I have finally experienced my first run completely hung over. I know, you thought it had already happened, a reasonable assumption, but this week was the first. I never realized how painful of a decision that would be. To put my personal hangover run into perspective imagine running with a fat hobo on your back screaming into your ear, while the sun knuckle punching your thighs, tasting your alcohol sweat running from your forehead reminding you why tequila beer and wine don't mix, and trying to figure out the rubix cube which is your sagging scrotum and how it managed to get so turned around and caught up in the back of your adidas shorts. Now add a good stumble in front of a 3 teenage girls, a four minute dry heave and you're there. The reason for my slight lapse of judgement was due to a week long vacation, which is laughable in my position of limited work of late, but vacation I did. The destination- MARSHFIELD, (sound familiar) a beach community in the south shore of Massachusetts. The last time I ventured to Marshfield it was just with Hannah, however this time around I had the company of some NYC and Boston friends. Running was not on the list of priorities that week, though I did manage to get through my training. Instead, we became beach bums for days at a time, chatting about the Marshfield Vampire and Camel Spiders, getting the high score in photo hunt, and enjoying the water and the company of others.
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