In Which I Play Chicken To A 4-Wheeler. And Am Deflated By Girls Holding Hands...

So the Urbanathlon is pending, roughly 6 weeks out. My half marathon is on November 1, exactly 2 weeks after the Urbanthlon. And notice that I feel compelled to capitalize the word "Urbanathlon", even though it's not really a word. It just makes it feel more official. So I felt it necessary to scrap my regularly scheduled training run to do a test run for Chicago. This means I cranked out 4 miles at a more-than-is-wise pace. This also means risking injury (unwise), approaching the puke threshold (messy, and slightly embarrassing), and at the time, pushing the poop barrier (infinitely more messy, and certainly more embarrassing). Something I had eaten during the day didn't agree with my 4 mile balls-to-the-wall run, and I turtled several times during the run. But I was able to poke the turtles head back into the shell, and all was well. I'm a poet and didn't know it.

Shortly after I began my run at an unwise pace, I met two strikingly attractive women on the trail, one following the other. The first, by all appearances, had never been properly fitted for a sports bra and the standard-issue undergarment she was wearing was grossly inadequate for the job of holding her ample attributes (this means "large breasts") in a suitable manner. At least not for running, because simply for display purposes it was perfect. I felt a little sorry for her, seriously, because my much better half spent a considerable amount of time and effort finding an suitable sports bra, and is a 100% better for it.

The second woman was similar in appearance to the first, sans the jouncing and bouncing like two puppies playing tag in a gunny sack. She smiled and gave me the nod, as did the first, and I smiled and thought, this ain't a bad way to spend an afternoon. Almost immediately after this my smile disappeared as I dialed up the effort meter in my attempt to measure my current level of speed, should I need to run the Urbanathlon tomorrow. Which I don't. I'm an idiot.

I made my way to the turn-around and hammered it back home. A mile from the end I saw the same women headed my way. And I did as any warm-blooded male would do when you're running red-line and have nothing left in the tank: I sped up. Until I got close enough to see that they were walking hand-in-hand. And talking, and smiling...and occasionally stopping for a kiss on the cheek (not that there's anything wrong with that...). I didn't slow down, but I did for a moment have a stray thought that I'm not proud of, at all, which I'm not going to share. I'm a doofus. But my chagrin over that situation was very shortly directed towards another.

I mostly run on a dedicated bike and pedestrian trail. No motor vehicles, period. And I spend a tremendous amount of personal time, effort, and sometimes even money to help maintain it. I'm very proud of it. So imagine my, yes, chagrin, to see off in the distance some redneck prick riding towards me on a four-wheeler, cap turned around backward. He was hard charging it down the asphalt, dust flying behind him, and I moved from my usual right-lane position to run right down the middle, head on towards his vehicle. Just before he came to me he veered off into the grass while I stopped and gave him the "don't fuck with me" evil eye (even though I was wearing sunglasses, he could tell). He gave me a couple of look over the shoulder double-takes, but I just stood there and dared him to turn around. I wasn't in the mood. Not the smartest, or most mature action to take (try NOT mature, at all), but it certainly felt good. He knew he wasn't welcome on my trail. There's a new sheriff in town, and his name is Dog.

I finished out my run with a 7:42 average pace, and nothing injured, so all is well in the Dog's pound.