The Twin Cities Marathon is two months away and this morning I detected a flaw in my experimental running training plan, also known as the very little running beyond 3-5 mile regular short runs with dog and kids in tow and a few semi-long distances plan. The problem? Lactic acid. Ouch. I went for a 14 mile run this morning, having not run since before Ragbrai. And I took Peggy with me. While 14 miles is a good long run for a dog, I figured at my pace Peggy could go all day. I told her just to pretend she was on a big Australian farm and was herding cattle. Her mother was a blue heeler, for goodness sake.
Peggy did great but Mr. Bickerson and the kids started to worry about me. They didn't know I was leaving the house to take my dog with me on a 14 mile run. They found me at the 12th mile and I let them take Peggy home. I should have let them take me, too, because in the last mile it felt like my legs turned to wood. It's going to be pretty embarrassing to stiffen up like that on Minnehaha Parkway in October. I like to save the wooden legged shuffle for at least mile 21-22 of an official marathon where all the spectators are shouting, "YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!!" and you want to slug them.
Hmm. I'm sensing an increasing level of hostility in my post today. I appear to NOT be benefiting from the so-called running endorphins. Where's the running happiness?