Slo-Jo: Long slow 12, with doggy breaks

Distance: 12 miles

Pace: 12:07, not counting pit stop at 7-11 to refill water bottles

Wine consumption: Just ONE glass at dinner w F (Lan Crianza Tempranillo) because Coach said I should not “get sh%tty” the night before a 12-mile run. As if.

My hot water heater appears to be broken. I’m not much of a plumbing expert, but it seem like there should not be a large puddle of water around the water heater. I called my dad, who is handy with such matters, and he walked me through how to at least shut off the water to the tank so that more and more water was not on the floor.

I probably should have thought the no-hot-water situation through before going for my 12-mile run, but nothing was going to stop me from going. (Well, lots of things could, but I did want to go.) We decided to start not at our usual heart-of-darkness time of 5:30 a.m., but a far more reasonable 5:48 a.m. Not sure why 5:45 was not selected, but 5:48 works fine for me. This is why Coach reminded me the night before that I should not get my drink on—I guess he thought I’d see that extra 18 minutes of sleep as an opportunity to pound enjoy some wine. I need different friends.

We ran up Central on the bridle path, which is a terrific place to run as it is full of cute dogs, and petting a dog is a totally acceptable excuse to stop running. There’s the lady in black with two German shepherds, Ranger the American Bulldog who wears a red backpack, a pair of Westies, a boxer named Meg (“What’s her name? Maggot?” said Coach. “Um, no,” said the owner), and a giant schnauzer, whose owner encouraged us to get dogs because it would change our lives. I didn’t feel like explaining that I already have sort of a surplus of dogs as then he’d want to know why they were not out running, and then I’d have to explain that they are all fat and anyway none of them can run 12 miles.

(Clifford is more of a sprinter than a distance runner. Especially if there is a B-A-L-L involved.)

After three miles up Central, we turned around. Then it was three miles back to the cars to switch out water bottles, change into dry shirts, etc. Then it was time to go up and back again for the second six-mile loop. A quarter of a mile into the second loop, Coach said, “I think my car is unlocked.”

Me: “You want to go back?”

Coach: “No. What could they get? (pause) Oh. My phone. That would be bad.”

Me: “You want to go back?

Coach: “No.”

We keep running. I’m listening to Shakira. Coach is listening to Neil Diamond.

Coach: “Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

There is something psychologically debilitating about turning around on a long run and going back to the car—we probably would have just gotten in our cars and gone home. Instead, we bet five dollars that he had locked his car, with me betting he did. And we ran on.

The run at this point became about water. I had carried 17-ounces in my super sexy hydration belt (it is the worst thing ever for fashion, except for the even more horrible fanny pack, but what can you do) on the first six miles and that was the perfect amount. But on the second lap, I went through the water in two miles. So we had to stop at the convenience store at the 9-mile mark and fill up. There was a sign saying, “Water 50 cents,” and all I had was a debit card. So, I offered to pay, but the guy said, “Water is free.” Okay. Guess he didn’t make the sign.

At this point, my hair was soaked through with sweat and my fresh shirt had that not-so-fresh feeling. I was getting tired. Coach kept telling me to stop holding my hands by my face like a boxer when I’m running, which is my go-to move when I’m starting to struggle. Whatever. If someone tries to punch me, I can block it like that!

(Like this nice young lady, I bring a chili pepper on my runs, because running is not hard enough without a really freaking hot pepper to chew on.)

At mile 10, we reached a landmark—it was the longest I have run before except for the half marathon! Hal Higdon’s half marathon plan, which I used for my first half, has ten as the longest training run, and I actually had to break that training run up into six and four for some reason that is lost to me now. In any event, here I was running longer than ten. It felt…trudgy. But good.

The last two miles needed some inspiration. Fortunately, now that it was no longer the middle of the night, the bridle path was filled with characters. There were some ladies out training for the three-day walk for the cure, some women briskly walking the path with walking sticks (they highly recommended them), an older gentleman with a pocket protector and socks firmly pulled up to his calves, bicyclists of varying degrees of skills (who really should not be yelling out, "On your right!" because it scares runners and shouldn't they be passing on the left? This made me nearly knock Coach into the gutter), and of course the increasingly uncomfortable owner of Maggot, whom we passed at least three times. 

Got back to the cars and BOOM! Coach’s car was locked, and he owes me MONEY. We got some delicious Gatorades, and I headed home. I realized I was a sweaty sweat ball of sweat with soaking wet clothes and hair and had no hot water, which was a bit troubling. Should I go to a friend’s? Take a cold shower? In the end, I decided to just turn the valve back on and deal with any leaks. Problem solved.