I knew in advance, that it was going to be tough. Friends come in from out of town... you meet for dinner. You try to gauge the situation at hand by singling out each person in your group and saying... "Yeah... tonight we're not going out too hard, right? We're saving that for tomorrow night, right?" Each person tells you... "yeah, I mean... we'll probably be home by midnight. It's been a long day."
You say, "THANK GOD." to yourself, knowing that you have to meet running partner C at a predetermined spot 6 miles into an 18 training run (she's only training for a half) at 6:30 and then drive to the starting point of the Nashville Striders 18 mile training run starting at 7am. I knew that if I got in bed by around midnight.. I'd be fine for 18 miles.
But then, as another friend meets you at the Beer Sellar and proclaims to everyone... "I'll match everyone drink for drink. Let's throwdown tonight." You say to yourself.. "F**k it." And you order another pitcher and a round of shots (and play a round of Bags that Jay Cutler paid for. Thanks for the game, dude).
And by the time you leave Lonnies just for a minute so that you can do a shot across the street, only to get kicked out immediately after shot, because it's already 3:00 in the morning (how is it 3?? It was just midnight!) and by the time you get home and it's 3:30 in the morning and because you're still drunk, you think... hells yeah I can run 18 miles, 3.5 hours from now; you set two alarms for 5:45 and you pass out.
And then IMMEDIATELY after you set the alarms, they're going off. You roll out of bed, eat a banana, take two aleve and head out the door. You realize about 2 minutes into the drive.. that you're still drunk.
C gets get into the car and immediately says... "You smell like alcohol."
You get to the training run... worried that you put your running shorts on inside out or that you forget to put on a sports bra, but luckily... everything is intact and well. You meet up with Matt and it's time for the run to start.
For the first mile or two, the drunkenness works in your favor. You're numb and the fresh air and sunshine make you feel alive. And then mile 3 hits and you realize that your body is struggling to keep the alcohol from last night inside your body. It wants to come out... in one of 2 ways. And neither of those ways is good.
You struggle. "If I can just make it to the 6 mile point where C parked her car," you tell yourself. You squeeze and tighten your entire bottom half and try to keep the burping to a minimum... the alcohol is revolting against you.
You know that the quicker you get to mile 6, the quicker you'll be done. You push.
And finally, you see the car.
6.3 miles while still drunk and keeping the booze in your system the whole time? Not too shabby.
So, I didn't get in a long run this weekend. After the run I thought to myself... well, I can always get it in tomorrow on my own. And then Saturday afternoon and evening came and then Sunday morning and as I crawled into bed at 3:30, I didn't set my alarm. I can get my long run in next weekend.
Maybe running while still drunk is good practice for the next beer mile...