Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Ouch II: Danny Boy Falls for Nothing

Danny Boy is awake at 3:30 AM, which is a little earlier than planned. Good, he thinks; he may be able to get an extra mile or so in. Eleven would be really nice, but he will still settle for ten as he'd planned.


Danny Boy is out the door and on the street at 4:39 AM, which is a little later than planned. He should never, never, never check Facebook before a run. Just a quick minute, he'd thought. Enough time for the coffee to kick in, he'd thought. It never works out as planned. Now he may have to settle for even less than ten miles. What will this do to his weekly total?


There is still a glimmer of hope, he thinks. If he can only run really fast, he might still be able to get his miles in, and still get back in time to get off to work.


Danny Boy is running as fast as he can go, and that isn't so fast. But it's still early in the run. Maybe he can still do it.


Early miles give way to middle miles, and Danny Boy is still not running very fast. It's not for lack of trying. Maybe he's still recovering from Sunday's almost longish run. The one where he had intended to run more, but ran out of time. Yeah, that one.


On one of the deep, dark side-streets near home, Danny Boy approaches a pile of branches and other debris that someone had thoughtfully placed in the road. He easily scoots around the pile, but as he returns to his running lane, he finds himself falling. The fall took several steps and at least one very bad word. He has time to break the fall with his hands and right leg. Once on the ground, he looks over and determines that he had tripped over one tiny stick that had escaped from the nearby pile.


Danny Boy often makes fun of his running partners who fall. But who is laughing now?


Danny Boy also looks around to make sure no one saw him. And also to make sure no one heard his expletive. Danny Boy is not known for using bad words. At least not very often. At least not by people other than his wife. At least not when he's not engaged in some wayward home improvement activity.


Danny Boy finishes his run with nine miles. He's not in any more pain than usual. Maybe he can over, rather than under-achieve tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Tales of Danny Boy: Ouch


We here at Blog Central made a sincere promise a while back. We agreed to never again post stories of The Kid. We still plan to stick to our solemn oath; the Kid Chronicles are no more. However, in the spirit of Great Third-Person Literature, we now introduce the Tales of Danny Boy.



“Ouch!” Danny Boy says out loud. It’s 9.3 miles into his 10-mile run. He thinks he may have once again done something pretty darn stupid.



The thing is, running had been improving once again for Danny Boy. To review, a couple months ago, he was ramping up his mileage and his intensity in anticipation of running two and a half marathons this Spring. Then he had his SETBACK. In the ensuing weeks, besides dealing with the intensified Achilles pain, he lost gobs of fitness. Due to that lost fitness, Danny Boy decided to opt-out of Marathon Number One, the Canton Hall of Fame Marathon. But now, over the last couple weeks, he was beginning to feel better again, and was clawing his way back up to 50 miles per week.



Until today.

He hits the road at 4:25 AM, and immediately runs into Neighbor Runner Rita, who is running with her dog. Kind of weird talking with a neighbor at that early hour, but after a few nice words, they each run their separate ways. Danny Boy runs over to the track at his usual easy, slow, loping pace. Once under the fence, however, he lowers the hammer.

 

It turns out that that hammer is not of the sledge variety, but more like a 6-ounce ball pin type. Having run 10-minute miles to get here, he’s now doing four miles at 8:20 or so pace. He supposes that this fast-feeling is sort of like a tempo run, such as it is. This poor excuse for Something of Substance will have to do today. Danny Boy only wants to survive the run without re-injury. He had been thinking that the soft track surface would be good for him. The constant turning may be stressful, but at this extra-slow pace, there shouldn’t be much torque, he thinks.

 

Towards the end of the track run, Danny Boy’s Achilles begins talking to him. “I’m here,” it says. It talks more during the run home, until Danny Boy makes his “Ouch!” exclamation. Danny Boy feels stupid.

 

Maybe it’s not totally dumb. Maybe Danny Boy will easily recover.

Sunday, April 02, 2017

More or Less

I've lost my base, and don't know where to find it.
...

More

It's Saturday, and it's the usual gang, more or less: Debbie Scheel, Theresa Wright, Harold Dravenstott, Michelle Wolff, and, somewhat surprisingly, myself. My Achilles injury got so bad a couple weeks ago, that I've done almost no running at all of late. Even though I was beginning to feel better, I had informed the group that although double digits would be nice, anything at all would be better than nothing.

Fast forward an hour and a half, more or less. The others want to do more, but I ~~wisely for once~~ decide to quit early. I got ten and change in, and I am feeling pretty darn good, relatively speaking. In fact, I could do more. I've just chosen not to. I feel so darn smart.

Less

It's Sunday, and it's the usual gang, more or less: actually the same as yesterday, minus Harold and Michelle, but plus Frank Dwyer. I got through the rest of yesterday without major mishap, and as we begin today, I am still feeling pretty okay.

But today is Sunday, and so this must be Hinckley. Hinckley, as in hills. Hills that we did not have yesterday. I fall behind right away on Bellus Hill. It gets worse. Even as I battle back, the others get far ahead of me again on other hills, but stop and wait for me at times. Sympathy for the old man, you know; he lost his base, more or less, and can't seem to find it.

Then comes Effie. I'm behind again, except more than ever now. It occurs to me that this day, I could have done less.

I do manage to complete this, and get another double digit run under my belt. The base will come back, won't it? In the last couple downhill miles, Debbie scoots up ahead, and I mention to Theresa that she (Debbie) was doing the right thing for her upcoming Boston run. Theresa, who is going to Beantown as well, sprints hard to catch and even pass Debbie. Never, ever challenge Theresa, or even kid her to say that someone else is doing some training that's 'good'.

But now I'm really tired. And my Achilles hurts more than yesterday. I feel so darn dumb.

Ouch II: Danny Boy Falls for Nothing

Danny Boy is awake at 3:30 AM, which is a little earlier than planned. Good, he thinks; he may be able to get an extra mile or so in. Eleven...