With and nationwide hate wave raging across the country and high's of 105 in Raleigh, I wisely decided to stick with my running schedule. Saturday's 5 miler in Umstead was not the most pleasant run I have ever, but it was world's better than the Epic Ass-Kicking of Sunday's 10 miler (**my use of "Epic" is Homeric rather than hipster). By the 4 mile mark of my run, I was crushed and knew that I should have thrown in the towel and turned back. However, I felt the sting of pride and pressed on. Perhaps, I should have listened to wisdom of Marsellus Wallace: The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.
|I am not one of those people that pours water on themselves, so that's all sweat.|
Unfortunately, I didn't listen to my Uncle Marsellus and pressed on. By my turnaround at the 5 mile mark, I knew that Umstead was about to get medieval on my ass. By mile six I heard a runner running so close behind me that I though that they might bump into me so I turned to see if I need to move, but there was nobody around. It took my a second but I realized that the sound I heard wasn't another runner, but the sloshing of my shoes which had filled with sweat. By mile seven, my hand held water bottle was empty and I was being mobbed by horseflies. By the eight mile mark, I was walking more than I was running. And just to add insult, the water stop in the park at the eight and a half mile mark of my run was shut down because it had be taken over by yellow jackets. In addition, I was eating tons of dust that was being kicked up by all the Mountain bikers due to lack of rain. Once I finished my run I was able to ring out the sweat from my clothes, which you can see in the pictures. Also, the sweat and dust had coated both my shoes and legs in a thick paste that was just nasty. Next week, I plan to show just a bit more wisdom and a lot less pride when it comes to dealing with running in the heat.