It’s all downhill from here. On the 4th of July weekend I clocked 42 miles (30+12), and this past weekend, the 17th and 18th, I clocked 40.9 (17.9+23), which is about as much a “peak” my sad little legs can handle. Today I sat in an office chair feeling sore but, thankfully, uninjured.

I have been dealing with a gimpy left calf these past couple months. Towards the end of hard runs and the hours thereafter, he wants to cramp…or sometimes he does cramp. Upon completion of hard runs, I spend the time before the next run icing and massaging. The next day’s run is typically on the easy side and after more icing/massaging, he seems to return to normal, just in time for the following day’s hard run. Rinse, repeat. It’s been going like this all summer. I figured I could get away with ONE last tough weekend before giving him a couple weeks of taper to be ready for White River. For mostly mental purposes, I wanted to clock 40+ miles one last time.

Saturday would be the “easy” of the two, as I did 17.9 road miles (plus a bit of Lincoln Park) at about a 7:30ish pace.

The 2nd run, the final “hard” run, which occurred yesterday, wound up being more a mental test of sorts. It was the 2nd of the two White River preview runs SRC puts on, 23 miles starting with the last 6ish miles of the course (miles ~43ish-50) and then taking us from mile ~27 of the course back to mile ~43ish. As I sat in the back of Adam Lint’s car on the drive there, I couldn’t really hear the conversation between he and Dustin up front, and even if I could, I was probably too concerned with my left calf to really be bringing much in terms of passenger entertainment. My calf was quite a bit more sore than I was anticipating after the plentiful but easy miles I’d completed 24 hours earlier. I didn’t have my massager, so I just used my hands as best I could (not very) and hoped for the best…being that my calf would miraculously be pain-free after 20 minutes of clumsily inept, last-minute massaging in the backseat of a cramped car.

I was also exhausted from a very non-fitful ~6 hours of sleep, and the constant drone of unintelligible voices in the front two seats was acting as a sedative of sorts. So zoned out I was, I forgot to ask if Adam could play my new Bret Michaels CD that I had bought for $18.99.

We got to the trail head around 9am, a sizable crowd ready to get after it. I transported my crap into Patrick’s car and readied my supplies, which included about 200 S-caps. I do not believe the cramping of my calf has anything to do with lack of hydration or salt, but being dehydrated and/or without sodium certainly wasn’t going to help matters.

Roughly a quarter mile into the 23 miles, I was alarmed at how much my left calf seemingly wanted nothing to do with running. I figured he’d give me at least a mile or so of moderate comfort. I grew despondent, almost sure I was going to have to cut the run short. If I could describe the physical feeling (I wouldn’t call it “pain”)…pretend you were at the gym last night and you did about 250 calf raises for no good reason…maybe insecurity. With a ton of weight on your shoulders of course. You’re wearing an Affliction t-shirt and board shorts because you want people to know that while you don’t fight professionally, you like watching those who do and you may have picked up some of their moves from watching lots of youtube clips and recent UFC, so they should approach you with caution and fear. You might also have shaved legs. Now picture yourself today, and the strain you feel when you do a standard calf stretch…perhaps while showering in the bathroom of your studio apartment. That feeling in your calf is what I was feeling during each step on my left leg. I told myself that I’d go until it cramped, at which point I’d turn around and head back. Eat pretzels for 3-4 hours until everyone returned.

For the next 3 and a half hours though, my calf stayed at that exact spot. It never cramped. It just stretched. It was one of the most exhausting runs, mentally, I’d ever done. For the first half, all I thought about was my calf. Every step. I tried to land at the most comfortable spot of my foot every step. I watched for roots or any uneven terrain every step, and forced my senses to focus on almost nothing but what my foot felt when it landed so as best to adjust if the calf whined. I dutifully took an s-cap every 30 minutes, some gel-form calories every 45. It was not a carefree jaunt on some beautiful trails. It was a regimented and disciplined march…on yes, some beautiful trails. On a beautiful day. But I was so distracted by not becoming injured that I couldn’t really enjoy it the way many of the others could and most definitely were. On the zig zag up the final climb to Suntop, where Scott’s van and Nuun tablets lived, I momentarily glanced up from my lifeguard duties and Mt. Rainier up & punched me in the face. I can say this as someone who isn’t moved very easily, but it actually pulled the words “holy fuck” out of my mouth. For a few seconds I actually forgot how god-awful this climb is after that cock tease of a false summit.

A short while later I headed down the mountain road with Adam & Patrick for the final 6ish miles. My calf was weary but holding on, and I was rejoicing that, thanks to no recent ankle twists or sprains, I could actually comfortably run down the mountain. I can’t say the same for Adam or Patrick…who were subjected to me sans shirt for the duration of our time together. They were polite about it all the way down though. Except for the multiple times Patrick ridiculed the quantity of my body hair and likened me to a silverback gorilla.

Two free Thai Globespun Gourmet burritos and a couple tales of 100 mile excellence later (both thanks to the awesomely inspirational Adam Hewey) and I was ready to call it a summer, training-wise. There’s not much left to do but spoil the shit out of this calf and bribe him for a workday’s worth of strength in about 12 days.