Predictions

This is the down time. I only run twice more before Sunday, once tomorrow and another short one Thursday. I'm resting, treating my blisters with my trusty supply of Aquaphor, brushing up on my Maurice Herzog and eating pasta in many forms. One thing I've started to contemplate is my time goal. My accuracy is usually pretty good. Only once was it way, way off, when I trudged home at Boston in 3:30, not the 2:59 I unwisely predicted. I don't have that much to go on for this run, since I haven't done any races since the Philly Marathon in November and I don't run with anybody regularly. My guess: 3:25. I fear Stroh of Arabia will lose me somewhere around mile 16, an ignominious repeat of the Mothers and Daughters Against Teen Smoking 4-Miler in 2000, when he brutally left me seized by hayfever a couple miles in. My only hope is that the pressure of the GWOT leads him to what I'll delicately call "improper race preparation" now that he's been on the ground nearly a week.

Pigdog Sightings, Saudi Edition

Fighting the pigdog is tough enough, fighing it while simultaneously fighting off a pack of wild dogs is unreasonably difficult. Thankfully, Stroh of Arabia and I are unlikely to deal that in Delaware next month. The Saudi running scene is a different story. From the front lines of the GWOT: "Proud to say I did a solid 2:40 yesterday. Call it 19 miles. Felt pretty good too. There were some stare-downs with the pig-dog, and even more pressing, two seperate incidents with the weird pack of wild dogs that live in the Diplomatic quarter trail areas. They never actually attack, but they'll run after me until I stop and turn and throw a rock. So if I see them or hear them, or if they jump out at me, then I pick up a couple rocks and a stick and run carrying that crap until I get to the next section of the trail where they aren't. Eventful run."