18 miles: the day of mean old women

I was three miles into my run yesterday when a woman stopped her car and began screaming at me that it was hard to see me at that time of day. She was pissed. My theory is that she was also crazy--the thing of it is that I felt I was perfectly easy to see. Granted, it was just barely daylight and hard to see anything. But I was wearing a white shirt, had a reflective Camelbak strapped to me, my dorky reflective triangle thingy strapped around my waist, and was on the opposite side of the road and really far off to the side in the gravel next to the ditch. Pair all that with my ipod strapped to my arm and I looked like a reflective space alien from Planet Safety. What more did the biotch want? A spotlight shining over me? I considered saying, "Maybe it's because you're 90 and should have your license taken away" but that seemed inappropriate.

Around mile 14 two elderly women pulled over and asked for directions to the Catholic retreat. Mind you, I was in the middle of the desert, no church in sight, and am distinctly not Catholic. I finally figured out that they needed to go to a church in a tiny town nearby and sent them on their way. They were exceptionally cranky that I wasn't their personal tour guide and didn't know where their retreat was, and it wasn't until they were long gone that I realized I sent them the wrong way. Oops. They totally had it coming, I'm pretty sure. Also, they interrupted a lovely interlude whereupon I was belting out "Don't Stop Believing." Yes, sometimes I sing while I run. It probably uses too much oxygen, but it's crazy entertaining when you're in the middle of an empty desert and have been running for hours.

(Several men in suits also asked where the Catholic retreat was. Eventually people would slow down and roll down their windows and I would yell, "Catholic retreat? Turn right on the next road and it'll take you right there." Those Catholic people definitely need to invest in some signs.)

There also appeared to be sort of a Steven King-esque theme to my run. Holy roadkill. I'd be bouncing along, rocking out to Journey, and BAM! Dead bunny. Kind of unpleasant. But it definitely kept me on my toes...

All in all, it was a perfectly pleasant 18-mile run...one of my favorite runs in awhile. I think something is seriously wrong with my mental state when I use the phrases "18-mile run" and "perfectly pleasant" in the same sentence. Regardless, it was nice. It was cloudy and cool outside and it gave me lots of time to think. It took me a ridiculous amount of time, but at least it boosted my confidence a little that I might finish this marathon after all.

I followed my 18 mile run with a lunchtime margarita with the sister (blackberry!) and a trip to the auto parts store. We proved our mechanical abilities by replacing a headlight bulb all on our own. What's up, female independence?

Then I hike--four miles, uphill both ways, up the side of a mountain. I also peed in the woods, in a little nook of the forest. I'm so rugged. Please observe how outdoorsy I look:



All of this was followed by the most awkward dining experience ever. Clearly, this was not my day with old women. I was sitting in a booth, eating Chinese food and talking to a boy, and an elderly woman was seated a table near us with her back to us. I'm mid-bite into a piece of lemon chicken... and she totally lifted a cheek and let her flatulence problem be known to the entire room. The woman casually went back to eating, and her daughter acted as if nothing had happened. I, meanwhile, started laughing so hard I thought chicken was going to come out of my nose and said, "Did that just happen?" Yes, I'm a 12-year-old boy.

So. 18 miles, crazy old women, hiking, margaritas. Good weekend.