Good Start. Lousy Finish.

I try to be an efficient kind of guy. So when it got nice out a couple weeks ago, I decided it would be a splendid idea to combine two errands.

My first errand was checking the condition of the field where we play Ultimate during the summer. Warmth plus light equals Ultimate, if the field is in good shape.

The other errand was training for my half marathon.

We play Ultimate at Jones Park, which is a shade less than 8 miles from my house by bicycle. A half marathon is a shade over thirteen miles. So really, on a beautiful Saturday, is there any reason not to make Jones Park the halfway point of my training run?

I left the house a little before noon, and told my wife that if I wasn't home by 3, she might want to start worrying. I got the sense she thought my plan was, well, stupid, but she was kind enough not to say it.

The run out was great. The only hitch on the first leg came about five miles in. I was feeling bored or tired, and my leg was starting to feel funny, but I kept going, managing to forget about (and not see) a raised section of sidewalk. Of course, I tripped and nearly fell, but I realized as I kept running that the adrenaline and the sudden stretch had cured both the boredom and the leg problem.

The run back got progressively more difficult. I kept needing to stop and stretch. My hip started to hurt, and my shoe rubbed a sore spot into the opposite foot. I dropped to a walk for a block. Then I made myself a deal. I would run (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) to the 13 mile mark or until I'd been running for two hours and fifteen minutes, whichever came first. I made it, barely, and dropped onto a bench to rest and stretch.

Only three more miles to go.

I walked almost the entire three miles. I "ran" about a half-mile stretch, and my foot/hip told me that was all I was allowed. Meanwhile, my watch told me it was almost 3PM. So I walked as fast as I could. I thought I was keeping up a decent walking pace, until I got passed by a woman out for a stroll. "Oh," I thought, "apparently I'm not doing so well. Gee, my shoe must need to be tied."

It was nearly 3:30 when I limped into the house. My wife was kind enough to stretch my cramping hamstrings and rub my numb calves, all the while telling the story of the hunky trainer that had induced virtually her entire varsity cross-country squad to feign leg cramps at every opportunity.

I didn't run the full 16 miles. But I did discover that I'm capable of (doing something resembling) running 13 miles. Sweet.

And to my dear sweet wife? Yeah, it was a stupid idea. But look how efficient it was!