"All I Want To Do is Drink Beer and Train Like an Animal"
I am hesitant to write about this in fear that it may inspire recklessness, bad decisions, carelessness, injury, and possible arrest.
But as a filter, my hesitancy is as about as useless as my mouse traps in the garage — they sit there bait-less and empty. I’m talking about the snapping kind, the leverage trap that breaks the tiny neck. I can’t bring myself to set them anymore. I’m too soft. Or maybe it was the last time when the leg was caught and the mouse did circles in the backyard until I had to bring out the shovel. So I bought live traps, tubes with trap doors that let me walk across the street and release the happy mouse in the field with a stomach full of peanut butter.
An editor might help, but again, me and filters.
If our Thursday night running group had a mascot or something like a North Star, it would be Rod Dixon.
Rod Dixon was a New Zealand marathoner and notorious partier who won the NYC Marathon in 1983 and then wore a helmet cam in the 1985 race possibly making him the first running influencer. I wish I could still train like an animal, but one out of two ain’t bad. If we had an annual holiday, it would be The Beer Run. Not to be confused with The Beer Mile, which is fun, but not as steeped in Dionysian excessiveness as The Beer Run.
I know people have a complicated relationship with alcohol. It causes lots of problems. I was raised in a religion where any drop of alcohol (or coffee or tea) was forbidden. I have friends who are in recovery, I have family who won’t touch it, and a lot of friends do the dry January thing. I’m fine with that. I’m not here to judge anyone. My own fridge is full of the Athletic Brewing non-alcoholic monthly special brews because I like to mix it up. But for me, I think it’s fun to indulge, occasionally even over-indulge. I don’t pretend it’s a good recovery drink or that it’s good for me in any way, but sometimes you just have to kiss the girl, climb the goddamn mountain, laugh too loud, and drink a shitload of beer and run a bunch of miles.
The Beer Run is our annual pub crawl/half marathon. North County San Diego is blessed with an abundance of good (and some not-so-good) breweries. Our goal is to hit as many good ones as possible in 13 miles.
This year, the route, set by the leader, who moved away a few years ago, but returns every year to shepherd us through this ordeal/celebration, included 17 breweries (I think it was actually 14 breweries, 2 meaderies, and a distillery) in the span of about 16 miles.
Our average running pace was about 10 mins/mile, which I am as proud of as just about any other PR, or hard-fought finish.
We start with 4 oz tasters at each stop. We’re not animals. But those 4 oz tasters usually turn into two 4 oz tasters at the good stops, and maybe some pints towards the end.
To protect the jobs, reputations, security clearances, etc. of the other participants, I won’t go into who I ran with or the multiple traffic, and possible moral infractions along the route. But I will say, to quote one of the best runners/people I know, it’s the best day of the year.
There is something special about being 15 or so miles into a run, stomach full of beer, mead, whiskey, loaded tater tots, and chicken wings, knowing that your family is waiting at the final stop with pizza and more pitchers of beer. Then you start sprinting (or at least you think you are) down a busy street, yelling and laughing at your friends who are stupid and crazy enough to join you in this most pointless of endeavors, and knowing that sometimes acting like an idiot can summon the pure joy of a 10-year old on the first day of summer.
I won’t remember all of the races I’ve done, but I’ll definitely remember The Beer Run.
Update on The Postcard Project
I’m still doing these and sending them out. It reminds me of writing now. I look back on the old ones and am embarrassed, which I’m taking as a sign of growth. I even bought some real brushes. If you want a postcard, slide into my DMs with your address.
What a fun/crazy tradition!
That sounds crazy, but man, I do love me some pizza port!