Adventures in running

Here's a photo of our second marathon training run, coming at you a week late for reasons I'm too lazy to explain. Notice that we got a whopping 10 of the 17 people on our training roster to show up. If I were all mathy, I'd tell you that was like 66% of our group. But I'm not, so that number is a total guess.

We were supposed to run five miles last weekend. But this was my first run in my orthotics, and I got a serious case of shin splints by mile two and I ended up limping running only four very sad little miles. But I eventually met everyone back at our starting point, and we all toasted Matthew on his recent engagement. (Yay, Matthew!) I don't know why I'm sticking out my tongue in this picture, but it may have something to do with the fact that I'm not a huge fan of champagne. I also don't know why my shorts look like culottes in this picture. Needless to say, it's not my best look.

Motif! I must have been in a tonguey mood last Saturday because I did my sticky-outy trick again at our post-run brunch. But we were at a restaurant I'm not a huge fan of, so I may just be reacting to the miracle of sawdust-flavored omelets. Peter behind me doesn't seem to be making yummy-tummy gestures either.

Fast-forward to this weekend: We ran intended to run eight miles on what turned out to be a gloriously beautiful day. Here we are at our mile-three potty break, where four of us decided that our various injuries—which still, unfortunately, included my shin splints—were too much to bear so we cut our run to just five miles. Oh, the shame.

Ladies and gentlemen, the heartbreak of shin splints:

But brunch afterward was a much nicer affair. Funny how flavor can really make food taste good. You can't tell in this picture, but four of us have some serious tattooage. We may have to take a couple dedicated tat pix at our next run to document how marathon training is a great prison-rehab program for reformed gang members.