Something is not quite right on this British isle. This is the third weekend in a row where we’ve had sunshine and blue skies.
I feel a gigantic bitch-slap from Mother Nature coming along in 3...2...1...
Anyhoo, Sunday morning I headed out on my 14-miler. I filled my Nathan waist pak bottle with Powerade diluted with water and packed gummy bears for refueling and entertainment purposes. I do so love the little bears.
I headed out on the same path as last week along the canal and then west along the footpath wearing what can only be described as the ‘Lost Referee Looking for the Playing Field’ outfit—a white long sleeve tech shirt, black tech capris, and gray Recovery socks. I was hot and I knew it. Others agreed if the amount of rubber necking (not a euphemism) from passing traffic was anything to go by.
Right before I passed the second roundabout, I went to adjust the waist pak strap and all hell broke loose. Check it out:
One of the prongs broke off. Of course it would be the ‘male’ portion of the buckle that would break. Typical.
I spent the next two miles holding the damn thing in my hands not knowing what to do really. Then I realized that as long as the bottle (which was still pretty full) wasn’t holstered, I could still wear the belt. So that’s what I did for the remainder of the run. At the 12 mile mark I drank the last of the Powerade and was able to holster the bottle without any problem.
I have no idea what to do about the belt situation. I’m a cheapskate so my instinct is to jerry-rig something (hello duct tape, my old friend) to hold the damn thing together. I’m just super pissed that I’ve only used this belt twice and it’s already busted. What a waste of money.
Post-run, I took extra care with stretching and even did Legs Up for ten minutes. Then, since my quads were so sore after last week’s long run, I attempted my first real ice bath. Because the pain suffered by others wasn’t warning enough that this was going to suck big time doody.
I filled the tub with cold water, intending to get in and then dump in the ice. If only I had recorded the amazingly inhuman shriek that came out of my mouth when I put my right foot into the water. I’m sure it would have rivaled the sound of this ear-splitting creature.
Reassessing the situation and my wimpy-ness, I decided it would be better for me to get into the tub first then fill it up with water. Why? I have no idea, it just seemed logical at the time. And that’s what I did. I set the egg timer for 15 minutes hoping I’d last at least five (that’s what he said).
The first three minutes were complete and utter hell. I’d like to meet the genius who thought this crap up and slap him upside the head. Masochist.
After the three minute mark, pretty much my entire lower body went numb though it still wasn’t comfortable by any means. I managed to last a full 20 minutes by distracting myself with lunch. Because it’s a perfectly normal occurrence to be naked from the waist down sitting in a tub full of ice cold water and eating a peanut butter sandwich. Am I wrong?
My legs are feeling pretty good today and I even went for a swim this morning so maybe the ice bath was a good thing. However, I’m gonna go without one next week and see if it really was so beneficial. It’s just so much fun treating my body like a guinea pig (not a Richard Gere euphemism).
Okay, folks, that’s it for me. Have a great week ahead.