This past weekend, 2 (TWO!) people asked me if I had stopped blogging. I couldn’t tell if they were asking that hopefully, curiously, or tsk tsk-ily, but I decided that I might as well pop in here once a week and write a few hundred words or so about something in order to ward off these overwhelming hordes of people nagging me about blogging.

Naturally, I’m still running and will continue to run until I’m dead or my legs fall off (pleasant visual), so there’s that. I think, like a lot of bloggers, I just kind of reached a lull in desire to write about my running. To me, running and racing goes in waves of OMG! RUNNING! for a while to lah lah lah running for a while. I can’t stay super geeked-out about running all the time or I’d blow up.

Anyway, this past Saturday was supreme for observing running, both for horsies and humans. Cheryl and I met up with Bitch Melissa and SOB Jeff to watch American Pharoah race into history with his big old long face and misspelled name. Jeff took a video of the TV screen as the race happened, and I’m sure he enjoyed my arms flailing all over the place in front of his phone while I shouted, “GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO!!!” 500 times. What a historical momento that will be! Anyway, the last Triple Crown winner happened the same year I began running. I feel like this is symbolic or meaningful in some way, but I really don’t know how or why. I don’t anticipate winning 3 races in a row this year or starting to eat from a feedbag.

Following the horse race, we headed over to the Vanderbilt track to watch a bunch of really fast people (slight jealousy, angst, and indigestion) race at distances from 800 to 5000 meters. This included the steeplechase, which still baffles me. Jeff and I parked it over by the water thing, silently and shamefully hoping to see someone do a face plant, and we were not disappointed. I enjoy running with the occasional ungainly leap over a creek or mud puddle, but I cannot fathom hurtling around a track at top speed and propelling off a bar (or whatever it’s called) across 6 feet (or whatever) of water…IN FRONT OF SPECTATORS. Yikes-o-rama.

The highlight of the evening, even more impressive than the puzzling and terrifying steeplechase, was watching the national record for the mile for masters women get broken by local runner, Sonja Friend-Uhl. 4:45:68! At 43! It was stunning to watch. However, we were all a little grumbly about the fact that the Mister Man race director could not be bothered to even announce that the record had been broken or to congratulate Friend-Uhl. It seems that he was totally kerflustered with the upcoming men’s mile which included The Star of the Evening (Nick Symmonds). *YAWN*

Anyway, all in all, a great evening of horse and human speed.

I’ll be back next week with another brief post that, with any luck, will be more self-involved and navel gazey than this one. Yay!


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