New math

1/2 mile run
1 mile sprint
1/4 mile run
1 mile sprint
1/4 mile run
1 mile sprint
1/4 mile run
1 mile sprint
+ 1/2 mile cool-down
= not as bad as you'd think

We had our second Miracle Mile training run on Saturday, and though my times are nothing that will ever see the inside of a record book (or, more immediately, nothing that will ever see the light of day on this blog), the run wasn't as horrible as I'd anticipated. Finding parking near the track (a few blocks east of the John Hancock Center) is about as fun as sharing underwear with John Hagee. So I got there early Saturday morning. As in an hour early. But so did a lot of people. And we all found parking rather easily. (Thank goodness I was wearing our lucky underwear!) And as we were all standing around and chatting and casually stretching before our run, Peter, Matthew and I suddenly realized we were all doing the exact same stretch at the exact same time. Like, OMG!


Then we did the run. Which I will not describe in any detail here, except to say that I have not yet mastered the art of recording separate laps on my high-tech new running watch. And it does not seem to have mastered the art of not losing touch with its GPS signal whenever I pass under the tree in the southwest corner of the track. So my official sprint times are lost to the ages. And since we were all pretty much running on our own, it's not like I could just borrow the official time of anyone in my pace group.

Speaking of, our group continues to be a revolving cast of characters that have yet to coalesce into any kind of social entity. But Matthew continues to bring his camera, and even though we didn't even pretend to run together this week, we still took a team picture. And if you can tear your eyes away from the right side of the picture, you'll notice me there on the left. I'm the one in the yellow tank top. And the red arms. And the white legs. Remember me?


Thank you. You may now return your eyes to the right side of the picture.

Sunday morning, Matthew and Peter and I decided to whip out a quick six miles on our own. Unfortunately, we picked a path that was all concrete and no trees. And a morning that was all heat and no breeze. (HA! I MAKE POEM!) And by the time we'd reached our three-mile turnaround, I was woozy and goosebumpy. Which also means I was also totally buzzkilly. Because heat + goosebumps does not = a body processing heat correctly. (More math metaphors! Alliteration runs rampant!) But Matthew and Peter walked me to the nearest cab, and for the first time in my running career* I actually aborted a run and cabbed back to home base.

*And by "running career" I mean "please don't laugh when I use the term running career to describe my running hobby." Because I'm as apt to make a living on my running skills as John Hagee is on his underwear modeling skills.

By the time we'd gotten back to our cars, I was fine enough that I consented to join in Matthew's post-run cross-training plan. So for the next half hour, the three of us alternated between jumping rope, running up and down a surprisingly steep hill in Lincoln Park, and resting. And it was HARD. But it was in the shade, so I was able to participate without being the wheezy old guy who spoiled everyone's fun by dropping over dead in a puddle of my own vomit. To keep me distracted from the pain, there was a statue of some rich-white-pillar-of-the-community-type dude at the top of the hill. I'd never heard of him, so I tried to memorize his name so I could google him when I got home and talk about him here as though I'd known who he was all along. But his name didn't stick, so I was also a failure at perjuring myself on Sunday morning. But I don't want to leave you hanging, so I'll just say it was a statue honoring Howie Mandel for the cultural contributions he's made to Chicago through his selfless work on Deal or No Deal.