PlatKat.com

Instead of watching the Intel building die yesterday, I woke up at a reasonable hour and went for my first post-marathon run. The weather was perfect: bright, sunny, and chilly only when standing still.

I fled Jason’s house and ran through his/my old neighborhood for a little while before I found myself running up Metric. I was thinking about running to my old office and back, about three miles north. Or I could have run to my other old office and back, about three miles west. But then I thought, Must I waste this exhilirating run on a gorgeous day reminiscing my days as a beast of burden for the new millenium? I think not.

So I ran down Parmer and through a neighborhood next to Walnut Creek Park. I was planning to run alongside Walnut Creek Park for awhile, but I was tempted by the green trees and the trails and the idea that I could somehow cut through the park and get back to my old neighborhood.

Nope! I ended up running through a bunch of trails before I found that none of them really went south like I wanted them to, so I left the park the way I came. My path looked kind of like this:

Although I prefer predictable terrain, it was kind of cool to run on the unstable, gravelly paths in the park. I had to think about every single step, thus taking my mind off the unpleasant things I sometimes think about when I don’t have to pay attention to what I’m doing.

I ended up running down ol’ reliable North Lamar, which is kind of a bitch too but at least I knew where I was going: straight to hell because cars were passing me within squashing distance due to the narrow shoulder and precariously placed guard rails. Another fun fact about North Lamar is that there’s not much on it. Even near the downtown area, it’s kinda washed out. When you’re as far north as I was, there’s really nothing there. I passed a Muslim church, a bunch of public storage units, empty fields of garbage, some billboards…

The sun was beating down on me, my feet hurt from running on that gravel (oh yeah, and running a marathon a week before), and I felt like shit. Then I came upon a small rickety building with a sign that said “Mickey’s Thirsty Saloon.” I couldn’t see a door from where I was, but I read a small red sign that said “Open.” Like most things on North Lamar, it could have been that way for minutes or decades; it’s really hard to tell sometimes. It was only 10am, but it was worth a try.

In my infinite experience visiting local dive bars, I knew what to expect when I walked in: the smell of smoke in the walls, a seating area the size of my bedroom, a short, skinny bartender who called me sweetheart, and a couple of barflies nursing Bud Lights and talking about the nuances of Texas. In this case, it was the wind in the trees in Bastrop.

Even though I clearly had no money, the bartender was nice and gave me water. I explained to them that I was out for a run after a big race last week, and I was further from home than I thought. We chatted for about 10 minutes and I continued running, pleased that I had stopped in.

I came inside from my run and hour and a half after I left. I probably ran seven miles. Maybe eight. It was more than I planned. My next run definitely needs to take place in a controlled environment, preferrably one with water and a TV.