the swelter of high 80s and balmy drained my sweat and energy. It was too much for consistency.

This weather pounces on Northeast Ohio sometimes out of the blue. The past couple weeks were cool and comfortable in 70s with a nice breeze. That all changes in late June, the official mark of summer. It feels like you have a pile of soaked blankets on top of you at all times. And running is heavy and laborsome. All you want to do is knock off and have a icy beer in an air-conditioned pub.

Darkness Rises
This site has been dark for more than a week. Part of the reason is a blog for work, which just began with three posts done in a row to give the site some history and now trying to maintain consistency. But rest assured, there has been plenty cause for drinking.

We went to Chicago for a conference and had plenty of drinks in the evening. One evening, we were invited to private party at Fado where the bar was paid for. The drinks go down so smooth when they're free. The weekend was not as powerful as last, but there have to be slow times to mark the fast.

Mileage: 27 (6, 10, 5, 6)
Tab, too much to count in this span so here are the highlights: Laphroaig 10-year, Bushmills 12-year (I think), Guinness, Harp, Magic Hat No. 9, Bell's Great Lakes Lager