I’ve given up a lot of socializing and a heck a lot of beer over the past few weeks. I haven’t gone out on Friday nights, I didn’t go camping, I haven’t been to Jack Flats much to watch hockey and well, that’s pretty much it. I’m kind of lame over all. But still, I wasn’t going to miss the St Patrick’s Day Bar Stroll this past Saturday. It’s pretty much my favorite event of the year. It always seems to be a beautiful sunshiney day and unlike other years, the forecast was for cool temps. It’s a fun day that everyone turns out for. I’ve got a couple of friends that come in from out of town and there’s usually people that I only see once a year on the stroll. I figured I could get my workout in beforehand. And typically, I’m usually home asleep around 8 pm which would allow me plenty of sleep to do the Shamrock 5k the next day. I even planned to wear an old pair of running shoes (spray painted green of course) with my orthotics so I wouldn’t be running all over downtown in flip flops. I had a good, solid plan.
And, naturally, it all went wrong. It started off fine. Friday night I had a swim session with a coach giving me some great tips to tweak my form so that I can increase my speed (I may not be last!). I woke up early Saturday and swam again. On my own and actually remembered all of the coaching. I took Bonny Lass for a long walk. I was on the right path! Time to get ready to Stroll. Hey look! I forgot, I have these cute little Shamrock socks I can wear! I walked a few blocks from my house to be picked up by my ride. We parked a couple of blocks from the start and by the time we arrived, my undoing began. One of those cute little socks was a quitter. It didn’t have what it takes to last. It kept slipping down my foot exposing the inside of my left heal to the hard inside of my sneaker. Almost immediately, it had rubbed off a layer of skin. I figured, ok, I’ll just keep an eye on it. I couldn’t find a bandaid or another pair of socks. Nor did I look very hard. Well, the more I drank, the more I forgot to pull up the little quitter. I managed to drunkenly be involved in a pyramid and a wheelbarrel race (damn second place. Always a bridesmaid) with no injuries. I was felled by some cheap cotton and cheaper beer. Flash forward to not getting much sleep after all and thereby missing the 5k and my left heel missing several layers of skin. Well past the blister stage. I decided not to try shoes on Sunday and did nothing. Monday was to be a biking day. I made it 6 miles before I quit with tears in my eyes and a limp. Today was the attempt at running. No bueno. I only made it 2 miles before I cried Mercy. It feels a bit better tonight. Though my emotional state is up to a full panic as the first tri of the season is this Saturday. I’ll swim and try to run again tomorrow. Hopefully it’s not too much of a setback.
Luck of the Irish, my arse. Oh well, a good time was had by all. Especially me. Oh and the quitter and it’s pal went right into the trash after my blood soaked sneaker. Happy St Patrick’s Day!