Orange Street Loop

An elderly Christian woman, who four years ago handed me a pamphlet of Bible verses and advice, complained about the weather from her porch as I walked by on Maple Street. "It's hard to believe it was 70 degrees two days ago," I said.

"Well, that's one thang about Arkansas. If you don't lack the weather, stick around, 'cause it'll sure'nuff change."

I am not sure, but suspect people from each of the continental states say that.

"That's correct," I said.

It was 39, with light rain and a windchill of 32, as I walked the Orange Street Loop in 41:22 (a 6:01:32 marathon pace).

First Tee/Gimblett Loop intervals

I ran the Gimblett Loop (in reverse, with the 43rd Street hill first) with three miles of intervals, in 47:11, with splits of 10:08, 8:31, 9:27, 8:49, and 10:15. I was way underdressed and am currently shaking; It's 39, but I didn't know it was going to start raining like a motherfucker. Plus, I set a new record with a blood-glucose reading of 27. It was at 76 before I started. I ate a package of Gu and took one unit of Novolog. The Gu alone would've done. I literally staggered in.

Early this afternoon I played nine holes at First Tee, from the back tees, in 45, with 3 pars, 3 bogies, and 3 doubles.

I wish it was 90.

Park Hill Loop

This was the best I have felt since Saturday, Jan. 24, when I ran the Gimblett Loop in 45:07, or something close to that. I wrote something like, "...a comfortable consistent effort." That's what I had tonight on the Park Hill Loop. I ran it through light-to-pouring rain and thunder and lightning and the kind of wind that blows plastic garbage cans onto the street in 46:54, with splits of 9:30, 9:48, 9:03, 9:52, and 8:41.

It's 64 goddamn degrees at midnight in February, and it was a pleasure, an absolute pleasure, to run in a short-sleeve white Nike shirt; and equally as delightful to sit in your favorite chair and sweat.

Levy Loop

It was 69 degrees when I jogged and walked the Levy Loop an hour ago in 22:52. All I have eaten today is a box of gizzards from the mini mart near Memphis, my second order in eight days. These were cold; good, but cold. Now for an omelet, some cereal, and a peanut butter sandwich and a bowl of buttered spinach with tomatoes.

Gimblett Loop

Maybe I should run 16 miles two days before the Little Rock Marathon. I know I hope I feel as good after five miles as I did tonight, running the Gimblett Loop in 57:33, with splits of 11:44, 12:02, 11:18, 11:26, and 11:03. Let's see, that's a 5:01:47 marathon pace, whatever the fuck that means; nothing I suppose. I wonder if it's too late to sweet talk Geneva Hampton into making it a night race.

Gimblett Loop/Burns Park

This morning I jogged the first three miles of the Gimblett Loop, alternated 60 seconds hard with 60-second jogs the fourth, and floated the fifth to complete the loop in 48:02, with splits of 10:14, 10:30, 9:42, 8:34, and 9:02; encouraging after yesterday.

This afternoon I played the longer, older, Burns Park course with an 80-year-old former accountant named Ham Meyers in 100, with nines of 51 and 49. I thought, until just now, that I scored a 101. For some reason, fatigue most likely, I added incorrectly as Ham and I sat on the bench at the No. 18 tee box. I had a 15-foot par putt on No. 18 that I thought was for a 99, rolled it five feet past, and missed coming back for, again, what I thought was a 100. As it turns out, all I needed for a 99 was to two putt.

Oh well. The bent-grass greens on the old course are very fast; they're beautiful, maybe the best I have played, each exactly like the rest in speed and temperament, but so different from anything I have experienced that adjusting was difficult. I might not have two putted that final hole even if I had known what I needed. But fuck it anyway. Ham was great company. He had Ashley McReynold's game, only shorter. Just as straight, though, dependable as hell. He did not hit a single truly bad shot, and I believe he scored about a 95.

I am exhausted and cold and hungrier than two motherfuckers.

Park Hill-Gimblett Loop/Hash

I planned to go 20 miles, but stopped at 16, after two tours of the Park Hill Loop and one of the Gimblett, plus the first mile of the Gimblett. I didn't feel awful when I quit, but was headed that way; maybe it's best I save the torture for three weeks from today. I did the 16 in 3:08:46, with splits of 11:50, 12:02, 11:36, 11:29, 11:24, 11:52, 12:15, 11:46, 11:48, 11:24, 11:38, 12:19, 11:23, 11:58, 11:25, and 12:39. That's a 5:09:20 marathon pace; My new over-under for the Little Rock Marathon is 5:22.

A dog bit me, sort of; a 60-70 pound short-haired black dog with a brown mask. It wasn't truly a bite, I don't think, more of a hard, bare-toothed bump. Without any signs of anger or fright, no barks, he charged, circled behind me and rammed a tooth into the left calve, as if someone swatted me with a switch. I have a mark similar to a Hash mark, maybe a half-inch measured vertically and a tenth of an inch wide. I could feel a small flap of skin blowing the last five miles as the wound bled into my sock.

Late this afternoon, I walked about two miles around and near the movie theatre off Col. Glenn Road with Walt Webb. I got lost and got there late, but it was nice to walk easily with Walt, and then eat a shit load of Lacey's chili; and show off my dog bite.

North Little Rock High

This exuded familiarity; I have been to the North Little Rock High track somewhere between 100 and 200 times since the summer of 1974 (when between the ninth and 10th grades ran a 5:30 mile there), and it seems like a bunch of those times felt like today; damp and cold and bright, with I-40's roar and a smell of bacon and sausage from the Waffle House saturating my runs and jogs and walks.

Today, according to no plan, just up from Rabbit at Rest's final pages, I drove to the track to go two miles with a few 100-meter sprints tossed in. I stretched a lot, jogged and walked two laps, and then did 100s down the backstretch for the next six laps, jogging and walking the other 300. It was the first time I have sprinted, landed on the balls of my feet, since our last softball game in the summer of 2007. These were far from dead sprints, buildups more like, where I'd run kind of fast, then faster, then at least simulate a sprint for the final 30 meters or so. I did the first in 27.6 seconds and the sprint portion felt awkward. That got better. By the final two or three they almost felt smooth. I forgot to time the second, but did the third in 25.6. It occurred to me that it would take a 22.5 to get the pace down to six minutes a mile, and did the final three in 25.4, 23.7, and 22.5 (actually 22.44; I round up to the nearest 10th if the 100th figure is higher than 0, as officials did in the days and nights of hand-held digital stopwatches at track meets). I covered the two miles in 23:03 and enjoyed every step.

Orange Street Loop/Fort Roots Golf Course

My legs felt clunky as I jogged through hard wind to complete the Orange Street Loop in 33:04, with splits of 11:08, 10:57, and 10:59. Maybe that midnight slice of Levy French Toast threw me out of whack.

A couple of hours later, at about 1 p.m., I teed off on No. 5 at Fort Roots, thinking, "Fuck those first four holes. I'm the only motherfucker out here, so why indulge them?" My first drive was an intentional fade. It landed 254 yards away, at the edge of the trees that complete the fairway. I bogeyed the hole, then went double, triple, double, and hit a 7-wood somewhere in the neighborhood of 190 yards to, I'm guessing, 50 yards short of the green, right in the middle of the fairway with my third shot on No. 9, but did not find the ball and rolled my clubs to the car and drove home. Six bucks for an hour of shitty golf; what a fucking bargain.

Park Hill Loop

This was as easy as I hoped; I ran the Park Hill Loop in 56:00, with splits of 11:30, 11:28, 10:49, 11:24, and 10:49. It is 41, and feels like absolute zero, a temperature I have not experienced since my last jog before the Big Bang.

Orange Street Loop

Experience and Weather.com say this ain't gonna last, but whereas yesterday I walked in a coat and mittens, today I wore red-and-blue short pants and a Polo shirt and walked and jogged the Orange Street Loop under a blue warm sky in 39:37 (here, let me save this for a moment to check the temperature. I'm putting the over-under at 71. ...It's, no kidding, 71).

Levy Loop/35th Street Loop intervals

Surely at some point in my 35-year running career I have run without gloves and walked into the house drenched in sweat, but I cannot remember doing that, not before tonight. It was 56 degrees and at first misty, then rainy, then misty again, as I ran the 35th Street Loop in 35:20, with a half mile up in 4:58, three miles in 25:50 alternating 60 seconds hard with 60-second jogs, and a half mile down in 4:32. My splits were 9:13, 8:39, 8:51, and 8:37. This was my first good run since I had whatever I had three or four weeks ago.*

Crazy, but this morning when I jogged for five minutes and otherwise walked the Levy Loop in 25:30, it was windy as hell and 40 degrees and I wore a hat and mittens and blue jeans and a goddamned coat.

*Okay, after reading the only other running blog to which I have easy access, I am no longer so impressed with my run tonight, and was reminded that I had a pretty good eight-mile run late at night on Feb. 3. To restate: This was my first half-way decent run since I turned 50.

Maple Street Loop/Rebsamen Park Golf Course

It was too cold to have sex in a culvert, so I walked the Maple Street Loop in 28:57, and played Rebsamen in 94, with nines of 45 and 49, with 1 birdie, 2 pars, 7 bogies, and 8 doubles. I used 36 putts. played the round in 3:19 (with a man named Ray), and was exhausted as I walked to my car.

Levy Loop/River Trail

I ran and walked 12 miles on the River Trail in 2:25:33, with splits of 11:40, 11:31, 11:43, 12:00, 11:34, 11:12, 14:41, 13:22, 12:02, 11:55, 11:53, and 12:02.

This morning I ran and walked the Levy Loop in 24:07.

Levy Loop

I walked the Levy Loop in 28:45, and past a woman working in her front yard with a tiny dog leashed near her. She said, "Be careful. Don't get too close to Killer."

"I'm no idiot. That looks like a man-eater."

"Yeah, he really is."

Fort Roots/Levy Loop

I jogged and walked the Levy Loop on shitty feeling legs in 22:43.

This afternoon I played nine holes at Fort Roots in 50, with a nine on No. 3 (the Par 3 over the pipe), and a four-putt bogey on No. 9, after I hit the green with a 236-yard drive and a 220-yard three-wood, then proceeded to roll my down-hill, 15-foot eagle putt into the front fringe, 30 feet past the cup. So, I had 2 pars, 4 bogies, 2 doubles, and 1 hexagonal, and ended my streak of two or fewer putts at 31 holes.

Gimblett Loop

This was a nearly perfect day, starring Amanda Pruitt, with cameos by Tim Cooper, Coach Carnahan, and a three-year-old colt named Old Fashioned, nourished by ribs and French fries from McClard's and ice cream cones from Kastle Kreme, and marred only slightly by a Gimblet-Loop run in 50:42, with spits of 9:46, 10:36, 9:44. 10:19, and a hypoglycemic stumble in 10:16. I'm halfway through a bowl of chocolate ice cream with blackberries, watching Mickey Rourke on Charlie Rose and very sleepy and more content than two motherfuckers.

http://www.star-telegram.com/sports/columnists/gary_west/story/1202453.html

Emerson Drive Loop

I jogged for a total of about a half mile and walked the Emerson Drive Loop twice in 27:08 at about 5 p.m. Wednesday.

Aborted 20

At least I didn't lock the keys in the fucking car. I hoped to run 20 miles on the River Trail, but realized after about 15 minutes that too much misery would intrude. My legs were dead, so I turned around at two miles and was less than content to go four in 44:59 (no, I didn't sprint to break 45; that was a coincidence), with splits of 11:12, 11:14, 11:16, and 11:17.

I heard a knock, and see discouragement's nose distorted through the peep hole. Motherfucker's shown up four weeks and five days before the Little Rock Marathon and I am engaging the bolt and chain.

Rebsamen Park Golf Course/Emerson Drive Loop

I walked the Emerson Drive loop twice in 28:21, beginning no more than 10 minutes after driving in from golf. I jogged about a quarter of a mile.

Yesterday and last night I picked up two tips while watching the Buick Invitational from Torrey Pines: keep everything still except the shoulders on putts; the other came from a commercial. Two guys stood on a tee box. One looked frustrated. The other said, "You know all that stuff you've been working on? Forget it. Just swing."

Also, Nick Faldo said John Rollins, who choked away a three stroke lead on the back nine to lose to Nick Watney, lost 30 pounds last year and struggled with his swing, and has only recently found a stroke to match his new frame. "I've read that as little as a three-percent change in body weight can significantly affect the swing," Faldo said.

I got three hours sleep last night, got up at 6:10 a.m., and teed off at Rebsamen at 7:09. I scored a 91, with nines of 47 and 44. I drove, pitched, and chipped as well as I have; used 31 putts, and averaged 233.33 yards on nine drives, with a max of 286 (with about a 30 mph tailwind). I hit 266 on No. 18 with a side wind. I hit three balls into the water. I had 5 pars, 9 bogies, 3 doubles, and one quadruple. My game remains fragile, and will forever more I imagine. I guess that's true of everyone's game. Today it was fairly intact.

47th Street Loop/Hash

Sarah Ambel turned 50 today. To celebrate, I walked the 47th Street Loop this morning in 43:32, thinking about apple ice cream and barbecue. Apple ice cream. That sounds perfect.

Like the weather this afternoon; 70, with a light breeze. We ran Hash from Kathy (Delilah) Bemberg's house. The weather was too nice for me to resist running further and faster than planned. I was out for 1:02, probably covered five and a half miles, then ate three big bowls of corned beef and cabbage, with several slices of homemade bread, and four cupcakes (three hours later, as I sit by my open front window watching golfers play Torrey Pines, I'm pleased to report my blood sugar is at 107).

Orange Street Loop

It's 67 and breezy; no, windy. I walked the Orange Street Loop in 43:23.

Orange Street Loop/River Trail

It's 60. Man, it was nice to overdress; to pull off a sweaty long-sleeve navy-blue turtle neck and feel ridiculous for wearing it in the first place. I ran the Orange Street Loop, with one-minute walks to start each half mile, in 30:23, with splits of 10:25, 9:56, and 10:02, beginning a bit before noon.

Somehow a casual walk on the River Trail turned into a mad sprint to break 50 minutes for four miles.

I was dressed in blue jeans and a Polo shirt. Following four easy minutes begun at about 3:30 p.m. Central, I decided to jog for a minute at the end of each five. I went through up-wind miles of 13:20 and 12:09 when the thought of a sup-50 occurred to me as I turned down wind. Three miles in 38:01 left me three one-minute runs and 11:58 to break 50. I forced a group of grown men, dressed as rainbow trout, to move their bikes out of my way on the narrow wooden bridge to the finish; and thus undeterred, shattered my goal with a final mile of 11:45 to complete the four in 49:46.

Emerson Drive Loop/35th Street-Emerson Drive Loop

Yesterday I found a one-mile loop that begins and ends at my driveway. Perfect. It is devoid of traffic. About 40 percent of it is on Emerson Drive and Sycamore Street (the street Emerson is renamed for some reason at its southern end). I jogged, for five minutes, and walked the Emerson Drive Loop twice in 26:27 this morning.

Beginning at about 7:15 p.m., I jogged the 35th Street-Emerson Drive Loop, with one-minute walks each half mile, in 57:16, with splits of 11:38. 11:34, 11:22, 11:17, and 11:24.

Levy Loop

Only whatever significance I grant this streak kept it alive today. It's cold and I'm tired and hungry and walked the Levy Loop in 28:22.

Levy Loop/Gimblett-Orange Street Loop

I ran for a total of four minutes, 29 seconds, and otherwise walked the Levy Loop in 24:29, beginning a few minutes before noon Central. It was cool and windy. To my credit, I have become almost unselfconscious of running in street clothes, and did today in blue jeans, month-old, dog-and-cat-hair ladened black fleece The North Face jacket, and the navy-blue Adidas shirt I slept in (in fact, have not removed since Sunday afternoon). I also wore a stolen red beer hat.

Among the nice things about getting a happy-birthday call three minutes after walking in from an eight-mile run through a wind-chill factor of 19 is that it gives your hands time to warm for the task of typing your fucking blog.

I ran the Gimblett-Orange Street Loop in 1:14:19, with splits of 8:56, 9:59, 8:55, 9:07, 8:57, 10:04, 9:16, and 9:06. Here's how cold affected the sixth mile: I couldn't remove a Gu package from my shorts. I took off my mittens and still couldn't figure out how to get under the flap that covers the change/key pocket. My hands were numb, and I somehow twisted the pocket so much that it felt knotted. I was befuddled, but not so befuddled to not trace my befuddlement to a need for the Gu. I slowed to nearly a walk under a street light and finally extracted the package with a feeling a surgeon might envy. It then took me at least another minute to untangle my fancy, $5,000 running mittens and put them back on the correct hands.

Ten miles today gave me 500 for the last 100 days; 850 in 200.

Among the problems of a call from the only regular reader of your blog three minutes after a run are that you might have said things you wanted to write; like, for instance, how freezing at the very hour of the 50th anniversary of the Day the Music Died sucks, though remains preferable to being on board that flaming airplane as it twisted to earth. At least I'm warm now, unlike Buddy Holly and the Big fucking Bopper.

Rebsamen Golf Course/35th Street Loop

I ran the 35th Street Loop in 38:16, with splits of 9:39, 9:35, 9:44, and 9:18.

Beginning at 1:40 p.m. Central, at 45 degrees with a 20-30 mile-an-hour wind from the west, I played the first nine holes at Rebsamen Park in 56, with three bogies, two doubles, three triples, and a quadruple. The quadruple came on a 110-yard par 3, and did not involve a lost ball, rather a pitch into the heart of a tree trunk, followed by three chips and two putts. I averaged 215 yards on seven drives, including down-winders of 266 and 240, and an up-winder that went 220. Two failed to break 190. I suck, but see hope for at least 10 fewer strokes by the summer. My scorecard reads: 6 (par 4), 7 (5), 6 (3), 7 (4), 7 (4), 5 (4), 7 (3), 6 (5), 5 (4).

Hash

I was out for about 30 minutes on our Super Bowl Hash run and probably covered 2.5 miles. We ran from Walt and Amy Webb's house, and watched the game on four television sets.