“Well, That’s One Idiot Down….”

- quote by someone who shall remain unnamed as the first Frozen Bogey finisher came running past us

So, though my workouts have been sporadic these last 2 weeks at best, I figured hey, there’s nothing like a long run in sub-zero blustery, frigid weather along the lakefront to get one back on track, right? Unlike some of the less heartier (read = highly intelligent and evolved) people who took a gander at the 20 below wind chill and said “uhhh……not” – I was not deterred. No sirree. A plan is a plan. No backing out now. Wind, bah, I scoff at your paltry wind! I……..holy shit, are they kidding me? I step out of Robyn’s building, where we’ve just signed in for the race, and a gust of bitter wind assails me and literally takes my breath away. How can I run if I can’t breathe? Minor details, I tell myself. Except that I haven’t even made it to the starting line, and my hands are already quite painfully frozen. (Thanks, Colleen, for the extra glove liners via Bridget!)

Clearly, a few modifications to the plan are in order. This is good in a way, because I wouldn’t want to veer too much from my TRotoK Training Plan, lest I risk overtraining and the subsequent need for much sitting in hot tubs, cozy heating pads, therapeutically resting on the couch snuggled under a blanket with hot cocoa, massage therapy administered by some of the many dark-haired, rugged hockey players who have undoubtedly turned to masseusery as a sideline business………

Oh, sorry, my mind wandered there for a minute. Anyway, I guess I don’t want to overtrain. But I’ve studied the map, and running to the first aid station at least will provide a semblance of a workout, so I set off determinedly in that direction, being careful to not spill from the cup of hot chocolate that I’m clutching. The potential horror of that slows my usual pace a bit, but after about 20 minutes, I’ve gone the .6 of a mile or so and promptly go to warm up in the aid station “tent,” aka someone’s car with the heat blasting. This is where the tough part begins, because we all know the pitfalls and travails that come with volunteering/spectating. After all, the fear of getting a deadly blood clot from sitting for hours on end is real, and so I do some stretching while peering out at the crazy fools actually running the Frozen Bogey. Well, peering at those I can actually see, because the wind has picked up, it’s snowing, and we seem to be in the midst of what the forecasters would call “squalls.” The spigot for the water jug has frozen, the Accelerade is slurpee consistency, the camera batteries have died. In other words, “fun”!

To those of our Alcatraz group who had the good common sense that God gave them to play the "bunion" excuse in order to stay in their warm, cozy, comfy beds, I salute you, and I do believe that next time I’ll be right there with you. Hmm, that didn’t come out quite right. Well, you know what I mean. I think. Umm, so anyway, how ‘bout them Blackhawks?