The Week That Was Not

This week was meant to be my "come back" week, but, in fact, it was not meant to be.

On Monday I ran with our friend Dylan Keith (AKA - Jesse, Dwane, Duane, Dick, Dwight, Dwite...et cetera) for the last time in Salt Lake City. Well, maybe not the last time. He's not dead, but he basically moved back west immediately after finishing the camping trek. We ran an easy shakeout 7.5 miles throughout the city. We were both pretty whipped from the hikes. We chatted about times old and new. Then he was gone. He will be missed.

I spent the rest of the day in airports due to a flight cancellation. A few hours in SLC, then a few hours in Denver...then 7 hours in Las Vegas. I finally returned to the east at 6:01am on Tuesday via a red eye. I schlepped my belongings home on a packed bus and then a packed train and then mushed into work dehydrated and deprived of any coffee. I could barely stay awake and I left a bit early. I surprisingly regrouped then ran with Karl in Cabin John for a pleasant 9 miles.

I slept for 8 hours straight and woke up to run again, though I only got in 6.5.

I awoke on Thursday achy all over with a terrific, acid-like pain in my side. I had fallen down the stairs the night before while balancing a cage full of cockatiels on my chest. Laugh it up. My back slammed against the steps but the birds came out a-okay. Needless to say I felt pretty beat up and the next day that, combined with some sort of stomach bug, rendered me useless. I didn't attempt to run as it would have been futile. I stayed home from work and did a great deal of resting.

On Friday I met Scott and Jordan outside my building and proceeded down towards the Mormon Temple...then up the Mormon Temple hill. My stomach, still acidic and vulnerable to...well, still vulnerable, was fairly fine. 8 miles with clowns.

It's time to get back into it. No more days off until I need one.

The humidity is back...but so is the Red Fox.