It's much more exciting to blog about running when you've just had a great workout or race. I haven't had either one of those in a while, but as I've often said to the kids I coach (In a very Howard Cunningham kind of way) "I've probably run more than a thousand races in my life, but I can only think of probably ten that were great." I feel really proud of that realization and statement. It's not exactly uplifting though. It's usually countered with "...And you never know when that next great one will be" or "...those few great ones are worth all the bad ones." Which is completely true. I totally believe all of that.

So there's the preamble I guess


I had a really crappy race this weekend. I was probably due, but it's never fun. The race was the Hospital Hill Half Marathon in KC. We were on our way back to NC from my in-laws in Kansas, so I figured I'd stop by and get in some suffering. There was a lot of suffering. I've got a ton of perfectly sound excuses for why I ran so bad, but I'll leave those out. I must note though, it was 85 degrees and this is seriously the most horrible race course I've ever run. There, there's the dramatic circumstances. Anyway, I started out running with my former college teammate, Mathew Chesang (whom I hadn't seen in several years) and just kind of hanging on for the first 10 miles of the race. When we hit the base of the 2.75 mile uphill at Broadway Ave. I was toast. I just got straight up DROPPED. That's the worst feeling in the world. I hobbled in in in 1:11:26. They say the course itself gives you about 3 minutes - which still is crappy. Speaking of crappy, I pooped 12 times after the race, I think I trashed my body completely over the course of the trip back home. Running aside, it was a great time and I hope I can be back there soon - I miss my home and my farm and my cows and goats.