The road and the dog

A friend of mine told me running down Meloy Rd. outside of Kent was dangerous. She said when she ran for the Kent State cross country team, they would get yelled at for running down the narrow, country road.

So of course I planned a 12 mile run which included 2 miles on the out-of-the-way road. Bad idea.

First, it was snowing on and off that day. The off was everything before Meloy. The on was the entire time on Meloy.

Second, we ran into the wind the entire way down Meloy.

And the worst part of Meloy Rd. ...

Residents of the road from Hell don't bother restraining their dogs. Not even freakin' invisible fences. I thought Keith was going to get mauled.

Luckily, his really loud yell scared the crap out of the dog. I was impressed someone so out of breath could yell that loud to be honest. I'm pretty sure the dog (I think it was a German shepherd, or Cujo) did a back flip.

Later on I started wondering what I would have done in the event of a dog mauling. Would I have ran to my friend's help and tackled the beast? Would I have sprinted to the house and alerted the owners of Cerberus? Would I have kept running down Meloy?

I don't really know. Hopefully, I won't ever have to.

What I do know is the next time I plan on running down Meloy Rd., I hope someone punches me in the throat. Like really hard.

Rainy day

Rain mixes with sweat as I labor through my sixth mile. The salty solution runs down my face into my mouth, sickening and yet invigorating me at the same time.

I started my run that day too quickly, but how could I blame myself? The 60-degree weather on a mid-February day beckoned my legs to chase the waning late afternoon sunlight. Even the wind couldn’t slow me down as my body, free from its prison of hoodies and jeans, flew past suburban houses with manicured lawns. Puddles left by the rain scattered beneath my feet as if they were fleeing from an unstoppable force.

But now nearing the end of my run, I was paying for my earlier overindulgence. My legs felt like cinder blocks as I charged up one of the final hills. The gently falling rain that had kept me refreshed now spotted my glasses, blurring my vision.

Still, I was only one mile away from finishing. And not even the most brutal of rainstorms or the most violent of winds could stop me.

Now only half a mile remains. The wind screams at me to stop, throwing itself into my face. Inside, I’m laughing. It’s an often-used trick by an old enemy and friend, one I’m all too familiar with. Digging down, I force my legs to move faster, my arms to pump harder.

The wind relents. It understands I won’t be beat.

Only the soft rain is present to greet me at my finish line. It sprinkles down onto my face, wiping the sweat away.

7 miles.

Ipod? We don't need no stinkin' Ipod

Where my mind wanders when I'm running really surprises me sometimes.

Sometimes I'm focusing on the road ahead of me, lasering in on every bend, every hill. Sometimes I'm thinking about girls (I'm a single, 20-year-old guy, what do you expect?). Sometimes I'm thinking about nothing.

A few days ago, I had the Ducktales theme song stuck in my head. Yeah, those Ducktales.

It's actually not a bad beat to run to. And I get to relive my childhood TV obsessions. There's really no downside.

This happens pretty often actually. I never listen to my ipod while I'm running. The ear buds just don't fit into my ears right. I blame Apple. 

Regardless, I almost always get a song stuck in my head while I'm running. Usually it's something kind of fruity too, like "Prince Ali" from Aladdin.

It's a good thing I usually run by myself.

Why run a marathon? Why not?

Since I meant to start this blog a couple of week ago, I'll back track a bit with my running.

But first, an explanation.

I started this blog to chart my progress for the Pittsburgh Marathon on May 3. Since late November, I've been running a couple days a week, increasing my mileage every other week or so.

My friend and coworker Chris Gates convinced me to run the torturous 26.2 miles with him via facebook status. I don't remember what exactly it said, but it was along these lines:

Chris Gates is running the Pittsburgh Marathon, who's with him?

To which I replied something like, "I'm game, let's do this."

Now, I had never ran more than 6 miles in one go before that fateful November day. But I thought, why not? I'll be turning 21 just after the marathon, why not see how far I can push my body? 

I don't want to be one of those middle-aged guys with a paunch and a fistful of "why didn't I?" questions. I don't want my greatest athletic achievement to be a mediocre high school track and field career.

I want to take advantage of the body God's given me. I want to see what my limits are.

So that's the skinny on why I'm running. I've been asked that a lot actually. I'm not as good with communicating my intentions by talking. Now I can just refer those people to this blog.

So now I'm running. Last Sunday I did 12 miles with my friend/running partner Keith. I honestly don't remember much of the run, except for the fact that I was really hungry.

And I mean hungry. Stomach-growling-like-a-cougar hungry. Hallucinating-you're-chasing-a-plate-of-spaghetti hungry. Wouldn't-mind-running-through-the-McDonald's-Drivethru-to-grab-a-value-menu-double-cheeseburger hungry.

It was bad. Both of us only talked about food for the last 4 miles of the run. The only thing keeping me going was the fact that our end point happened to be very close to a campus dining hall.

We got through those 12 miles in 1:47 (so about nine minute splits, score!).

A yogurt, cheeseburger, chicken sandwich, grilled cheese sandwich and powerade later, I realized what we had just done.

Nearly half a marathon.

Only 14.2 miles to go.

3 miles last Tuesday

The weather was reasonable. Not warm by any standards, but for a February day in Northeast Ohio it was tolerable. A slight breeze whipped through campus, but it wasn’t enough to deter me.

I had an hour and half before I had to be back in the newsroom. Plenty of time for a run.

Every run begins differently for me. On some days, my legs feel strong. Energy pent up through the day flows through my body. I am invincible. I can run for miles. Those are the best days.

Other days, my body screams in protest like a young boy who didn’t get his nap. I run for miles before the cranky child settles. Those days are the worst.

Today though, it’s neither. My body is indifferent to my decision to run. It takes a little coxing to get my legs moving. “Just a short run,” I tell myself.

A mile into my run the cold starts to invade. My breath billows out in front of me like a steam engine. My stride and breathing sound mechanical, a train chugging through the snowy suburbs. My arms work back and forth like pistons, driving my legs forward.

“Haaaa.” Thump. Thump.

“Haaaa.” Thump. Thump.

Cars rush by. Their exhaust mingles with the cold, clear air I had been filling my lungs with. Fast food restaurants across the street send the odor of cheap greasy tacos and hamburgers into the mix. The smell is nauseating. But I run through it.

I’m nearing the end of a gradual downhill slope. I’ve run this route before. My body knows what approaches. The muscles in my legs tighten, bearing down for the war.

“Not yet,” I tell my legs. “Just a little farther.”

I turn the corner. The hill ahead stretches a third of a mile and a hundred feet into the sky.

“Time to go, let’s go! Attack the hill!”

I’m no longer speaking to myself. My voice is barely heard over the cars rushing by. Still, my body hears the command.

My ascent begins. My pace quickens. The pistons driving my legs swing faster.

“Come on! Keep going! Attack!”

The hill steepens as if to drive off the attack. I drive harder. My breath now trails behind me, temporarily leaving a trail.

I’m now running at full speed. The hill seems to ascend straight up. After turning a corner I can see the summit.

And then the ice comes.

Northeast Ohio is not forgiving in the winter, especially to runners. Patches of ice cover the sidewalk. My strides quickly become evasive maneuvers, avoiding the slippery surface.

Finally I reach the top. As I slow down to a normal job, my breath still billowing out like the smoke from a steam engine. An engine slowing down, coming to a stop.

3 miles.