I actually ran through the park, on a park trail, then across a road to an old rail trail.
There was an organized race in the other direction. I cheered on the bold runners.
So it was an urban park trail then transition to rail trail run for me. It is a spectacular urban mindscape. Sorry to be sexist, but ladies, do not ever run this lonely trail alone. I mean never.
The first mile was very good, 8:49. I was not even running my hardest. If I had, I wonder could I have broken 8:00? Not yet. But, I maybe could have run an 8:15.
At any rate, my two-mile run time was 19:47, which would have beat my age bracket along with the next bracket down on the old Army APFT test.
In the last few months, I have seen a lot of improvement in my run times: witness this:
In the last 6 of 11 runs, I have done two-mile times under 20 minutes.
In the last 15 of 16 runs, I have done one-mile times under 10 minutes.
In the last 4 of 20 runs, I jave done one-mile times under 9 minutes.
The goal? Every mile should be under nine minutes from start to finish and every two-mile time should be under eighteen minutes.
I basically collapsed after that, I was so exhausted at the two-mile mark from the heat and humidity that I could barely keep running. Twice in a row now. Nutrition or humid-heat? Or maybe both?
The freakishly horrible, unreliable, ridiculous, crappy MapMyRun™ app did undesired ‘sweat-pauses’ not once, not twice, but three times. I have to replace it with something else if they don’t fix their sh!tty product soon. I did time myself with a German Waterproof watch, which allowed me to have some semblance of idea what was going on.
“Why the power outage?” I wondered out loud. And there she was, the Punker-Model-Writer-Chick, now sporting green hair and a nose ring. She was running alongside me effortlessly. She smelled nice. She wore a skin-tight, white halter top and equally tight mini-‘skort’. She looked preppier than usual except for the hair and nose thing. She proceeded to counsel me.
“So, yon Botendaddy, hear me out:
- Not enough protein in your diet, maybe not enough sugar or carbs either. After two miles, your body has nothing to burn except muscle, lung and probably heart tissue, so you start fading rapidly.
- Not enough hydration before you started. It’s very hot and humid, you stupid old f*ck. Maybe start to carry water with you on such a miserable day. You should have your car parked at the trail’s end, down by the river, in case you need water or need to get the hell out of there.
- The massive, tasty adult diaper. In this heat, I would just pee on myself or hang my thing out on the quieter parts of the trail.
- You started way too fast for this heat.”
We reached the trail-head right next to the river. I was so exhausted and dehydrated that I could not stand up. I had to rest on my knees.
We kept walking a couple of more miles, maybe three more miles until we came to the end of the trail. There was an actual fence, blocking our path, the fence being located next to scary, deserted, post-apocalyptic urban train tracks. I needed water badly, and expecting to see the next neighborhood, instead of some Kevin Costnerian future-hellscape, I didn’t want to suffer heat exhaustion.
We climbed up across the tracks. We then climbed up past the creepy meth-heroin-psycho hobo camp under the bridge. We crossed through neglected urban overgrowth, then out onto the bridge-deck sidewalk.
“I keep forgetting that you are more than an NYC blue-blood, wannabe modern-artiste hippy, punker model writer chick. You also ran cross-country.”
She nodded her approval. Fortunately, her chauffeur was there as soon as we climbed up onto the sidewalk. The limo was enormous, stocked with copious food, drink and of course ‘Beetus’.
“Home, James, Botendaddy is going to make love to me with his titanically huge member that has already deformed my uterus and my entire feminine reproductive system. Ah the taste of it!” She sighed.
James winked at me homosexualiciously.
The punker-model-writer chick turned to look at me.
“You know, none of the boys my age would do things like that. Cross a desolate urban landscape past terrifying hobo camps, walk under bridges and through brownfields. You are pretty hip for an old dude. You are totally urban!”
Peace be the Botendaddy