And my walk back from the coffee shop this afternoon ... Is this a sick joke?
This morning I headed out on a 7-mile recovery run while it was "cool" out. Ha! For those of you who don't know what a "recovery run" is, it's an easy run the day following a long workout where there are no speed requirements, no hills to run, no fartleks to sprint, no tempos to pace, and no intervals to track. It's simply an easy run to keep your muscles and tendons flexible and to help heal muscle tears from the previous day's run. My recovery runs tend to be a bit longer, but anywhere from a few blocks to double-digit miles is probably considered acceptable, as long as you're not pushing yourself too hard.
Last night my neighbors let me borrow their redbox rental for free under the condition that I return it to the store. I watched the movie last night and set out on my recovery run this morning, adding the path to the store into my route.
Let me just say that this recovery run hurt. I didn't feel sore from yesterday's 15-miler, but instead from being punched in the leg.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was punched in the leg.
Now before anyone goes off on any diatribes about women being punched (don't worry, I'm with you), I will wholeheartedly say I 150% deserved it.
Allow me to rewind to yesterday.
As you may remember from a recent post, I have a pretty strict eating schedule on the days of my long runs. I generally follow up a long run with a salty soup so I can retain water and let my muscles hold onto that during recovery. Instead of making my own delicious ramen yesterday, I called up my restaurant-going friend (hereafter known under his nickname, Gramps), to get a bowl of vegetable phở at one of Minneapolis' best mom & pop Vietnamese noodle shops, Quang.
Gramps is one of those freakish people who rides everywhere on a hipster fixed-gear bike, and he does this year-round despite the conditions or the distance. He's also a full-time ceramics student, he never works unless it's in his pottery studio late at night, and he can never make it to anything on time. Thus, whenever we get together to try new vegan restaurants, I intentionally leave exactly when I tell him to meet me there, and usually will still beat him to the table.
Much to my chagrin, I left late for Quang, found street parking along Eat Street, walked to the shop, and saw Gramps standing outside locking up his bike. Utterly amazed that he beat me to the restaurant, I kicked him in the back of the knee (you know, in the manner that you can make someone stumble), him unaware of my presence.
"Gramps!" *kick to back of knee #1* "What the eff are you doing here so early???"
"I was waiting for your slow ass."
"Gramps!" *kick to shin #1* "Guess what I did this morning!"
"I ran 15 miles!" *kick to shin #2* "And I still have energy to kick you!" *kick to shin #3* "And your ugly bike!" *kick to his front bike tire #1*
"That's real great, but don't kick my bike."
"Ohhhh oooookay" *roundhouse kick to front bike tire #2*
*The hardest punch any girl has ever received, midair, administered to right quad.*
I seriously doubled over on the sidewalk, firing a barrage of obscenities at him for being stupid. Any bystanders saw that Gramps was probably fully justified in punching my leg. However, if they had known that I just ran 15 miles on that leg and if they understood what my muscle was doing to rebuild itself, they would know that a punch was probably not going to help in the recoup process.
So I spent most of my night last night watching Precious and icing my leg. I have a huge welt and a very shiny bruise appearing. My muscle feels incredibly tight and it's hard to put a lot of weight on my right leg, making my recovery run a bit of
I did learn one valuable lesson from this trip: If you ever need to take a runner out, a punch to the quad should do the trick.
7.3mi splits (1h 6m 41s):
Air Temp: 55! BAAAA-what what!!!