Fearless

(For blog title relevance, go here)

Sometimes I think runners are the ultimate masochists. This Saturday was surely a testament to that. On Saturday morning, several of us headed out for a "down week" run- only 11 miles, in a schedule that's been consisting of 16 + milers for some time now. (In telling my friend Lauren, who I would be later visiting that day, that we were running "only 11", I was met with the usual "only 11?!?!" response. But I digress...)

The run was at Valley Forge National Park, a local 5.5 mile loop course with historic scenery, lots of people-watching, and lots of local wildlife. The most notable thing about the Valley Forge loop, however, is its rolling, nay, climbing hills. For 5.5 miles, it's climb steep hills, try not to fall down the declines, and repeat. Of course, there are some brief interludes of flat terrain, but just as you get into a comfortable rhythm, the incline changes again.


For those of you not from Philadelphia, or who didn't set foot outside on Saturday, I will paint a picture for you: imagine running the rigorous course I just described with 20-mile an hour winds in your face. And not warm winds, though the sun was shining. Howling, cold weather, hands-frozen-and-chapped/why-did-I-wear-shorts winds. Fun stuff, right? What promised to be an easy "down" week turned into a suck-the-life-out-of-you ordeal, starting off with a 1.5 mile stretch uphill with wind blowing in our faces. By the time we finished, we'd decided that 22 miles next weekend doesn't sound so bad, as long as the wind stays calm! We all knew that the wind was supposed to be tough, and Sunday's forecast was near perfect, but did we stay in and wait out the weather like sane individuals? Of course not! Runners/masochists, that's us.

The icing on the cake was when I got home and looked down at my shoes. I got yet another pair of Mizuno's a couple weeks ago, and broke them in during our 18 miler, so they're about three weeks old. However, their official induction into true running shoes came on Saturday, when I removed them at home and discovered my toes were cut up and bleeding (still need to find a good nail clipper)... thus, the shoes were bloodied, and a strange sense of accomplishment came over me. Sick, right? But I guarantee if you're a runner, you're smiling in that perverse way that we all share, and agreeing with my sentiments.

This week's question: What are your proudest battle scars (running or other)?

Mine are a tie between the bloodied toes and the neck/shoulder burns we'd get in cheerleading from doing shoulder stands.