Now that it is cold out, I’ve brought out a warmer jacket. It’s one I got when I did the Death Race. It is one of those bomber jackets, cloth with leather arms. The kind you would find on students in sports leagues.
And that’s the thing. When I wear it, I feel like one of those jocks I used to see hanging around school, acting cool. (When they weren’t beating me up after class.) I don’t really like that feeling. I didn’t like them then.
If I think about it, I have retained my nerdity, but I am now probably healthier than any of those jocks I saw in school. I ran a stupid distance and lived to tell the tale.
And now that my injury seems to actually be making progress on the path to health, I’m getting stupid again.
There is the Alberta Triple Crown which is a series of three ultramarathons that one tries to complete in a single calendar year. A few months ago I thought that was stupid. Times have changed.
The first is just 100km, the Blackfoot Ultra in May. I should be healed by then. I mentioned the idea of just that ultra to my physical therapist, and she thought it was too close to the last ultra, which will be the Walt Disney World Goofy in January. According to her, one should only run one ultra a year.
Sounds like good advice.
But, as a runner, I have learned that we are great at giving well thought-out advice, but terrible at following it.