As stated in the comments, I’m totally rocking the V for Vendetta look and now my parents know about my calavera tattoo.
Go give some bloggy love to the club and read the write up.
As stated in the comments, I’m totally rocking the V for Vendetta look and now my parents know about my calavera tattoo.
Go give some bloggy love to the club and read the write up.
Because you never know what’s going to stick.
I’m not sure what I mean by that; that’s the thing with analogies and metaphors. Some readers may read the above statement and nod sagely, uttering “so true, so true.” Others ask,”why would you throw pasta on the wall?”
But we (I) love analogies and metaphors all the same, because when they do work they provide a real Eureka! insight into the topic at hand/foot. “The rough surfaces are your vegetables, the smooth are dessert,” or “learning how to run with shoes on is like learning how to sing with earplugs.” I believe Barefoot Ken Bob Saxton came up with both of those, by the way.
Sometimes, however, the best analogy is an instruction for an entirely different task. Like how to clean your feet without dirtying up your tub.
I used to have little black toe-prints in my tub from day-after-day of cleaning road grime off my feet. I figured that was a small cost of running barefoot; increased frequency of tub-washing. Then Ken Bob posted a how-to guide for foot hygiene that included this advice:
3. When the floor is wet, step gently into the shower/bath. Do NOT twist, or slide your feet around, as this grinds the dirt into the floor (especially plastic showers/tubs).
Sound familiar? Now, between this advice and the use of Charlie’s Soap, my tub is cleaner after I wash my feet than before. But that’s not my point. You see, this advice also pertains to running. Imagine your feet were dirty and you had to run across a clean surface. Your objective is to keep that surface as clean as possible, running across without leaving a mark. How would you do this?
You would avoid skidding, twisting, sliding, grinding, etc at all costs. You would step as lightly as possible. You would focus on lifting your feet. You would run smoothly, gently, and efficiently. You would run like a singer on vegetables.
If you know what I mean.
I would have just completed a long tempo run. That translates to another round with Burger King, but with some changes.
In the name of science, I switched from fries to onion rings, and consumed a Whopper instead of a Whopper Jr. I suspect the difficulty I had with my previous BK training might have been the fries. If I regret it later, next time I’ll remove the onion rings. After that, a chicken sandwich with onion rings and fries, and so on and so forth. Mr. Wizard would be proud.
The reason I insist on eating fast food isn’t to calm cravings or to “reward” myself for eating a lot of brown rice, beans and broccoli all week. It’s that I don’t want to be a delicate eater. If I’m out on the road in the middle of the country, starving, and the only eating option is fast food, I want to be able to eat. And enjoy it, without repercussions. And who knows; maybe Wendy’s will stage a coup and take over the government, nationalizing the food industry. If that happens, I’ll be ready.
On the flip side, the vegetarians could take over. I’ll be ready for that too. If they do, I’m sure when driving late at night, starving, I’ll see a Chickpea Hut and think “Ooh! Veggie pilaf! Super!”
On a running note, everything feels fine after my effort yesterday. The “edge” – and no, I can’t seem to write “edge” without quotes – was really definitive, like a wall. I could run with minor discomfort (effort-wise, not feet-wise) at a consistent pace, but if I pushed it a little I really felt it. I was a little out of breath at the end, but otherwise felt fine.
Afterward, a lady actually touched my feet. Someone wanted to take a picture of my soles (for their scrapbook, maybe). As I was posing, like the pro that I am, a lady nearby sidled up next to me and touched the bottom of my foot. I felt so violated. “Unhand me, you brute!” I squealed. Actually, I just thought “Huh. That would have really tickled before.” She said she couldn’t help herself.
Hope Iris isn’t mad.
Next week consists of two ten-milers and a seven-miler. Unless it doesn’t.