the Great Red Bull Experiment of 2018

I’m calling from the diner
the diner on the corner
I ordered two coffees
one is for you
I was hoping you’d join me
’cause I ain’t go no money
and I really miss you
I should mention that too
— the prophet ani


If it’s good enough for Emma Coburn, it’s good enough for me.

Today was a hard run day, but I wasn’t feeling it. What would Emma do?

Red Bull.

Mo had suggested it yesterday. This is mostly because Mo ingests caffeine by IV drip and she saw it as a clever way to get me to buy her a Red Bull. As luck would have it, our store sells them for $2.40 each or two for $5.00, so it’s the perfect couples drink.

But would it work?

I drank mine on the way to the track and waited for something to happen. But nothing did, other than I seemed to be driving the speed limit rather than my Morning Grandpa 45 mph on the freeway pace. So maybe.

Running is funny. So much of it is mental. If you think you’re going to go faster, you’ll go faster. So that’s what I did. This was augmented by a woman who I’ve never seen here going the wrong direction in Lane 7. This meant we were constantly going past each other, creating the illusion of an atom in a supercollider. I tried not to dwell on how things turned out for the atom.

I suffered greatly, my HR was about where I thought it should be, and I flirted with sub-13s although they were aloof and rebuffed my best moves. I was slowed only by the absence of the water obstacle, which our track keeps covered to limit bird parties. It’s not easy being a bird.

Suffer, recover, suffer, recover, pose nude for ESPN body issue, suffer, recover. I was feeling my inner Emma, which is likely unacceptable in the #MeToo era but by the third mile I didn’t much care.

And then the watch said stop. If you believe the Garmin on the track, and  don’t think I do, I ran a 41:03, which is my fastest 5K yet in the Year of Fleshman (no, I haven’t broken the Coburn news to Lauren yet.)

Was it really the Red Bull? The perfect weather? The cumulative training effect? The annoying woman in Lane 7? Magic track gnomes? Beats me. But I’m happy with it.

On Saturday we’re going to run an out and back course on the Mad Dog course, so that should be a better indicator. But for now, I’ve got my New Balances draped over my shoulder and I’m doing a victory lap with my imaginary American flag.

Never doubt the power of taurine. Whatever the hell taurine is …

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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