Well, this weekend’s training didn’t exactly go as planned. I was signed up for a 25K trail run—because nothing says “relaxing weekend” like voluntarily running over a slippery reservoir with grace.
This course is known for its “fun” water crossings. Last year, they had water crossing guards—basically lifeguards for runners who forgot that trail shoes don’t come with flotation devices. I was mentally prepared for that. What I was not prepared for? The weather.
I made the rare decision to ride with someone else. Normally, I like to be in control of my own escape route. If things get too cozy or someone suggests post-run brunch, I want to vanish . But this time, I committed.
We drove 75 minutes through a light sprinkle. Spirits were high. We signed in, hit the porta-potty (which had clearly seen some things), and then… the skies opened up. Not a drizzle. A full-on biblical downpour.
They delayed the race 45 minutes. Then another hour. Then another 30 minutes. At this point, I was starting to feel like I was in a hostage situation with my hydration pack.
My ride was getting antsy, and I was starting to worry about the slippery spillway and rocky terrain. So I made the call: we bailed. I know. I KNOW. I’ve been pouty ever since. I hit the treadmill for 11 miles when I got home, but it wasn’t the same. I kept thinking, “If I’d driven myself, I would’ve stuck it out.”
They ended up starting the race at 10 a.m. I ended up sulking in my kitchen, eating peanut butter out of the jar like a trail-running raccoon.
Get over it, you big brat. (Talking to myself. Kind of.)
Run Between Meetings 