Monday, June 6, 2011

Endorphins

Until recently, and a new resolution to get up early and run, I had forgotten two things.

1. Summer New Orleans mornings with the mist clearing under the rising sun as you run through a park are breathtaking, and don't make you feel guilty you spend the rest of the day avoiding the relentless humidity as much as possible; and

2. Running is like Pringles. Once you pop, you can't stop.

That is, for the endorphins. Not the trans fats.

I know a lot of people blog about running, and I know that most of the posts about running are the most boring fucking things you have ever read. The logs of miles, the dietary concerns, the pre-race prep, the right running shoes ... blah. I mean, all I really want to know is whether you shat yourself during that marathon. And for the record, that is like the ONLY thing keeping me from running one. The only.

Anyway, I highly doubt that this blog entry is going to be much different. The real reason I run (because I am already on the right side of the BMI, so suck it) is for the E. E for endorphins. And the more I can run, the higher the E. In fact, I am able to guage my running performance (and how much more I need to perform) based on answering the question "does this piss me off?"

It is kinda hot.

Meh, it's summer.

This woman in front of me is driving really slow.

I'm in no hurry to get to work.

Louisiana Department of Transportation sent me my registration seven weeks late and forgot to include the decal and I had to spend 20 minutes on the phone getting them to fix it.

These things happen. The woman was really nice. I bet she has a tough job.

I'm going to have to work this weekend.

I'm glad I have a job that lets me afford to do fun things.

Your unleashed pug dog ran across the street to come after my dog, and I rescued it by grabbing it before a car hit it. When you finally retrieved your dog from me, instead of "thank you" you said "just keep going" as somehow the whole situation was my fault.

I called you a dickhead and said I was fine where I was. Because that's not even a real dog.

So, assessment = add 1/2 mile to daily run. Or add evening run before walking dog.

Running in NOLA has its big payoffs, and that's alcohol. While the Hash House Harrier's Red Dress Run is always a big hit, the HHH themselves aren't as prominent as in other cities where I knew them. That's because there are plenty of people here who like to get weird, drunk, wear costumes, and could care less about all that mapping lingo.

A couple of friends and I ran in the New Orleans Track Club's Free for All Wednesday last week. Despite the simmering pavement, and no rain for days, you make it through for one thing - that cold cold free beer at the end. Since I mostly run not to murder other people, the calories in the cold beer do not affect me. In fact, I like to think of beer as internal epsom salts, soothing my muscles and my mind as I marvel at just how unattractive I am as a sweaty person.

It's pretty bad. But not bad enough to have the jello shots they broke out on top of the beer (because you haven't seen anything until you've seen a post-race yuppie mom with a push stroller filling up her purse with those, oblivious to her toddler trying to do the same.)

So, now we have begun a tradition of a Saturday morning run with its own reward. Last week was the tracks then Cafe Rani for strawberry and cucumber mojitos. This week, track and a loop, then bloody marys at the Avenue Pub. My "mapmyrun.com" page is starting to looking like a bar crawl.

Beats the hell out of those stupid gel things.

PS - If I am ever lame enough to post a picture of me post-running, it will be after the Spillway Run on July 3. Three miles through muddy ditches, and then firemen hose you off while you drink. It's like an awesome version of World War I.

7 comments:

steetoa said...

Oooh, the fireman thing sounds a little fresh. :) Yay for running - alcohol motivator and all!

Some Girl said...

I saw your Facebook post, and good for you for rescuing that dog! And the owner is clearly a dick. Wtf. He should have bought you a coffee or something. You were totally a dog hero!

But why all the small-dog hate? For one thing, pugs are like 20 pounds - not exactly a teacup. If I treated my small dog as if she were not a "real" dog, I'm pretty sure I'd wind up with a bunch of real-dog-sized problems (poop on the floor, torn up couch cushions, etc.). All dogs are awesome, you sizeist, you. :-p (With the exception of untrained asshole dogs, of course, which come in all shapes and sizes.)

Star Kicker said...

@A: Biscuit does not qualify as a "not dog." For one, she has killer very canine features. And she also makes herself useful letting cowboys ride her. It is very different from a breed that constantly sounds like it has a sinus infection and doesn't have anything constructive to do besides inadvertantly committing car suicide.

@B: I keep you in mind for inspiration, especially after you kept going with all those injuries. I will strive to keep going like you - well, except for the injuries please.

Wow, that was awkward said...

Damn you. I was going to run tonight, but then I sat down on the couch. Then I started catching up on email and reading some blogs. And now I feel guilty. And I'm pretty sure nobody is going to yell 'I like your package' when I do go out next, so I think I'll just stay on the couch for tonight.

Star Kicker said...

@Wow: You need a t-shirt that says "Package compliments welcome." That will get you moving.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

This got me thinking about running again. Dammit. I've never tried the drink at the end of a run thing, but I'd love that, I think. I have, however, tried the drinks BEFORE the run thing. Also known as, running home from the bar because you lost your car keys and someone yelled "RACE!"

Star Kicker said...

@Steamy: I am going to start that tradition with a signal gun. It will be a big hit. Especially in New Orleans.