**Update** Scratch that no bears thing….they “relocated” one that was hanging out in a backyard not more than a mile from my house on Thursday!!
Alright so I’ve bored you to death with this talk of walking a 1/2 marathon in Portland but I’m not sure I’ve stressed quite enough what horrible shape I’m in or the impossible training conditions I’m facing.
I’ve been following Hal Higdon’s “walking a 1/2” training schedule and haven’t really been doing too much of the “30 minute stroll” days. I do walk at least the required time but generally faster than suggested. Honestly, I think my legs are too long to walk that slow. It feels awkward.
I was proud of my extra effort and the stamina I’ve been showing after a long hibernation which might have involved baked goods and milkshakes and my ass taking the shape of my computer chair.
I think I broke my thighs on my 8 mile walk this weekend. Is that possible? I’m sure I heard them scream when I hit a hill at mile 7. I’m sure the neighbors heard it too. I’m moving a bit slower now.
Unfortunately I couldn’t stop for a nap and a nice glass of Shiraz because I was, at that very moment, trying to get out from between a doe and her 2 fawns. Those mamas kick and I didn’t want any part of that.
Which brings me to another issue. How the hell am I supposed to keep a good pace when I’m constantly having to stop because there’s a fairly large buck in the middle of the street staring at me like he’s wondering how far he can stick an antler into my soft, not anything close to a 6-pack, abdomen?
It’s not bad enough those guys eat my flowers on a regular basis? Now they have to interrupt my quest to lift my butt back up to where it belongs and get my thighs farther north than my ankles. Really? Not only is my body working against me, so is the neighborhood wildlife!
Did I also mention the snakes? We have this great trail that cuts between houses and goes up a hill that has a stunning view of the mountains and valley. The problem? I look like an ass when I’m bebopping along listening to music and suddenly, all by myself, I let out a scream and run because something slithered along the trail in front of me or over my shoe!
I called my dad to see if he would identify one of the snakes and he didn’t know. Seriously? The guy who, at age 9, used to take a rifle and a lunch up the mountains behind his house and stay for a few days at a time, could not identify the snake on my shoe.
I can only assume it was a mutant blend of a local snake and an illegally released highly poisonous pet and that I’m lucky to have escaped with my life.
I suppose I should be thankful I’m not running from bears. Which, by the way, is a really bad idea! I’m being told my wildlife issues will be resolved when I get to the streets of downtown Portland. But just in case, I’m taking bear spray!
And I’m asking my thighs to keep the screaming to a minimum because that’s just embarrassing.