That was my feeling by the time 10:30 am rolled around on Saturday. I had plans to do a 5k running race, a cross country race, at Millenium park. It was advertised on coolrunning.com, start time was 9am, I showed up around 8:15 and searched for about half an hour to try and find the race, but all I found were dog-walkers. So, I did some intervals. Intervals might be a lot less interesting than a race report, but more interesting than an almost-race report. I did 3x10min on a loop, it was rolling singletrack, fun running, and despite the bugs I felt pretty good - they were slow bugs. Until I realized that my interval speed on trails was close to an 8:30min/mile. Youch. Lets hope the garmin was under-estimating distance...
Since I was in the area, I had agreed to help Thom with the Cutler Park trail cleanup day. I never found them, either, and as I wandered around the parking lot, I was starting to wonder if it was really Saturday or if I had slipped into some sort of alternate universe where I don't actually exist. I was close to asking a random person if they could see me when Ed showed up on his bike and suggested we do the sensible thing and go to IBC to see where the trail-cleaners had got to. They were just down the trail, so I did the sensible thing and went home to take a nap instead of helping them work. Score one for bad karma...
Sunday I joined Callie and Dave for a ride up in Salem, and flatted pretty much directly outside an ice cream shop. We (I?) elected to get ice cream before fixing the flat, and the line of the weekend came from Dave - "It didn't magically fix itself while we were eating ice cream, did it?"
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