Tuesday, January 19, 2010

News Flash: You're Going to Die

And sooner, rather than later


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This morning I did what I have decided I am going to refer to as my Weekly Kankle Run, so named because once a week, I run with a 10 pound ankle weight strapped to each ankle.

Now, you would think a mere twenty pounds would not make that much difference in your speed and endurance, but, assuming the ankle-strapped person in your hypothetical is me, you'd be wrong. O, so wrong.

Because with those weights strapped to my ankles, I'm barely able to run 4.5 miles; and, in fact, this  morning, I ran a mere 4.3 miles. I'm pretty sure that when I first started doing these runs, way back in December of aught-nine, I did one that was 5+ miles - possibly two. And by 5+, I mean like 5.1.

Which is great, because even though I don't recall, offhand, how far I ran on my first kankle run, I do distinctly recall that I wanted to abort the run almost immediately because it was uncomfortable-verging-on-painful in a myriad of ways. But, idiot that I am, I stuck with it, thus proving I could do it and thereby damning myself to a future of having to do it again ... and again ... and -

You get the point.

After that first run, my left ankle had a pretty painful blister on it; and I gave plenty of thought to using that as an excuse not to do any more Kankle Runs. But of course the ankle toughened up and never blistered again1 after that, so there went that excuse. right out the window.

Normally, I am able to average well below a 9-minute-mile pace on a 4-5 mile run. But on my first Kankle Run, my pace was something ridiculous, like 11:35 or something. I was quite happy when, earlier this month, I managed a 10:41-pace over 4.6 miles. And even though today's was an 11-minute-mile pace, I'm not too displeased because I didn't get much sleep last night and it was all I could to to keep myself from aborting, or at least shortening, this morning's Kankle Run.

But I didn't.

Plus, I stopped at about the .4 mile point of the run to prop my left foot up on a hydrant and tighten the weight, which came loose because, like an idiot, I had put it on over the bottom of my sweat pants again. But at least I was unidiot enough to stop and fix it.

That little hydrant stop cost me about twenty seconds, which, if subtracted from my overall time this morning, gives me a 10:54 pace.

But who gives a fuck because as J.D. Morrison reminds us, we're all going to die, anyway.
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1 It also helps if you put the weight on securely and tightly. Which means don't strap it on1a over the bottom of your sweat pants because the sweat pants will pull out1b and the ankle weight will then be loose on the ankle and it will go up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down1c the whole run, and that's how you end up pregnant. Or, no! That's how you end up with a blister on your ankle.

1a O, for godsakes, stop snickering! So I said "strap ... on" - so what?

Actually, that is kinda funny.

1b Because the sweat pants don't want to make a baby and be forced into a shotgun marriage with the ankle weight. Because let's face it - the ankle weight can give you a good time, but you don't want to marry it because - let's not mince words, here - the ankle weight is a bit of a whoo-wer.

1c Is it just me, or is this footnote getting kinda suggestive and hawt? It's not just me, is it?

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