Monday Morning Marathon Meet-up: Week 3
I stuck with the schedule this week, but it took willpower. Those cold evening runs are not my thing. In fact exercising in the evening is not my thing. Evenings are my free time. This race training has definitely got me exercising more than I otherwise would. But that may not be such a bad thing. This season has me eating a few more cookies than I usually would. For Courtney, on the other hand, this isn’t such a good thing. He’s fretting about how to keep up with the calories he’s burning to prevent weight loss. So I went out and bought him some eggnog.
Goal: 17 miles
Actual: 17 miles
I feel a bit silly doing a long run recap on a 6 mile run, but for consistency’s sake:
The training schedule we are using has us go up, up, back down, up, up, back down so as to allow the body some recovery. This weekend we had an easy-peasy 6 miler. What was a bit daunting is that this will be the shortest week run we will have until mid-March.
Pre-run dinner: A corn dog, a variety of passed hors d’oeuvres, a crab cake and a couple whiskey diets. Ideal, clearly.
Pre-run breakfast: English muffin with cream cheese
Hours of sleep: 9
Start time: 11am
Weather: Low 40s and sunny, perfect running weather!
Route: Down the mall to the Lincoln and back
How I felt: Cramped up a bit. I think the pre-run dinner affects my runs as much or more than what I eat for breakfast.
Highlight of run: Only having to run 6 miles
Injuries, aches or pains: None
Post-run brunch: La Boum brunch at L’Enfant Cafe. To sum it up in three words: That shit kray.
It starts out fairly normal. You’re seated in the very tight dining room and handed a shot of champagne, a few snacks are on the table. The waiter comes around and takes your drink order. He warns you to pace yourself (you don’t listen). I started with a mimosa. Pretty standard. You order off a three course prix-fixe menu. The apps come out (I recommend the fig tart). Things are getting rowdier, the music has gone up. They come around and close the blinds. The lights are turned off. And you are told that the chairs are fit to be danced on. At this point nearly everyone gets up to test out this claim.
If your table was one of the last to order, this all happens before your entree comes out. The dancing is getting good now. You ordered a round of ‘whatever the bartender wants to make’ for the table, and the bartender wanted to make something strong. You have the tambourine, your friend is wearing the gold glittery ‘get laid tonight’ had. She whispers to you as the food arrives, “but I really just want to dance.” You try to think of a way to eat your food without getting down off your chair. But you didn’t think this through. You ordered crepes. You sit down, and look up with envy at your friends who were wise enough to go with a sandwich or a burger.
Having eaten a few bites, you’re back up on your chair. You order a bottle of champagne, because it comes with sparklers in it.
Your gentlemen friends seek to one-up each other with requests of ‘whatever the bartender wants to make.” The bartender seems to also want to one up himself. Clothes are coming off all around the room. Ladies’ underthings are hanging from the fan. Things have officially gotten wild.
There’s a reason this place is booked up three months in advance. But it may be a blessing in disguise. Your body, nor your bank account cannot handle this debauchery every weekend. But quarterly? Done.
