Conversations With Dead People

I'm going to cheat a little and post an only slightly edited version of something I wrote on Facebook last night (although it only went up today, because I messed up the privacy settings). For reasons that will become clear, I'm not really in a condition to come up with anything new.

Yesterday, I ran a trail race. This has not been a great running year for me, for various reasons I'll expand upon in future posts. Anyway, I'm gradually starting to get back into the game, and since in a bout of optimism I'd signed up back in September for a fall series of races, I went ahead and did a 10k a few weeks ago. Even on minimal training, it went well, so while I knew yesterday's ten-miler would be a bigger challenge, I wasn't all that worried about it.

If I were the real worrying kind, this would be supporting evidence that fretting is what actually keeps bad things from happening, and this is where I dropped the ball.

Anyway, I set out feeling pretty good. I knew I needed to take it super slow--I was not going for any PRs, not least because this would be the longest distance I'd run all year, much less on a trail course. I've done quite a number of races at this park by now, but this was an unfamiliar track to me. Actually my favorite kind of terrain: semi-technical single track, rolling hills with only a few steep climbs/descent, minimal sandy washes (I hate running in sand). I was optimistic, happy to be out in beautiful surroundings, and generally pleased I'd forced myself out of bed in the dark to make the trek.

This is where I get lazy and mostly just go with cut-and-paste from Facebook, although I did add a few salient details here:

Key points:

More or less what the world looked like to me yesterday