Pain, Sticks, Beer (and some fish)

17 Miles of Pain
If anyone out there needs proof that I am still a stupid dude with more testicle than brain, witness today’s potentially season-ending 17 mile run with the Cap’n…

Great plan: leave Lynnwood for a nice easy 17-18 mile one-way trek to Everett, mostly on the Interurban Trail. Burn some calories, work the legs, listen to some iPod. Great plan.

So The Colleague drops me off at Cap’n’s office. She notices (but doesn’t comment on) the fact that I am favoring my left foot a little bit as I get out of the car. I re-lace the New Balance and figure whatever tightness I am feeling will work out as we slog through the first few wet and rainy miles. At the first stoplight, I comment on the foot. It’s hurting, feels like a cramp, but maybe it will work out.

Like an asshole, I tell myself (as Jack Johnson sings “Broken” in my ears) that I should stop, call The Colleague, and bag this run before I injure myself). But like a bigger asshole, I keep going. At mile 4 I start catching myself over-compensating for the sore foot.

First the knee starts to hurt.

Being wary of hurting my knee, I start striding differently.

By mile 5 I can feel a blister building on my left heel.

Miles 5-11 I basically power through. The pain comes and goes, but we are doing good time and the rest of my body feels great. I throw down some Gu and keep going.

Mile 12 starts to really hurt. My “new” stride (now compensating for a growing blister, a sore foot, and a tweaked knee) is starting to take its toll on my lower back and my groin.

Good times.

For a few minutes I am distracted by the fact that both my iPod and Cap’n Ron’s iPod serve up “Goodbye My Lover” by James Blunt at the same time.

Odds? Math Dude? Help me out…2 iPods, 600 songs each, shuffle play…same song, same time? Seems like Lotto odds to me.

I hobbled my lame ass all the way to Everett and the comfort of the 305. 17 miles. 3220 calories. 9:40 overall pace.

Now? 90% convinced I have a broken foot. Since the run it has changed through 6 shades of purple and swollen nicely. I’m trying a strict RX of internal alcohol therapy and Big Head Todd, but so far, it isn’t helping. Maybe the side trip with The Colleague and our collective children to the Seattle Aquarium wasn’t such a good idea…

Bottom line. X-Rays on Tuesday. If the foot is broken it probably means the end of the Vancouver Marathon. It probably means turning my attention to something in June or July. Or perhaps just training on the Fuji for the Seattle-to-Portland ride.

F Word.

Stay tuned on the injury front.

Sticks
Towse hooked me up with some “replacement” clubs for the set stolen from my loving mother’s garage last fall. Let’s call the price “less than retail”. The sticks? Kick ass. Even my lame ass swing can’t really send the ball off line.

The check is in the mail. Ish. Thanks brother.

The Annual VB Brother Beer Fest
It’s that time of year again. The VB brothers will gather. This year in Chicago. The ostensible reason? Some conference. The real reason? Beer. Don’t kid yourself. Updates to come.

Summer Preview
A deposit is down on a nice Tartan 3400 for a two week summer cruise with Dad VB and brother VB. Looking forward to bashing someone else’s boat across the straits.