I ran 10 miles this morning.
Yeah, you heard that right, 10 totally bad-ass miles.
I am a machine. A machine hellbent on running the marathon in sub-10 minute miles. Today I finished up in 1 hour, 39 minutes and 58 seconds...this translates to just under 10 minute miles. I felt as though I could have gone on, though I nearly collapsed upon completion. I practically crawled to my car and then proceeded to sleep another 5 hours. The marathon is looking more and more like it is going to kill me...But I shall die a man!!

I plan to get up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning and run farther than I ever have in my life. I don't really want to say how far though, as I will look like a failure if I don't make it. I think I'm looking at more than an hour and a half of running if all goes as planned.

I've just added something new to my runner's diet: used and heated fake fingernails. Apparently the Subway slogan "Eat Fresh" means “fresh from falling off someone's body.” I ordered a roasted chicken breast on wheat this afternoon; and tore heartily into the foot-long delight. I soon found my masticulation halted by something that didn’t quite feel like chicken breast; and upon scooping it from my mouth with a hooked finger, realized it wasn’t chicken at all. It was human, or at least at one time was attached to a human.

I first thought it was only a chunk of plastic (and while that is disgusting, it seems strangely bearable). That’s when a co-worker popped his head over, and issued a declarative: “Hey man, that’s one of those fake nails.” To further showcase his knowledge of Phalangial accessories, he pointed to the slightly curled and heavily mangled base of my new treasure. “That’s the part that slides under the cuticle.” Yep, this nail had not fallen off. This nail had been pulled off and, judging by its war wounds, pulled off quite vigorously.

Thankfully I’m not prone to vomiting, or I would have done it then. The reaction from the people at worked was mixed between sympathetic disgust and laughter. One guy said, “Hey, maybe it’s Jared’s nail,” referring to the once-fat-now-svelte Subway spokesman. The Indian couple that manages the Subway was less amused. They offered to make fresh sandwiches for me “and the people you work with.” I think it was their way of saying, “Dear God, please do not sue us. We look Arab and will never have a fair trial in this country.”

I am not a litigious person; I just wanted them to be aware. So I asked for my fingernail back and left. I thought it would be good to have the nail in case I get struck down with some mystery illness. Then those Arab-looking bastards are going down!

So we’ll see how this improves my running. If it does nothing, I’ve learned a valuable lesson: if you bite into a foreign, rubbery substance in your sandwich, swallow and tell yourself it was just gristle.

It appears Ricky has dropped from the Universe. Perhaps in shame. Yesterday I ran 5.3 miles, the most I've run in a very long time. It took me longer than I would have liked: 58 minutes, but it still bodes well for my progress. The best part is that I wasn't deathly sore when it was all over. What really helped me out was that I ran at dusk and the path is relatively flat. This Saturday I have a six mile run, next Saturday an 8, and August 17 a damned 10-miler.

Fast food is going to be the downfall of my marathon training. I simply can't give up the joy and convenience of putting handfuls of grease and processed food into my body. Carbonated bevarages will also help to seal my fate as a distance runner. Curently, I am sipping on a Mountain Dew and counting the hours until I can run down the road and grab a cheeseburger.

I ran 5.1 miles on the Frontage Road on Saturday afternoon and it nearly killed me. I've never come so close to walking in all my life. I broke out into cold chills and assumed that I was going into heat stroke. Being the manly man that I am, I opted to continue to run like a man possessed. I figured that heat stroke from running massive hills with a 100 degree plus heat index was a manly way to die. Upon completion, I walked over to the Elgin BP and the lady advised that I sit down for a while. It was along the lines of "You gon needta set down for abit now son, you doesn't look very gud." When the uneducated store clerk gets worrisome about your health, you know you aren't looking terribly good.

You are all bitches!!!!!!

I just felt like saying that. I hate running. It still sucks. My heart moniter broke, so now I'm going to have a stroke while I'm running.

At least I'm dead sexy. I think that's what the young gansters screamed from their car when I was running the other day. Or maybe it was "you gonna die bitch!" No, it was that I was dead sexy.