Whiskey and Chocolates

So, Greyhound and the whole canine pack are ensconced this evening in their Lone Star homestead. There is a chill in the air (brrr, it must be in the upper 40s), the fake logs are casting their flickering light on the fake tree, in which the only feline member of the pack has taken refuge. It is time once again for whiskey and chocolates, those twin vices reserved for the completion of a successful training week. Tonight it is Ghirardelli dark chocolate squares and Glenlivet 18 year single malt.

Yummy.

It has been awhile since I last wrote of whiskey and chocolates. It has been a long time since I had a truly successful training week. Moreover, I am informed that vicodin and whiskey are a distinctly bad combination for those who do not wish to risk liver failure. But, I have not had any vicodin in five days.

Yes. Five days without Greyhound's little helper. Life. Is. Good.

Riddle me this: when is guzzling two beers before church as fast as you can pour them down your gullet the right thing to do? Okay, they were O'Douls. But it was right to guzzle them because I had just done my first 20 mile long run since last marathon season. That session is the acid test for anyone wishing to complete a marathon--at least an open race without that little 2.4 mile aquatic and 112 mile velo-centered warmup of which we are so fond. Today was the 20 mile long run, first of the season. It reminded me why I like marathon training so much. I spent the two days before wondering whether I could do it, and all day today in an endorphinated caloric black hole celebrating having done it.

Today was special because unlike most of my long runs in the past, I was not alone. I started alone in the dark before the city was awake, but Coach T and her main squeeze Scuba Steve joined me for the last part of the run. They are both distance stars in their 20s and I sometimes wonder why they tolerate me, but it is a real blessing to have them along. Not only do they remind me of Mrs. Greyhound and I in our 20s (they are so entertaining and cute together), the hills and miles that are usually a solo death march became higher, faster and stronger. I finished better both becuase they can jog my tempo pace and because no 4o year old guy with a pulse wants a 24 year old woman to see him wheeze and expire like an old Honda Civic.

I ran above my capacity, and for this I have Coach T to thank. Team Greyhound tried to do so by treating them to lunch at Hungry's after church.

Notwithstanding having found some of my stride again, I'm going to have some work getting my triathlon bod back. Recall that I was 144 poundaroos immediately before SOMA due to MIKI's strength training. This morning I was 135.8 poundaroos, probably because I was dehydrated after the run and because I've lost some muscle mass.

135 pounds. Nytro, don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Have a great week, everyone.