This weekend I finished my 67th year. Training for a fall marathon, I had my weekly long run of 16 miles scheduled for Saturday.
With the hot weather across the country, I looked at the weekend weather forecast Friday morning. The prediction for Saturday at 6 am was 78 degrees with a dew point in the mid-70s. Since I was looking at extreme weather, I altered my plan to 14.5 miles on a loop near my house.
Friday night, a brief storm dropped some rain and cut the humidity.
Upon rising at 4 am, having only 6 1/2 hours of sleep, my Fitbit rated me at 81% readiness. I was surprised to see improved conditions, 72 degrees with a 70-degree dew point, average for the summer in Virginia. I immediately reverted to my 16-mile plan, knowing I could carry enough liquid to stay hydrated. I planned to walk for 2 minutes every 19 minutes, drinking during these breaks.
My course was a favorite, from home across the Chatham Bridge, through town to the end of Lee Drive. A round trip is a little over 16 miles.
Since I never carry a cell phone, iPod, or headphones on long runs, people ask how I make it through 3 hours. I talk to the animals, comment on the drivers, and swirl thoughts. I’m learning Android app programming and developing an app. One of the functions in the app is to create a .pdf report.
Heading out the door, I worked on the field formats to extract data from an SQLite database to populate the report. Civil daylight was breaking as I headed up Burnside. A fox came out of a yard and ran towards the woods on Chatham Plantation.
It was surprisingly cool heading through the city as the skies got lighter. I made it through my first checkpoint in a time that was not too fast nor too slow. This run was going to be good.
On Lafayette Boulevard, a pickup truck passed me. For some reason, I thought, “I am wearing my pink headband under my hat?” Not that there is anything wrong with that.
Out went the field formats, and in came a comment from my earlier blog post on gender. When they were younger, they said a female friend was considered a Tomboy because they liked to do things that did not fit the female stereotype.
Tomboy went to Uncle Tom, another label of a person that does not fit a stereotype. So, I wondered, “Who is this Tom character?” For the next 13 miles, I pondered life and experiences.
My conclusion was, “Accept yourself even if not stereotypical.”
On Lee Drive, my second and third checkpoints were good. The traffic, three cars, was light past Lansdowne Road. On this winding section of roadway, I ran the tangents crossing from side to side without worrying about cars. I stuck to the side facing traffic on the main section of Lee Drive.
At the turnaround, my time was within a few minutes of my spring run times. I was pleased, considering the conditions. Once there, you know you will finish 16 miles because you have to get home.
Returning, a cat crossed the road in front of me and then walked close to me as I passed. Sorry, no food. There was a mother deer and a couple of little ones. They are getting bolder, and the older deer did not move when I went by.
Running up Bubba, my legs complained, and I thought I was slowing.
Heading out of the park, traffic was light coming downhill on Lafayette Boulevard. I didn’t have to wait to cross over at the traffic circle. Approaching Blue Gray Parkway, I blasted the downhill to hit the crosswalk without stopping.
I drained my second bottle about 12 minutes from home. Once there, I stopped my watch, seeing the return trip was two minutes faster than outbound. Though I thought I was slowing, to my surprise, all four return segments were faster, too.
Getting toward 8:30 am, the temperature had risen to 77 degrees. I am glad I went for the 16-mile option.
1973 must have been a big year. Fifty years ago, MASH debuted, American Graffiti was released, I started my Senior year in High School, and Paul’s Bakery was founded. After stretching and not needing any excuses, I headed to Paul’s for my post-run happy birthday donut.
Later, I looked up the meaning of the name Thomas. It means “twin.” So, are both twins named Thomas? I found nothing to indicate Toms broke from the required societal mold.
If you have ever wondered about my name origin, my middle name is the Scottish derivative of John, meaning glorious, and my first name means conqueror.
My last name is part of words like culprit, culpable, and Culpeper. So, hold onto your wallet.
I never did figure out the field formats.
On to my 68th year.