I have been wanting to blog for a while now, and until this morning I never thought I had anything interesting to discuss, explain and/or teach. That was until this morning when I found myself nose deep in a pile of muddy snow with Goliath sitting patiently waiting for me to get up.
Meet Goliath He's a one year-old German Boxer and Siberian Husky mix. He joined my family in December of 2008, at 5lbs and 6 weeks old. He's now a little over 60lbs and loves peanut butter by the pint, tearing sheets and three feet long raw hides. More than anything though, he loves to run. His Husky family tree is most likely full of Iditarod champions, because something about a leash with someone/something on the end triggers a long-lasting-never-ending energy surge. What is he pulling?
Me I'm a 22 year-old human. With little money and little time, I started running in December, 2008 tipping the scales at a little over 170lbs. Figuring that all I needed was sneakers and pavement, now 30lbs lighter I run marathons and log an average of 30 miles a week. I, also, love peanut butter by the pint, purchasing new sheets and hunting for world's biggest raw hide. My family tree is full of educationally decorated individuals, competitive athletes and America's finest shoppers.
So you see? We make a pair. We feed each others needs. When Goliath is hungry, three cups of food in the bowl. When I need motivation, he pulls me six miles.
The boskyblog will take you on our whirlwind adventures during marathon training, dog park jaunts and everything along the way, including this morning's faceplant into compacted snow.
There has been record snow fall this year in Kansas City to Goliath's delight, and when the ground is white the leash is off. There is no controlling this snow obsessed maniac. This week has been the first week in over a month where the sidewalks are clear enough, and devoid of ice where the leash can be worn and the yak traks are no longer needed.
We logged 5.8 miles without any hiccups, no major arm amputations or squirrels on the trail we frequent. It was around 5.8 on a half mile-long uphill did we come across a molehill of plowed snow. Now, I don't know how big molehills typically run but this one was about two feet high and three fee wide, polka dotted with car splattered mud and whatever else.
It was upon this "snowhill" did we face an Oregon Trail decision: go around it? or forge the river?