The Feet and The Fury

And I'm watching all the laughing pass me by. If I could just turn the clock back.  All this time's left me feeling jaded. I nearly lost my mind let me stay here one more moment buried. (Avail, "August")

I had to run today. I despise running. Which is why I suck at training. Which is why I'll fail my half marathon.  I knew all of this when I signed up, which is why I question my sanity.

Still, today I had to run. And, as I was in exceptionally bad head space, I was (almost) looking forward to get outside to pound some of the "grrrr" out of me. Mentally I knew I was totally fucked, so I spent a few hours after work listening to music and making an epic playlist that would help get me through my run (I was intending to run 7 miles).  I whittled down my "amped" music to 141 songs, or 7.4 hours of music (which I expect is only slightly longer than the amount of time it'll take me to run my half marathon next week, so it should work out perfectly). I dubbed my playlist The Feet and The Fury.

I donned my trusty Vibrams all the running gear that I've slowly compiled over the summer in a (futile) effort to up my interest in running:

Isis Henna Sports Bra
Norrøna Bitihorn Technical Shirt
Stoic Merino Boy Boxer and
CamelBak Stamina II Performance Bottle







 I was feeling pretty good, all things considered; until suddenly one mile in. ONE. My calves started cramping. What the hell?! I figured I just needed to stretch, since I hadn't taken the time to warm up properly, so I stopped and stretched them.  But no dice; they were just as bad post stretch.  So I told them to fuck themselves and kept running.  They returned the sentiment, and turned to rocks within a few hundred yards of my first stretch.  I should have listened to them, but didn't.  Halfway through my intended run, I realized I was going to be Custer in this battle with my calves, and I'd better get to the white flag (the Camry) before it was too late.

I am so bitter: only 3+ miles out of the 7 I was planning on doing (and could have done, if it wasn't for my stupid calves).  No reason at all.  No difference in my routine, or my pace.  Just the simple fact that running hates me, as much as I hate it, and it goes out of its way to kick my ass (or my calves) inexplicably every single time I do it.  I think I'll stick to cycling.