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My excessive energy, extreme narcissism, and intense love of neon-colored spandex is both managed and fueled by my addiction to fitness. I push myself to extremes and I push other people's buttons. Obviously I needed my own blog.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Boomer's Cystic Fibrosis Run to Breathe 10K

I awoke at 6:15 on Saturday morning, rolled over, and muttered, "F*ck, we need to get up for that race." For once I did not blackout, and I had full recollection of the previous evening and the various alcoholic beverages I had consumed. It's the evenings you wish you didn't remember that you always seem to recall. The boy wisely chose a banana for his pre-race meal. I went with a 5 Hour Energy, three Advils, two gulps of cold coffee, a bite of his banana, and a 2% Fage yogurt. I may or may not have taken my Ritalin because I honestly can't remember, but I'm thinking I did not.

We had a pleasant walk over to the park. The race began at East 69th Street, went up to the Harlem hills, circled back around, and then ended at the 72nd Street Traverse. The first two miles were uneventful, if a little painful, and then the boy's knee began to act up. I took his decision to walk as the perfect excuse for me to take a little break. By this time I was regretting my decision to attend Friday night's birthday dinner, especially my decision to chug through it. After a brief respite, I went back to running the remaining 4.2 miles of the race.

Although the weather look beautiful, Saturday was hot with 93% humidity. Running with a hangover is bad enough, but running in humid sunshine with a hangover is just cruel. I felt sick. I could feel the yogurt in my stomach curdling. I could taste vodka and cigarettes. Basically, I was in my element. I had already determined that I wouldn't be PRing so I just enjoyed the ride. I like to think of these races as punishment for my poor behavior, and similar to reciting Hail Marys or whatever guilt-ridden Catholics do.

I had to walk through the aid stations. Even though I ran with a water bottle, I needed to drink two to three cups at each stop, so walking made more sense, and it gave my muscles a nice break. I really never felt like I was racing, and at 8.15 minute miles, I really wasn't. I finished in 51:09, 2 minutes and 10 seconds longer than last month's still-drunk dash at the NYRR Mini 10K. Eventually, and I mean this, I will run a 10K fully sober and well-rested.

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