When I wanted to be great at a sport -or a technique inside a sport I would do it over and over again until I was successful. Like pitch a thousand pitches to my dad in the back yard every night. Like have my dad hit as many line drives at me after I pitch and charge the ball. Header - hitting the ball from a corner kick with my head (that one I still hated -even if you got the goal- it still hurt).. Drills! That what I need is a water drill!
I need to learn to drink from an aid station when running in a race. I am a mess. I blow it every time. This time I was directly in line with two girls. Same pace, they pass on the water guy, I grab the cup -and I have just been told the trick is pinching the cup and a take small sip two days earlier when I confessed my aid station mishaps. Well that went awry when the cup was Styrofoam and it turned out to be purple Gatorade. Two problems, I breathe in the Gatorade instead of drink it, stumble and splash purple Gatorade down my shirt, and is all over my face. Who fills cups to the rim anyway? When I looked up the two girls I was pacing with were at least 300 yards ahead of me. I fumbled and own the worse play of the year at an aid station. In history the worst play at an aid station is a guy dying, so I am not a complete mess up.
Minute’s later I have a sticky sticky foot. Not to mention they didn't close the highway we were running on with no sidewalks or gravel to run to and cars didn't seem to like us much. There were people in yards burning their garbage, tires, trees, and whatever else that could make a rather large black endless cloud of smoke.
so now -
sticky foot. Check. Gatorade down your shirt. Check. Running through the smell of burning tires. Check. Dodging cars. Check.
Anyway I was top in my age group. That happens a lot to me when there are only 30 people racing. It was just 6.2 miles and driving home I all of sudden got a burst of happy energy so it was worth it.
Also in the car I was like "I taste blood" "What?" "Blood. I taste blood it’s overwhelming. Am I bleeding out of my mouth?" I open my mouth, touch my nose. Then it strikes me. Sticky foot syndrome. That is not Gatorade -Can you believe it? A little piece of glass was just rolling around in my shoe. It started at mile 1.5 because that is where the water boy was and I noticed *SFS right away and pinned it on him and his little Kool-aid stand. I wish to take back the thoughts I had of him and his Styrofoam cups. Oh and the thought of kicking him in the shins for my sticky foot. (Taste is 90 percent of smell) -hence, therefore, because of..just kidding.. um, I smelled blood, I didn't taste it. It was the blood from my foot. Smell. taste. (I am doing a drill -saying it over and over again- that's how people learn too.)
So back to doing drills. I can actually make a track in my apartment running from the bathroom around to the living room through the bedroom back through the other bathroom door making full circle. Yes a mini track.. I am going to place cups of water on the table and get this thing down. I refuse to carry a backpack or bottle for my marathon and if I am not taking home the medal I am taking home the victory cup. Ew that line sounded cheesy – I will take home the honor of knowing I did my best to hydrate myself during a race.
P.S. I was sore Sunday so I decided to go to WAC and get my a** kicked so I am equally hurting on my upper and lower body.
*SFS – Sticky Foot Syndrome