Temp: Really warm but with a killer wind.
Shoes: Merrell AllOut Rush. Discovered hotspot on side of big toe which was odd because I thought this was basically the same upper as the Bare Access Arc (where the only issue is that the fabric between the rubber stripes on either side of the ball of your foot wears out eventually with a forefoot strike), but with a trail sole. Nope. Not a big deal though, and it’s to be expected when the most miles I’d asked at a time from these new shoes was I think four or five. They, and I, will adapt. I’m switching shoes week to week to get my trail shoes good and broken in but not yet worn-out by racetime. I have to treat them well because I’m not running predominantly on trails and I don’t want the grips flattened by the time I need them.
Hunger: Actually pretty low. Norovirus will do that do you. Hurgh.
Road wildlife: Guy who made room for me on the footpath part of the bridge. Thanks, guy. I had prepared to leap out into the road part, because sometimes people will be jerks to you as you approach, and this was the first lap of what would be a 16-mile run and I didn’t want to be annoyed for the rest of it. But he smiled and went out of his way to stand to the side. Thanks, man.
Yeah, the title’s different. I’m just going to change it every week. I wanted to keep calling it “train like a spectre” but then I worried there would be this implicit militarized vibe that I wasn’t going for. Which honestly is present in a lot of space fandoms (go on, play ME1 and tell me you don’t feel that it was very much made during the height of the Iraq War, when people were still by and large not questioning it enough), and which is another stark contrast between fantasy and SF it seems. It doesn’t always hold, I’ll grant you — I’m reading Patrick Weekes’ Rogues of the Republic trilogy for example, and in that first book too you recognize a soldier-worship style of addressing camaraderie that one hopes future generations will view as uncomfortable and dated. (Note that this was the climate of the time, and I’m not hating on him for it being there. Hell, I wrote my fair share of balls-to-the-wall camaraderie stories in the 2000s, too. I allowed myself the conceit that I’d make more friends if we were both getting shot at. This is something we are still told, and sometimes believe, culturally. We wax nostalgic on “that one time where we all came together” all. the. time. And “that one time” was always when someone had died violently.)
Anyway, I skipped two runs due to norovirus. At least adults don’t get it as bad as kids do (only half your guts decide to revolt instead of all of them). Also I tried out Gatorade’s gummies, because they were on sale. They tasted okay (yay strawberry!) but I don’t think they were as effective as, say, Clif Bar’s gummies. They don’t have caffeine and each one is pretty small, so you’re getting a lot less per packet than the Bloks. If your stomach gets upset these would go down easier, because they’re smaller, but they’re also probably going to help you out a lot less than something more substantial, with more helpful ingredients.
Finally, I can’t imagine given my piecemeal focus on this one athletic thing I do amidst the more usual book, game and solipsistic rambling that anyone thinks I’m getting free stuff, but for the record I am not getting free stuff. I buy it. (Though I will happily take your free stuff! Don’t let me stop your free stuff train!) I can’t remember the situations in which these disclaimers are necessary, and I think one needs a much bigger reading audience to even have to worry about it, but just to be certain, no one gave me anything, alas.
I’ll totally take your stuff though. If, you know, you need someone to take it.