Drinking Problem

15K. 15 kilometers. That's a little over 9 miles. The distance between Sandia Casino and Flying Star on Rio Grande. The distance I ran this morning in a race. My legs hurt. No, really hurt. But my knees are okay, which was my main concern. I managed to find soft dirt next to the roads and paved paths, and it seems to have saved them.

I've never run such a long distance competitively, and as such, it was the first time I had to think about the water option. That is, there were water stations along the race route, where friendly and helpful volunteers would hold out styrofoam cups of cool watery goodness. I ran past the first station and did not partake, but the second one I decided to try it. There's an art to this running ritual, a skill unbeknownst to me. The instant I grabbed the cup, I realized I had to do something with it, and quick. Nobody wants to clutch a crushed styrofoam cup for six miles, so the idea is to slam the refreshment and throw the cup aside a few feet from where it was grabbed, within a reasonable collection zone for the volunteers. Try drinking a cup of water while running... on a curve... entering the incline of a hill. I threw the hand with the cup in the general direction of my mouth, splashed most of the water all over my face, and tossed a half full cup on the ground. Needless to say, my rhythm was broken. Any runner will know exactly what I mean. That zen running rhythm we all enter over the long haul. The patterns of breath and foot patter that make up the all important 'pace'. Shot to hell in one clumsy motion.

I finished the race. And of that, I am proud. But maybe I need to add 'drinking a cup of water' exercises to my running regiment. It seems I have a drinking problem.