This week has been packed with antics at camp, but before I get into the chaos, I want to talk about my running.
One thing I’ve learned about distance training: your body adapts in cycles. When you first start, it’s your legs that give out. Mine were in agony during those early weeks. But once the muscles start to build up, your legs stop being the limiting factor—then it’s your heart. My heart rate used to hit 180 bpm on runs, but over time it strengthened and became more efficient.
After that comes your lungs. Once your heart stops freaking out, your breathing is what slows you down. So the lungs adapt, then it’s back to the legs again. I thought I was done with the cycle last week—until I hit six miles and my legs started screaming again. Turns out they were only conditioned for about five miles. Time to level them up again.
To jumpstart that process, I mixed in a brutal stair workout: sprint a lap, 20 sets of stairs, one-minute walk, repeat—five rounds total. It felt good while I was doing it, but my legs have been toast ever since. I’ve had to scale back the rest of the week and will take the weekend off to recover. Hoping to hit longer distances again next week with stronger legs. Fingers crossed.
Now, on to the good stuff—prison stories!
This week brought two solid laughs. Over in the “G” dorm, it turns out inmates have been stashing contraband in the ceiling. I always heard strange noises at night when I lived over there. I figured it was rats. Nope—people.
Last week, around 12:30 a.m., someone actually fell through the ceiling. Word is, he landed straight on a top bunk, covered in contraband. Can you imagine? You’re half-asleep, then BAM—there’s a guy (and a stash) on top of you. Everyone stayed quiet about it, but when the guards came around at 3 a.m. for count, they found a full-on man-sized hole in the ceiling. I would have paid to see their faces.
Then, just two days later, guards stormed into our wing in the middle of the day. We were kicked out for two hours while they conducted a shakedown. Usually they come out with phones or vapes—but this time? Two 10-gallon buckets and rubber hoses. Somebody had tried to start a prison hooch operation using fruit from the chow hall. From what I heard, it was an early-stage operation and not even close to ready. Also, for the record, no one offered me any. Rude.
So, between the running, ceiling collapses, and impromptu hooch-making, it’s been another week in paradise. Hope all is well out there.
Stay safe—and legal!
—Larry
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