blown away

"You're so skinny you're gonna blow away."

I've heard this dire warning my entire life. Depending on my age, I've either considered it an insult or a compliment. Yesterday, I considered it prophetic.

I was scheduled to run 19 miles along a newly charted route I developed to avoid the Bataan/Marina del Rey Death March. As I set out I probably should have paid closer attention to the blown-over garbage cans and the palm fronds littering the ground and raining down like mortar shells. "Aw, it's not that bad. Don't be a wuss", I said to myself as I ran the first three miles along the somewhat-wind-protected Palisades Park high above Santa Monica Beach. I turned onto the pier and as I descended I soon realized the hell that awaited. A few weeks ago I wrote a whiny blog about a windy day during which I ran 13 miles. At the time I thought conditions were pretty bad but yesterday made that other day look like a stroll during a pleasant breeze.

The wind was blowing so hard and so constant that the bike path was being swallowed beneath dunes before my very eyes like some isolated road in the Sahara. Not content to simply drown out my iPod, it literally blew the earbuds out of my ears. The windblown sand didn't just sting my legs, it sandblasted all my exposed parts to a dull sheen. I ran with both eyes squeezed shut save for a watery slit through which I tried to monitor the navigable portion of the concrete. My shoes and socks and ears and nose filled with sand and I felt certain I was developing the sand-based equivalent of black lung disease. Sand-colored lung disease? All the while the wind roared. I struggled to maintain a forward motion, leaning impossibly far into the wall of wind like a cartoon character, thinking, "Huh. Maybe I should do this run tomorrow."

I stuck with it. As I reached the northernmost end of the bike path, my theory was that the upcoming seven southbound miles would be so wind-aided that I'd literally sail along and more than make up for my northbound glacial pace. I was wrong. I quickly learned that the evil wind does not giveth, it only taketh away. One can only run so fast, even with a sadistic Mother Nature shoving hard from behind.

The last two southbound miles head down the alley behind the beachfront homes of the marina. Here the air was calmer and just as I started to enjoy the respite I got to the first cross-street which leads directly out to the beach... and was blasted from the side with a Cheney-esque face-full of what felt like buckshot. "Jesus!" I yelled as I fought to stay on my feet. This went on for 20+ blocks and was repeated for the benefit of the other side of my face northbound 10 minutes later, after I had reached my turnaround point and visual bleakness zenith, the tip of the marina breakwater.

I must have set some sort of record for self pity during those last 5 miles. My legs hurt. Bad. I was exhausted to the point that I couldn't even muster up my usual expletive rant. I was dumbfounded by the thought that I would have to run an additional ONE HOUR! to actually complete a marathon. And I was covered head to toe in caked-on sand and debris. More than anything I wanted to stop running. "Just stop, lay down, and sleep forever...", a little voice in my head suggested. "Don't mind if I do!", I responded heartily. "Wait!", another voice pleaded. "If you stop, you're accepting failure! You can't do that, man!" "Good point.", I admitted. Still another voice said calmly, "Just distract yourself with really, really, really pleasant thoughts for the rest of this godforsaken run." And that's exactly what I did.

Interesting Sight o' the Day: absolutely nothing.

Runs for the week:

Tuesday: 5 miles

Thursday: 8 miles

Saturday: 19 miles, 2:54:05

Runs for last week:

Tuesday: 4.25 miles

Wednesday: 7.5 miles

Friday: 5 miles

Sunday: 18 miles, 2:41:03

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