Time trial. Bottom line up front, I'm on the B team for Penn. 2 laps warmup. 1200m time trial = 3:36 After the time trial I ran on the track for 8 miles. I progressed that workout from like 6:55 / 1600m pace to a final 1600 of 5:55. 9 miles on the books. ------------------------------ I was pretty much on the B team before I toed the line. Nick Gramsky's got the mile slot with like a 4:30 and some other guy who has a 3:24 1200m time has the 1200m slot. I figured I'd take a stab at the 3:24 even though I've never strung 3 68s together before. 1 usually has me with hands on hips. The backdrop to this misadventure was about 2 other guys at first. 1 was the team captain who was the clock man and the other poor soul was running an 800. For some reason, I expected about 20 guys out there. G. showed up to watch and before you know it, we had 2 runners and 2 watchers. But we were joined late by another friend who was down for the 1200 with me. It was raining on the Upper Merion Track. The altar for a football field was fenced in tighter than a drum and the whole track looked like something you'd see in East Germany around 1956. Shhh...the play is starting. Take your seats now and enjoy the show. Our Captain: "You ready?" Me, nervously putting on my flats, under my breath: "Yeah. I'm not a sprinter. I'm not a track guy you know. This pace is going to kill me. I hate this. Why am I here? I'd run three hours of extended misery any day over 4 minutes of shaken, carbonated death." Our Captain: "You guys ready?" Wayward soul #1: "Yeah we're ready." Wayward soul #2 who just sprinted over from the parking lot out of breath: "Yep." Me: "Yep." Our Captain: "Duncan, you probably should do some wind sprints or something first." I nod my head and run down to the end of the track and pretend to do 1 windsprint. Me: "Ok, that'll do." Our Captain who now wears 3 watches cups his hands to G. who is jogging on the track: "G. head down to the 200m and give splits ok!!!?" G, from afar: "Ok!" Our Captain: "Alright, Wayward Soul #1, you are doing an 800. 2:20 ok? Wayward Soul #2 and Duncan, 1200. Pace yourselves!" All of us in harmony: "Got it." Our Captain looking down at his watch: "Ready....GO!" We're off and hurl down the track. G: "First 200, Duncan....32!!!" Duncan in the lead appears around the next turn. Our Captain: "64....65....66!!" Duncan looks down momentarily, looks back up and continues to run down the far side of the track. Entr'acte Curtain rises. Our Captain: "GO GO GO....800.....2:19...2:20..!" Wayward Soul #1 comes to a halt and immediately bends over in agony. Duncan and Wayward Soul #2, moving slower now, have 1 more lap to go and are breathing together like winded mules. Duncan and Wayward Soul #2 are distant dots and then reappear around the final turn. Their pained breathing announces their arrival. Our Captain: "..4....5...6!" Me: "huuuuuu....huuuuuu....shhhhhh....huhhhhhhhh......huhhhhhh....shhhhhh.....wa.....wa....wa....what was that? 3:26?" Our Captain, in a lower tone, quietly, gently, looking around: "no...umm....that was 3:36. You ran a 66 opening quarter and then dropped off quite a bit." Me with hands on hips and regained breathing: "Damn...Yeah...my body was used to stopping after 1, the rest of the 2 were complete disasters....oh well...I think I'm cut out for marathons...maybe." Our Captain: "Yeah, we'll have you run the mile on the B team. You'd be better in the mile." Me: "Sounds good Captain. You're in charge." Curtain falls as Wayward Soul #2 and #1 jog up to Duncan and shake his hand. -------------------------- There's a movie poster for this new movie, "Hoot" that is plastered up on the sides of a bus stop right outside the development that I live in. The poster shows three kids standing in front of a bulldozer like the Sierra Club-equivalent of the Tiananmen Square tank man. The subtitle on the poster goes like this: "It's time to stand up for the little guys." Again, this fucking poster is in front of McWorld--it's an owl's turd away from the sign for McWorld. McWorld is a development that was purchased by greedy land developers for tract housing for wayward Amory Blaines to move into when all else collapses for them real estate-wise (re-read this blog around December to get a feel for what I'm referring to). It's also a housing development for confused Indian families, Polish immigrants, and a volery of gray-haired, nervous robins who bob around the sidewalks on their way to the neighborhood watch convention making sure that all dogshit is picked up and all flowers planted are officially approved. McWorld was built on the top of some poor sod's farm and his farmhouse is smack dab in the middle of this concrete mess. His farmhouse is used for the Indian childrens' birthday parties and for Grandma Legolady's bridge tournament. As you drive down Business 30, you pass endless McWorlds with their perfectly preserved farmhouses and their bus stops with the Hoot posters and the Tiananmen Square eco-kids telling the bad guy developers to go fuck themselves. Does anyone but me see the irony in this? This is completely laughable. Everyone wants to say fuck no to them greedy developers and get an eco-chubby while sitting in a new 16-screen megaplex theater--built itself over a farm--shoving larded popcorn down their throats and slurping a 40 ouncer of Mr. Pibb. It's because the bad guy developers and the bad people that hurt the owls live in that new McWorld they are putting up down one more bus stop from here; over there, where that beautiful, historic farm used to be with the sad, old man and his 4 head of cattle. Someone really needs to stand up for the little guys and take it to those evil, greedy bastards! -------------------------------- Ok, time to go get drunk now.