Guns, Beer, Bacon-On-A-Stick

I feel like I need to prove to my readers (yes, all 6 of you) that I have a life beyond training for the marathon. My blog has been a bit consumed by that endeavor, as has my life, so I think it's time to discuss something other than mileage and toe issues.

This week I shot my first gun. Yup. I should qualify that statement as my dad reminded me that I did pull the trigger on his shotgun when I was younger (I have somewhat vague memories of being in a field, not really aiming at anything, on some squirrel hunting trip...if it's the same trip/memory, I believe the people we were with shot a deer and I was somewhat traumatized by seeing it, dead and bloody, in the back of their truck). But this was definitely the first time I'd held, much less fired, a handgun.

I'm very anti-handgun, honestly. I think the Second Amendment, as currently interpreted, is a far cry from its original intentions. I don't question that the right to bear arms has been established to include the current ownership and usage of handguns, I just think that interpretation is wrong. I don't deny the right, I just wish it didn't exist in the way it does today. But I will concede that the "right", while irrevocably flawed, is also irrevocably established. It's not going anywhere. So, I wasn't a big fan of the idea of shooting my boyfriend's gun. I don't have a problem with him having one, I just don't really feel the need to be reminded of it. I decided to do it largely because he doesn't complain when I drag him to ethnic restaurants that require him to eat strange globs of food with his hands.

All that being said, I had a blast! I like to shoot guns. I especially like to shoot guns in places next to bars with bingo games. Who knew that bingo was fun?? For all my handgun hatred, I know I want to shoot one again. Possibly often. And next time I want to use a target that's shaped like a human instead of a bull's eye. Very, very odd.

In keeping with my lets-do-things-I-usually-don't-do theme, I celebrated an 18 mile run yesterday with a trip to the state fair and the requisite gorging on fried foods. I usually eat very clean, healthy, often organic foods. I go days without eating meat sometimes. I don't drink often. I'm a big fan of barley. Wheatberries. Fresh spinach. You get the picture. Last night I ate a corndog, a mini hamburger (on a stick), a couple bites of bacon (on a stick), half a deep fried Snickers (on a stick), potatoes with swiss cheese deep fried and covered in ranch, a couple jalapeno poppers, and some grape leaves (on a stick), all washed down with a bit of beer. I don't think there is room left in an artery today for any amount of fat. I plan on having lettuce, maybe an egg, for dinner. But it felt good to eat junk for a change. Makes me appreciate how much better I feel when I'm eating healthily. The human body simply runs better on cleaner fuel. Period. But, every once in awhile, it's good remind oneself of that fact by a respectable deep fried hurrah.

It all comes back to the running. This week was one of my best running-wise. I ran the farthest I ever have (18 miles!!) and enjoyed some longer mid-week jaunts. And I think part of that success was wrapped up in living a bit outside the mileage. It's easy for me to get wrapped up in the stress of training, working, fitting in runs, trying to be a decent friend/sister/daughter, etc. I feel very compressed for time on most days. It was nice to escape a bit and worry about shooting a gun (noisy! scary! I'm going to look stupid!), debate the merits of deep fried Snickers vs. deep fried Milky Way, and just enjoy hours not spent with my feet pounding the pavement. Makes the running feel doable, like a slice of my life, and not the stick by which my days are measured