Tonight I had another run date with my friend Jen. I am feeling somewhat confident because of my successful run yesterday, children in tow, and having run further than I had before (YES - I KNOW I stopped in the middle for a cookie, among other things, but I am still counting it as a big success). On the other hand, I KNOW Jen will do her best to push me a little bit (I keep telling myself she does it because she loves me. Oh, AND she's paying me back for all of those post-run upper thoracic adjustments that are a tad sensitive...). She told me not to bring my watch this time (read, "You're screwed and at my mercy. MUAH-HA-HA-HA!!!"). So I'm going in blind, which is good for my brain and body because trickery is very effective for a novice runner like me. You keep checking your watch and you think, "OK far enough, I'm tired, turnaround time!", or you look and say, "Dear God - THAT'S IT!?!?! I'm going to die out here - no doubt. The slugs can have their way with my innards - I'm done." Jen is a smart cookie because she knows the brain of the desperate runner (ummmm....that would be ME), and how hard it is and how much it sucks to train when you are ridiculously out of shape (mentally and physically).
I know - for those of you who know me, I don't look out of shape. I have a really long frame on which to hang a lot of desserts, and heaven knows I've packed on more than a small country's fair share of scrumptious goodies in my day. Clothing also hides a multitude of sins (can I get an AMEN?), but truth be told I am the heaviest I've been, outside of pregnancy, in 20 years, and even if it is not a lot of weight to shed, things are settling in strange ways and places I'd like to rearrange, preferably to higher and firmer regions (arent' the gifts of motherhood such precious gifts?). I am A shape - Q-tip with eyes - but that is vastly different than being IN shape, and my body continues to remind me just HOW vastly different every time I set my size 13 running shoes on the pavement. So I am watchless, at the trailhead with Jen, and I am preparing myself for a good old fashioned mental slug-fest between the part of me that wants to get more fit and enjoy running (this half we shall heretofore call "Nut Job"), and the other half that relishes in the luxury of a fabulous nap, a sleeve of Oreos dunked in ice cold milk, and Tivo 'til my eyeballs burn (heretofore referred to as "Common Sense"). Clearly sanity lies somewhere in between. OK, it REALLY probably lies a hair closer to the "Nut Job" side, but were splitting hairs - aren't we?
I had a long overdue chat with my good friend and walking teammate Kathy today (let's give her a round of applause - it's her debut here on the blog, folks...). She just finished the Rock N' Roll Marathon here in Seattle this past Saturday. Oh yeah, and she, like Andrea and Jen, is fab Mom, PTA Goddess, business owner, the list goes on .... She is AWESOME. Even signing up for a marathon or a running event or walking event or swimming, biking, knitting, gum chewing, hula hooping, spelling bee, yo-yo-ing, reading, hot dog eating - ANY kind of event that requires you to focus your time and energy, push your limits and sanity and train your brain and body to do something even a step beyond your usual routine - makes you a rock star in my book. (I am so proud of Kathy and ALL of my family and friends who push themselves everyday, in ways I can't even imagine - far more than I could even cope with, no doubt. These people keep the "pity parties" at bay for me.) We were talking about this blog and my newbie running efforts and I found myself saying, "I am going to complete the Warrior Dash, the obstacles, and have fun, and I don't care how long it takes me. That's my goal for this thing. I will finish. Then want to put together a schedule because I'd like to do just a regular 5k run." WHAT?!?!? WHO IS THAT?!?! WHO IS SAYING THESE THINGS?!?!? Kathy. Hmph. Why does she have to be so cool and laid back and fun about just running a marathon? HELLO?!? That 26.2 freaking miles, ma'am. Oh yeah - no biggie. Seriously? Go inspire someone else, super runner. It's Andrea's fault, too. Cheering me on, laughing with me, training hard and sending me sweaty-faced post-run pics and pushing me to GO RUN! Telling me, "We can totally DO this!" Jen is laughing right now, I KNOW it. She's patting herself on the back - she's congratulating herself for "planting the seed". How dare she lend me a great book about running moms and type up a training schedule for me? (No joke. GO GET IT!! "Run Like A Mother" - it's fabulous and guaranteed to give you a chuckle while you're nursing your sore calves.) How dare she run with me and chat and encourage me and push me to run further than I've run in 20 years all the while slowing her pace to my super suave Grandpa style to keep me company? She is evil to the core I tell you - they ALL are. Friends that run. Don't let them get YOU hooked on the Kool-Aid. Alas, gentle reader, it may be too late for me.
I ran with Jen tonight, watch-free, wrestling match between Nut Job and Common Sense going on in my brain, lungs burning, legs cursing, sweat sweating. Yes, of course she pushed me. I definitely talked less tonight than last time. Knowing I would be running further tonight, I tried to conserve my energy and really, really tried to focus on a nice relaxed breathing rhythm (read "cough, gasp, suck in air, spit, wretch, exhale, repeat"). It was REALLY hard and I think I sort of found one, in spurts. Jen and I (briefly) talked about a mantra - this I am familiar with because another fabulous, super Mom, sister of my heart, Trish (another round of applause for her debut here on the blog, folks...oh and she's on vacation so she's not even around to defend herself - neener, neener!) had a "pep talk" inspirational card with her on our 60 mile walk last year. She would shout it out (if you know Trish, you know she is awesome at rallying a group and shouting with zest comes as naturally as breathing for her) and we would repeat it back to her, like a military cadence, but with a bunch of women, decked out in pink, followed by a lot of "WOOHOO!"s. Always good for another 5 miles. My mantra tonight was, "I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything." Did I believe it? Not nearly as wholeheartedly as I would have liked, but just like my husband coaching me in labor, it distracted my brain long enough to get through the painful parts and come out on the other side, knowing I could, and feeling stronger for it. No, running is not exactly like labor (I would probably rather be in labor to be honest...), but distraction and encouragment are wildly effective during both. Mantra it is. Reminds me of a favorite artist of mine, Brian Andreas. His prints are drawings and funny/emotional/thought-provoking lines from life. One of his prints is called "Affirmation" and the line on it is, "Remember to use positive affirmations. I am not a dork is not one of them."
Mantra and desperately trying to focus on some semblance of breathing carried me a long way tonight. Oh yeah - and of course Jen (she actually leapt and skipped a couple of steps because she was so excited for how far we'd run at one point tonight - I told you - this running thing is a sickness). She may poo-poo this fact but she actually might have been physically carrying me at some point tonight so it's a good thing she loves to run and is in great cardiovascular shape. This 6'5" frame dead weight is no joke people - you do not want this unconscious, gangly, sweaty mess on your hands. And I drool. The tally? 3.57 miles tonight in 39:35! 11:05 per mile and I didn't even walk one step. Further than I've run since Kelly Clarkson was born and I even did my little pseudo-sprint at the end (told you Jen was a taskmaster). I can officially Grandpa run the distace of the Warrior Dash, sans barf or loss of consciousness. This is a weight off my mind because I know I can make it, but I'd certainly like to feel a whole heck of a lot better running it the day of the event. That shouldn't be too much of a stretch, given I felt like a one-legged girl in a butt-kicking contest at many points on the trail tonight, but I know it will require more runs of at least tonight's distance. Off I go! See you on the road ;) I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything......
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Day Seven - BOO-YA!!
I haven't run since last Thursday. As my pre-teen (Heaven help me) son would say, "Epic fail." This is a mistake for me, as I would imagine, for any newbie runner. Ahhhh, Rest - you are a dark and twisted mistress, calling out, "Look how well you did the other day! You deserve this break. Given how great you felt after your longest run yet last week, you will bounce right back into those relaxed steps and even breathing you discovered just 1, 2, 3,......SIX days ago." Ugh. Time to get it in gear, Grandpa girl.
Today I decided to embark on a journey like no other. OK, let's be clear, I did not sign up for an Antarctic marathon or a hike up Mt. Ranier. This is a journey ripped from the diaries of motherhood, career, sanity and running, now apparently fused into a bizarre and haphazard fabric that has become the new hat I wear these days (I know, thankfully, I am not alone in this wacky place). Now that I think about it, a trip to the Antarctic might be a lovely vacation....anywho, my quest for today was to run while my kiddos (Brooks, my son, age 12 and Samaya, my daughter, age8) cruised along on their bikes with me. I almost laugh out loud as I type it. You see, like many other parents in their pre-kid years, I was lulled (read "duped") somehow into thinking, "My children will never be those horrid beasts screaming in the grocery store about a new, beloved box of cereal, wearing a Halloween costume, rain boots and a parka in December. Who dresses these kids anyway?". I have to admit, my kids are definitely not those kids (they are actually fabulous kids, 98% of the time as long as my husband and I aren't around), BUT they do LOVE to supervise each other on every aspect of daily living, right down to how and when food should be consumed and how much toothpaste to use per brushing session. They keep score on who did what chores and when, and they love to report each other's behavior to us, often feigning concern for the safety and well being of the other, us, the dog, the house, the neighbors, or the universe at large, just so they can reveal that a certain someone is stepping out of line and that they themselves are simply being a good citizen in telling us. Sound familiar? This is the recipe I was cooking up for today's run. Fitness and family all in one? Hmmm... yes - a journey like no other. I was definitely anticipating this to take 3 times as long as it normally would - even flying solo at my Grandpa running pace. Onward and upward people!
I get a little backpack together with snacks for the kiddos, a protein bar for me, and water for all. We were only going 3 miles total (the longest running distance I've attempted since cruising well into my 30's) - 1.5 to my office, break for an adjustment (AMEN!), potty as needed, and 1.5 back home - so I knew we wouldn't really need snacks, but if you have children, or have ever even met one, you know that you are never more than 3 minutes out the door before they are testifying on a stack of bibles that they are about to collapse from thirst and/or starvation (this continues even at ages 12 and 8, for all you toddler parents out there). Toss ID, tissues & eyedrops (it is cottonwood season, after all), keys and chapstick in the bag and we're ready to go. While I'm tying my shoes, we have what I like to call a little "Come To Jesus" meeting. I explain that for safety we will stop at all intersections and parking lot driveways and only proceed when we've checked both directions twice, and only on my go ahead. We also discuss that fact that there is no whining of any kind. A valuable piece of advice I learned from my many miles of walking training is that whining causes blisters. OK, not REALLY, obviously, but I was not tolerating the chants of, "I'm hungry", "I'm hot/cold", "I have to pee", "He/she is in my way", blah, blah, blah....and yes, for the record, I AM the meanest mommy in the world - just ask my kids. They can tell their therapists in years to come that it's all my fault - I am running today and I really want to try to do well and avoid distractions. Work with me, people!
We set out and the kiddos are brilliant! They are excited to be out and about on their bikes on roads I would never let them travel alone at this age, and they also have the opportunity to see their dear old mum suck some wind and look kind of gross along the way - double bonus! I give signals as to direction, where to stop, when to go, all of them in an out of breath kind of bark, but the kids knew I was serious about being safe and us all having a good little workout, so they complied 100%. I am so glad I am writing this down because it will be documented for future reference, for both their benefit and mine (I have proof that they CAN listen and they have documentation we can trust them for other adventures, which I'm sure they will try to get the most mileage out of...).We cruise along to my office, park the bikes inside and I hit the stopwatch - 16:38. Nice! Given crosswalk stops, a few small slopes, etc., a pretty good pace for a mile and a half after 6 days rest (read "lollygagging and blowing off exercise"), kids in tow. We go into my office, greet my hubs and hop up on the tables for our adjustments. This is the perfect time to make sure my brain-body connection is humming along at top speed, given that I am conquering a distance further than I've gone before (albeit with a break), and along a somewhat new route with company other than an experienced runner. In case you hadn't picked up on it, I AM making a big deal of this because, admittedly, I am a bit high maintenance. I also have high (read "HIGH!" ) expectations of myself (and usually others, especially my kids) and get really irritated when I need something to go well, like this run today. I decree this expedition will hereby pave the way for all future family running/biking jaunts with any kind of anticipation of enjoyment. So it has been decreed by the Queen of Grandpa Running and shall be made known throughout the kingdom. No pressure. HA!! Post life-altering, body-healing, energy-cranking Chiropractic adjustment, we pop in to the grocery store next door for an anniversary card for my parents, and a free sample cookie from the bakery (a shout-out to George and the bakery crew - Albertsons make the best chocolate chip cookies - thank you!). Upon returning to my office, my great friend and fabulous staff member, Lisa, points out that what I'm noshing doesn't really resemble a protein bar. This is why I love her. I retort with, "I just ran 1.5 miles. These calories are already gone! I feel them leaving my body instantly!" Right? Right.
A cookie for each belly, a swig of water and out the door again. I start the stopwatch again and we're off. Up a slope, down (mercifully) a slope, across the street, around some corners and into our home territory. The kids quickly abandon me for friends playing outside and, with a wave goodbye, I press on to the corner of my street. It's sbout 75 yards to my house. OK Jen, you win - I turn on the jets (pause here for doubled over, face hurts, tears streaming down, out loud laughter) and sprint (read "Grandpa run with zeal and reckless abandon") all the way home and up my driveway. Hit the stopwatch - 15:40! BOO-YA!!! A quick calculation (OK, not really - I did the math later, on paper, while I chugged down my electrolyte drink at my dining room table, because my brain was too busy concentrating on breathing to do it in my head the moment I stopped running) and I realize I averaged 10:46 mile. I am super excited!! Yes, I had a potty break, and yes, I had an amazing adjustment, and yes, I had a cookie and card-shopping break, but even with breaks I am SO giving myself credit for coming in under 11 minutes per mile AND running (all totaled) further than I've run before - 3.05 miles to be exact. I say again to you, gentle reader - BOO-YA!! BOO-DEE-HOOTIE-DOO-BOO-YA!!!
Only .45 miles further for the total mileage for the Warrior Dash, and the obstacles will require me to at least slow down, if not stop and wait for others ahead of me. Granted I will be expending energy climbing ropes, bellycrawling in mud and jumping over fire, but the madness and muck of it all will distract my brain at least a little. My goal is to finish the dash and all the obstacles, keep mud out of my mouth and lungs, and have fun. Besides, there will be rockin' tunes, good friends, my very own Viking helmet and a cold beer waiting for me at the end. How can I NOT succeed? Finish and have fun I will - no doubt! See you on the road - possibly with awesome kiddos in tow ;)
Today I decided to embark on a journey like no other. OK, let's be clear, I did not sign up for an Antarctic marathon or a hike up Mt. Ranier. This is a journey ripped from the diaries of motherhood, career, sanity and running, now apparently fused into a bizarre and haphazard fabric that has become the new hat I wear these days (I know, thankfully, I am not alone in this wacky place). Now that I think about it, a trip to the Antarctic might be a lovely vacation....anywho, my quest for today was to run while my kiddos (Brooks, my son, age 12 and Samaya, my daughter, age8) cruised along on their bikes with me. I almost laugh out loud as I type it. You see, like many other parents in their pre-kid years, I was lulled (read "duped") somehow into thinking, "My children will never be those horrid beasts screaming in the grocery store about a new, beloved box of cereal, wearing a Halloween costume, rain boots and a parka in December. Who dresses these kids anyway?". I have to admit, my kids are definitely not those kids (they are actually fabulous kids, 98% of the time as long as my husband and I aren't around), BUT they do LOVE to supervise each other on every aspect of daily living, right down to how and when food should be consumed and how much toothpaste to use per brushing session. They keep score on who did what chores and when, and they love to report each other's behavior to us, often feigning concern for the safety and well being of the other, us, the dog, the house, the neighbors, or the universe at large, just so they can reveal that a certain someone is stepping out of line and that they themselves are simply being a good citizen in telling us. Sound familiar? This is the recipe I was cooking up for today's run. Fitness and family all in one? Hmmm... yes - a journey like no other. I was definitely anticipating this to take 3 times as long as it normally would - even flying solo at my Grandpa running pace. Onward and upward people!
I get a little backpack together with snacks for the kiddos, a protein bar for me, and water for all. We were only going 3 miles total (the longest running distance I've attempted since cruising well into my 30's) - 1.5 to my office, break for an adjustment (AMEN!), potty as needed, and 1.5 back home - so I knew we wouldn't really need snacks, but if you have children, or have ever even met one, you know that you are never more than 3 minutes out the door before they are testifying on a stack of bibles that they are about to collapse from thirst and/or starvation (this continues even at ages 12 and 8, for all you toddler parents out there). Toss ID, tissues & eyedrops (it is cottonwood season, after all), keys and chapstick in the bag and we're ready to go. While I'm tying my shoes, we have what I like to call a little "Come To Jesus" meeting. I explain that for safety we will stop at all intersections and parking lot driveways and only proceed when we've checked both directions twice, and only on my go ahead. We also discuss that fact that there is no whining of any kind. A valuable piece of advice I learned from my many miles of walking training is that whining causes blisters. OK, not REALLY, obviously, but I was not tolerating the chants of, "I'm hungry", "I'm hot/cold", "I have to pee", "He/she is in my way", blah, blah, blah....and yes, for the record, I AM the meanest mommy in the world - just ask my kids. They can tell their therapists in years to come that it's all my fault - I am running today and I really want to try to do well and avoid distractions. Work with me, people!
We set out and the kiddos are brilliant! They are excited to be out and about on their bikes on roads I would never let them travel alone at this age, and they also have the opportunity to see their dear old mum suck some wind and look kind of gross along the way - double bonus! I give signals as to direction, where to stop, when to go, all of them in an out of breath kind of bark, but the kids knew I was serious about being safe and us all having a good little workout, so they complied 100%. I am so glad I am writing this down because it will be documented for future reference, for both their benefit and mine (I have proof that they CAN listen and they have documentation we can trust them for other adventures, which I'm sure they will try to get the most mileage out of...).We cruise along to my office, park the bikes inside and I hit the stopwatch - 16:38. Nice! Given crosswalk stops, a few small slopes, etc., a pretty good pace for a mile and a half after 6 days rest (read "lollygagging and blowing off exercise"), kids in tow. We go into my office, greet my hubs and hop up on the tables for our adjustments. This is the perfect time to make sure my brain-body connection is humming along at top speed, given that I am conquering a distance further than I've gone before (albeit with a break), and along a somewhat new route with company other than an experienced runner. In case you hadn't picked up on it, I AM making a big deal of this because, admittedly, I am a bit high maintenance. I also have high (read "HIGH!" ) expectations of myself (and usually others, especially my kids) and get really irritated when I need something to go well, like this run today. I decree this expedition will hereby pave the way for all future family running/biking jaunts with any kind of anticipation of enjoyment. So it has been decreed by the Queen of Grandpa Running and shall be made known throughout the kingdom. No pressure. HA!! Post life-altering, body-healing, energy-cranking Chiropractic adjustment, we pop in to the grocery store next door for an anniversary card for my parents, and a free sample cookie from the bakery (a shout-out to George and the bakery crew - Albertsons make the best chocolate chip cookies - thank you!). Upon returning to my office, my great friend and fabulous staff member, Lisa, points out that what I'm noshing doesn't really resemble a protein bar. This is why I love her. I retort with, "I just ran 1.5 miles. These calories are already gone! I feel them leaving my body instantly!" Right? Right.
A cookie for each belly, a swig of water and out the door again. I start the stopwatch again and we're off. Up a slope, down (mercifully) a slope, across the street, around some corners and into our home territory. The kids quickly abandon me for friends playing outside and, with a wave goodbye, I press on to the corner of my street. It's sbout 75 yards to my house. OK Jen, you win - I turn on the jets (pause here for doubled over, face hurts, tears streaming down, out loud laughter) and sprint (read "Grandpa run with zeal and reckless abandon") all the way home and up my driveway. Hit the stopwatch - 15:40! BOO-YA!!! A quick calculation (OK, not really - I did the math later, on paper, while I chugged down my electrolyte drink at my dining room table, because my brain was too busy concentrating on breathing to do it in my head the moment I stopped running) and I realize I averaged 10:46 mile. I am super excited!! Yes, I had a potty break, and yes, I had an amazing adjustment, and yes, I had a cookie and card-shopping break, but even with breaks I am SO giving myself credit for coming in under 11 minutes per mile AND running (all totaled) further than I've run before - 3.05 miles to be exact. I say again to you, gentle reader - BOO-YA!! BOO-DEE-HOOTIE-DOO-BOO-YA!!!
Only .45 miles further for the total mileage for the Warrior Dash, and the obstacles will require me to at least slow down, if not stop and wait for others ahead of me. Granted I will be expending energy climbing ropes, bellycrawling in mud and jumping over fire, but the madness and muck of it all will distract my brain at least a little. My goal is to finish the dash and all the obstacles, keep mud out of my mouth and lungs, and have fun. Besides, there will be rockin' tunes, good friends, my very own Viking helmet and a cold beer waiting for me at the end. How can I NOT succeed? Finish and have fun I will - no doubt! See you on the road - possibly with awesome kiddos in tow ;)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Day Six - Silly Girl, Tricks Are For Kids!
My dear friend, Jen, is a runner. I mean that in the truest sense of the word and NOT in the same category that I consider myself a runner. I guess in this process of training (is THAT what I'm doing?) I have developed a runner "caste system" in my own little brain (it's wedged in there between the grocery list, new marketing ideas for the office, field trip permission slips and the dog's grooming appointment). Oh I know all of you super die hard runners out there (marathoners, tri-athletes, rock hard calf and butt owners) SAY that we beginners are just as fabulous as you are, blah, blah, blah.... but we both know your bad-ass, super wicking, tastefully reflective, supremely comfortable running clothes and GPS/heart monitor/stop watch/defibrillator/jumper cables/Aquaman homing device say differently. We beginners are slobbering, panting, waddling armadillos on the road next to you long strided, slender legged, completely-at-ease, sub-7:30 minute per milers who glide effortlessly across asphalt like graceful swans on a tranquil lake. But I digress... My dear friend Jen is a fabulous runner who has run half-marathons to raise funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma society, she is a super Mom of 2 adorable boys, business owner, PTA board member and volunteer teacher at her son's school. She is on fire. AND she thinks she's sooooooo sneaky. She invited me to run with her on Thursday, June 23rd (yes, I'm WAY behind on my blog posts, among other things...) so I was thrilled. As awesome as a runner as Jen is, she is also a great cheerleader and is convinced she will get me to not only get better at this running thing, but that I will actually enjoy it at some point. Silly girl!
So I meet her Thursday after work and we drive to one of the trailheads of a well known paved trail near where we live, and park. She is reassuring me this will be great, telling me it's just an easy flat trail, and filling me in on a really cool book she is going to lend me (more on this later, but it IS a really cool book). Before we begin, I tell her that I won't be able to talk while we run because I will die. I can plug into my IPod when I'm alone and pound through 5 to 6 songs, knowing I've made it about 2 miles and through about 22-24 minutes of running and go home, all the while mouthing the lyrics to everything from Enya to Jane's Addiction and feeling reasonably well oxygenated. Talking? Ummm..... no. Just won't happen. Jen tells me she'll talk enough for the both of us. THIS is why you pick someone cool like Jen to run with. She rocks.
We start and she let's me dictate the pace - grandpa boogie and all. She even tells me we can stop to walk if I want, and at this point I've reached a stage of my running where I think walking is a step backward, unless I'm on some God-awful hill. On a flat trail, I mentally kick the walking option right out the door. As we go along, surprisingly, I do chat with Jen, and I don't die. I have to take a few more breaths and definitely limit my chat to short responses, but the conversation (still more Jen than me simply because my cardiovascular fitness sucks, not because I didn't want to talk) is a wonderful distraction and the steps feel less laborious and more relaxed. She gives me a few pointers on form (long since forgotten from the last time I ran, back before ER made it's TV debut), which are also helpful in keeping me from expending more energy than I absolutely have to to stay upright, conscious and moving in the right direction. We also bond over the fact that we both slobber a little and spit regularly when we run. Spitting, wiping running snot on my shirt, and peeing in the woods are not above me in a outdoor exercise situation. I have walked 60 miles in three days, and given birth to 2 children. I'm pretty sure at this point any shred of humility is shot and I have at many points been considered a human napkin. S'all good in my world, spit and everything.
Next, our coy little Jen tries to slide one past me. I come from a long line of loudmouthed, opinionated, fiercely loyal, unconditionally loving people who, for lack of a better description, can sling it, and this brings to mind one of my favorite Big John-isms (Big John is my Dad - he is Big, with a capital B, and his name is John. This nickname is not a stretch). For the family viewing audience, I will keep it rated G - as Big John would say, "You can't BS a BS-er." True dat, Big Daddy (yes, I do really call him that and am proud of it).
So sweet Jen says, "When we get to a mile I'm just going to have you go about a tenth of a mile further and then we'll turn back so it'll be just over 2 miles." My manure meter is sounding off with bells and whistles and I just say, "OK, sounds good", knowing fo' sho' she ain't takin' me just an extra tenth of a mile. We reach our turnaround point and being heading back. I am feeling a little more fatigue at this point and am glaring with my best evil eye at all of the cottonwood fluff that we are weaving and bobbing through as we run. Ahead, just above the shrub line, I can see the outline of the roof of the little building that sits in the parking lot where we started. It's probably about 200 yards away. Jen was scheming again...
There was a small sign coming up on the left of the trail. Jen says, "Do you see that sign coming up on the left?" I am suddenly transported back to a time when Coach Doll ran track practice and we ran stairs and trains and the dreaded "bridge and back". "Oh God. You're going to tell me to sprint." "Whatever that looks like for you," she says with a chuckle. Something about "emptying your tank" and "leaving something for the end so you don't toss your cookies", blah, blah... lies, lies, all lies. So cute. I swear I used to do this regularly - just half my life ago at a time when I thought I was invincible and could down a Snickers and a Coke before a 5 mile run, no worries. Knowing full well my version of a "sprint" was little more than my grandpa run, Jen at least gave me a little time to mentally psyche myself up for the 100 yard dash I was about to attempt. The sign came up and off we went. Jen dusted me, naturally, but I finished strong (in my feeble, middle-aged mind...). When I caught my breath, I asked Jen, "OK, so how far did we REALLY go, 'cause I know we went way further than 2 tenths of a mile extra." She grins and says, "2.75 miles! See? And just think it's only another .75 miles further for the Warrior Dash!" This I know, and am happy she pushed me further than I would have done, at least that day, on my own. Silly Girl! Tricks are for kids! I was on to her the whole time ;) See you on the road...
So I meet her Thursday after work and we drive to one of the trailheads of a well known paved trail near where we live, and park. She is reassuring me this will be great, telling me it's just an easy flat trail, and filling me in on a really cool book she is going to lend me (more on this later, but it IS a really cool book). Before we begin, I tell her that I won't be able to talk while we run because I will die. I can plug into my IPod when I'm alone and pound through 5 to 6 songs, knowing I've made it about 2 miles and through about 22-24 minutes of running and go home, all the while mouthing the lyrics to everything from Enya to Jane's Addiction and feeling reasonably well oxygenated. Talking? Ummm..... no. Just won't happen. Jen tells me she'll talk enough for the both of us. THIS is why you pick someone cool like Jen to run with. She rocks.
We start and she let's me dictate the pace - grandpa boogie and all. She even tells me we can stop to walk if I want, and at this point I've reached a stage of my running where I think walking is a step backward, unless I'm on some God-awful hill. On a flat trail, I mentally kick the walking option right out the door. As we go along, surprisingly, I do chat with Jen, and I don't die. I have to take a few more breaths and definitely limit my chat to short responses, but the conversation (still more Jen than me simply because my cardiovascular fitness sucks, not because I didn't want to talk) is a wonderful distraction and the steps feel less laborious and more relaxed. She gives me a few pointers on form (long since forgotten from the last time I ran, back before ER made it's TV debut), which are also helpful in keeping me from expending more energy than I absolutely have to to stay upright, conscious and moving in the right direction. We also bond over the fact that we both slobber a little and spit regularly when we run. Spitting, wiping running snot on my shirt, and peeing in the woods are not above me in a outdoor exercise situation. I have walked 60 miles in three days, and given birth to 2 children. I'm pretty sure at this point any shred of humility is shot and I have at many points been considered a human napkin. S'all good in my world, spit and everything.
Next, our coy little Jen tries to slide one past me. I come from a long line of loudmouthed, opinionated, fiercely loyal, unconditionally loving people who, for lack of a better description, can sling it, and this brings to mind one of my favorite Big John-isms (Big John is my Dad - he is Big, with a capital B, and his name is John. This nickname is not a stretch). For the family viewing audience, I will keep it rated G - as Big John would say, "You can't BS a BS-er." True dat, Big Daddy (yes, I do really call him that and am proud of it).
So sweet Jen says, "When we get to a mile I'm just going to have you go about a tenth of a mile further and then we'll turn back so it'll be just over 2 miles." My manure meter is sounding off with bells and whistles and I just say, "OK, sounds good", knowing fo' sho' she ain't takin' me just an extra tenth of a mile. We reach our turnaround point and being heading back. I am feeling a little more fatigue at this point and am glaring with my best evil eye at all of the cottonwood fluff that we are weaving and bobbing through as we run. Ahead, just above the shrub line, I can see the outline of the roof of the little building that sits in the parking lot where we started. It's probably about 200 yards away. Jen was scheming again...
There was a small sign coming up on the left of the trail. Jen says, "Do you see that sign coming up on the left?" I am suddenly transported back to a time when Coach Doll ran track practice and we ran stairs and trains and the dreaded "bridge and back". "Oh God. You're going to tell me to sprint." "Whatever that looks like for you," she says with a chuckle. Something about "emptying your tank" and "leaving something for the end so you don't toss your cookies", blah, blah... lies, lies, all lies. So cute. I swear I used to do this regularly - just half my life ago at a time when I thought I was invincible and could down a Snickers and a Coke before a 5 mile run, no worries. Knowing full well my version of a "sprint" was little more than my grandpa run, Jen at least gave me a little time to mentally psyche myself up for the 100 yard dash I was about to attempt. The sign came up and off we went. Jen dusted me, naturally, but I finished strong (in my feeble, middle-aged mind...). When I caught my breath, I asked Jen, "OK, so how far did we REALLY go, 'cause I know we went way further than 2 tenths of a mile extra." She grins and says, "2.75 miles! See? And just think it's only another .75 miles further for the Warrior Dash!" This I know, and am happy she pushed me further than I would have done, at least that day, on my own. Silly Girl! Tricks are for kids! I was on to her the whole time ;) See you on the road...
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Day Five - Non Stop Fun! Or Not...
Greetings from Sweatsville. Not "sweats" like the comfy, relaxed attire reserved for weekends, nap time and camping. "Sweats" as in "having the sweats", salty, eye-stinging, liquid funk coming out of your pores before, during or after strenuous or anxiety producing activity (coincidentally, for me running fits into both of those categories). Generally, I am not a big "sweater". Obviously I am not a large, cozy, knitted garment worn in chilly weather. I mean that I do not have a history of sweating more than a damp brow, even as a kid running and playing in the suburban streets of NJ in 95 degree weather with 98% humidity. I come from a family that is divided as far as "profuse sweaters" and "delicate sweaters", and we used to tease one of my siblings, who shall remain nameless, that she was the lucky recipient of my dad's armpits from the treasure trove of DNA. Lucky girl! However, having taken on this whole "getting in shape" thing has apparently turned me into a bit of a sweater (still not the knitted thing...). I find this fascinating and gross all at the same time. Maybe it's my body pushing out all the toxins from years of cardiovascular neglect and lots of cookies (notice I did not say "too many cookies" because I still cling to the falsehood that there is no such thing...). Maybe it's because my body is having to work harder than it has in a long time to stay upright and conscious while moving at breakneck speed (indulge me - it's early and I'm sweating). I'm certain it's a combination of both.
No droopy pants or gang of menacing slugs to report from the road today, but I have a nugget of exciting news. Well, exciting for ME anyway, and I guess since this is my blog, it's all about me. I saw my friend on the corner of road that begins the long, slow incline I so deeply despise. We waved and said "Hello!" and I boogied on my way up the hill. I employed my usual tactic of head down, one foot in front of the other on my journey. My husband and I were discussing our different strategies for conquering this incline yesterday and he said he mentally sets little goals for himself along the way (OK, make it to the stop sign, then the driveway, then the green house, etc.) and then he's done. I prefer to go on my way in denial that there's far more road ahead of me than I care too look at, so I just don't look. Simple. Today, I glanced up a few times when I had a pretty good idea of where I was based on the parts of asphalt I have memorized by looking down over these past few days of running. Up the steepest part of the incline, to the cross street, past the walking path... getting close to the church driveway - my arch nemesis. As of yet, I have not made it past this driveway without stopping to walk, even if I just walk for 30 seconds, it's still stopping in my mind. I pushed past the driveway, lungs burning, but determined. Almost to the crest of the hill - MADE IT!
I so badly wanted to stop and walk there, convincing myself I had already pushed past my mini-goal, so it was OK. I pressed on to the home stretch, past the school, into the neighborhood, down the Big Dipper and into my little suburban oasis. NON-STOP FUN!! OK, not really, because it wasn't all that fun having an internal dialogue about stopping, being a weenie for stopping, sucking it up, not only meeting but exceeding a small goal that would pay big dividends in the self-confidence department, etc.. The fun came when I hit my street, jogged up the driveway and hit the stop on the watch - 22:21! Can I get a witness from the congregation?!?! THAT part WAS fun. Now I just have to remember how fun that feels when I begin at the bottom of that incline tomorrow. For my mental fortitude, and a little bit of irony (OK, a LOT of irony), I will name that long, slow incline Mt. Everest. In my own little world, I did climb a peak today, literally and figuratively ;) See you on the mountain!
No droopy pants or gang of menacing slugs to report from the road today, but I have a nugget of exciting news. Well, exciting for ME anyway, and I guess since this is my blog, it's all about me. I saw my friend on the corner of road that begins the long, slow incline I so deeply despise. We waved and said "Hello!" and I boogied on my way up the hill. I employed my usual tactic of head down, one foot in front of the other on my journey. My husband and I were discussing our different strategies for conquering this incline yesterday and he said he mentally sets little goals for himself along the way (OK, make it to the stop sign, then the driveway, then the green house, etc.) and then he's done. I prefer to go on my way in denial that there's far more road ahead of me than I care too look at, so I just don't look. Simple. Today, I glanced up a few times when I had a pretty good idea of where I was based on the parts of asphalt I have memorized by looking down over these past few days of running. Up the steepest part of the incline, to the cross street, past the walking path... getting close to the church driveway - my arch nemesis. As of yet, I have not made it past this driveway without stopping to walk, even if I just walk for 30 seconds, it's still stopping in my mind. I pushed past the driveway, lungs burning, but determined. Almost to the crest of the hill - MADE IT!
I so badly wanted to stop and walk there, convincing myself I had already pushed past my mini-goal, so it was OK. I pressed on to the home stretch, past the school, into the neighborhood, down the Big Dipper and into my little suburban oasis. NON-STOP FUN!! OK, not really, because it wasn't all that fun having an internal dialogue about stopping, being a weenie for stopping, sucking it up, not only meeting but exceeding a small goal that would pay big dividends in the self-confidence department, etc.. The fun came when I hit my street, jogged up the driveway and hit the stop on the watch - 22:21! Can I get a witness from the congregation?!?! THAT part WAS fun. Now I just have to remember how fun that feels when I begin at the bottom of that incline tomorrow. For my mental fortitude, and a little bit of irony (OK, a LOT of irony), I will name that long, slow incline Mt. Everest. In my own little world, I did climb a peak today, literally and figuratively ;) See you on the mountain!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Day Four - Wherefore Art Thou, Sad Runner?
Day four of running. Alas, my fan club, I have not abandoned thee, nor the horrible activity they call "running". I stole my husband away for his birthday this past weekend, and although I didn't run, we did walk a lot around the beautiful city of Chicago - one day about 8 miles. Yes, I counted that as exercise. As a person who walks lots, I know 8 miles is nothing to sneeze at, so there. Also the fact that we were only taking carry-on luggage prevented me from bringing my sneakers - there was plenty of room, however, for 2 cute pairs of strappy sandals. Yesterday I was far too busy having myself a cranky girl pity party, so I didn't run. I ate about 3 desserts to justify my bad attitude and washed it all down with a nice tall glass of self-loathing. Time to bury that mess with a shovel and bury the shovel. Today, I begin again and I was out the door at 6:14 a.m., sun shining, with a renewed sense of hope that I would truly be able to complete 3.5 miles (without throwing up, passing out or dislocating something) by July 16th, and the hope that I could vanquish some of the cottage cheese that has taken up residence in my thighs. A reduction in underarm flappage whilst waving would be a bonus we could all appreciate. So I'm off!
I decided to wear a new pair of running capris I picked up at my favorite posh retailer, Value Village. I didn't try them on before I bought them, only after I got home, and they were comfy and seemed to fit well. Good to go. After going about 1/2 a block, they begin to droop a little in the waist. Hmmmm. Hike 'em up, keep going. No luck. Exercise welcher that I am, my train of thought goes this way - "Turn around, go home and change. By the time I do that, it'll be 10 minutes later. The kids will be getting up for school. I should just stay home and run later, after they leave. But we have a conference call this morning. Maybe I should just go home and start back up tomorrow. Or I could run after dinner." Knowing full well this was all "el toro poo-poo" (as my Aunt likes to say), I pulled the ponytail holder out of my hair and cinched up the waistband of my pants with it. Fabulous! Problem solved. My hair was a scene in and of itself, but in the interest of public (emotional & psychological) safety, I decided it was more important for my pants to stay up than my hair. I plodded on.
Slug Alley was relaxed today - a few buddies here and there, but not the usually throng of critters to greet me. Perhaps they didn't get up until 6:30 a.m. today. The sun was shining on my already pink face and Jane's Addiction was up on the playlist, so all was well in my world. Enjoy sleeping in slugs! None of that for me today! Cruising along to the base of my least favorite, long, slow incline, I was happy to see a friend who lives on the corner. After a quick wave and breathless "Hello!", I trudged on, head down and up the hill (just keep swimming, just keep swimming....). Ironically, Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on. In my head I was renaming the song "Smells Like Middle-Aged Desperation", as I panted my way to the crest of the incline. My friend's smiling face and greeting helped me press on to almost the crest of the incline before I decided to walk. Amazing how far a happy face and a little encouragement can take you. Thank you, Dominique!! 45 second walking break and it was on to the home stretch.
No one at the Community Transit stop to greet this morning and only one or two kids on their way to school. Earlier is quieter and today that fit my mood. I was enjoying the bliss that comes with a little peace and the only sounds are some good tunes and the beating (read "hammering") of your own heart. I think I was actually smiling. Down the crazy hill known by the neighborhood as "The Big Dipper" and into my stomping grounds. I jogged up the driveway and hit the stop on the watch. YESSSSSS! 23:08!!! Calling that a super success since I haven't run in 5 days. Sweaty face picture snapped for Andrea (which I will refrain from sending until after 9 a.m. for morning sanity's sake) and the day is off to a great start. I quelled the inner doubting voices, drubbed the attempts of my pants to foil my plans, and am happier and sweatier for it :) See you on the road....
I decided to wear a new pair of running capris I picked up at my favorite posh retailer, Value Village. I didn't try them on before I bought them, only after I got home, and they were comfy and seemed to fit well. Good to go. After going about 1/2 a block, they begin to droop a little in the waist. Hmmmm. Hike 'em up, keep going. No luck. Exercise welcher that I am, my train of thought goes this way - "Turn around, go home and change. By the time I do that, it'll be 10 minutes later. The kids will be getting up for school. I should just stay home and run later, after they leave. But we have a conference call this morning. Maybe I should just go home and start back up tomorrow. Or I could run after dinner." Knowing full well this was all "el toro poo-poo" (as my Aunt likes to say), I pulled the ponytail holder out of my hair and cinched up the waistband of my pants with it. Fabulous! Problem solved. My hair was a scene in and of itself, but in the interest of public (emotional & psychological) safety, I decided it was more important for my pants to stay up than my hair. I plodded on.
Slug Alley was relaxed today - a few buddies here and there, but not the usually throng of critters to greet me. Perhaps they didn't get up until 6:30 a.m. today. The sun was shining on my already pink face and Jane's Addiction was up on the playlist, so all was well in my world. Enjoy sleeping in slugs! None of that for me today! Cruising along to the base of my least favorite, long, slow incline, I was happy to see a friend who lives on the corner. After a quick wave and breathless "Hello!", I trudged on, head down and up the hill (just keep swimming, just keep swimming....). Ironically, Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on. In my head I was renaming the song "Smells Like Middle-Aged Desperation", as I panted my way to the crest of the incline. My friend's smiling face and greeting helped me press on to almost the crest of the incline before I decided to walk. Amazing how far a happy face and a little encouragement can take you. Thank you, Dominique!! 45 second walking break and it was on to the home stretch.
No one at the Community Transit stop to greet this morning and only one or two kids on their way to school. Earlier is quieter and today that fit my mood. I was enjoying the bliss that comes with a little peace and the only sounds are some good tunes and the beating (read "hammering") of your own heart. I think I was actually smiling. Down the crazy hill known by the neighborhood as "The Big Dipper" and into my stomping grounds. I jogged up the driveway and hit the stop on the watch. YESSSSSS! 23:08!!! Calling that a super success since I haven't run in 5 days. Sweaty face picture snapped for Andrea (which I will refrain from sending until after 9 a.m. for morning sanity's sake) and the day is off to a great start. I quelled the inner doubting voices, drubbed the attempts of my pants to foil my plans, and am happier and sweatier for it :) See you on the road....
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Day Three - The Quest For Air
Greetings from 6:57 a.m.. As I imagined, my comfortable wake-up of Day Two is but a distant memory this early morning. By yesterday afternoon, my self-survey of my musculature (how ever little there may be) revealed the following: hip flexors reporting mild tension and tenderness with palpation, hamstrings had the same news, shins slightly more cranky than that, and calves weighing in with moderate protest to walking and stair climbing. This is not great news, given that my home is a split level. I expect full on anarchy by the end of the week. Overall, nothing to out of the ordinary, particularly for a girl at my current fitness level. This morning upon waking, most of those reports coming in from various body parts escalated all about a half step. This is nearly exactly what I report to my patients who are the unfortunate souls involved in a car accident. Most report that day 1 and 2 aren't feeling too badly, but by day 3 symptoms appear seemingly out of nowhere for a few reasons, a couple of which are the adrenaline kicking in right after the accident and hanging around for a while to get you home and safe, and the other is that your body needs time to assess damage, prioritize repairs and get down to the business of healing. That's apparently where I am today. A little stiff and sore, the angriest culprits being my calves and - oh yeah - my lungs.
My lungs felt like there wasn't enough air in the atmosphere today and I have to say that is an absolutely awful feeling. Each step was really a challenge today, not because my muscles were protesting as expected, but because I felt thirsty for air. The muscles warmed up after the first few minutes, but my respiratory system was having none of that. No deep breaths or arms overhead could quench that thirst today, but knowing what I know, I knew if my physiology really desperately needed oxygen, I would just pass out. Just like when a kid threatens to hold their breath or screams so much they run out of oxygen, the Innate Intelligence of the body takes over and that kid (mercifully, for those poor parents) passes out. The kid conks out, Innate takes over and resumes normal breathing to get plenty of oxygen to the brain and body, and the parents get a brief respite from the tantrum. Everybody's happy! I didn't feel like I was going to pass out, so I pressed on, confident that my lungs and brain were getting all the air they needed, pacing myself carefully, and psychologically reassuring myself I was OK. All this self-monitoring and self-talk was definitely interrupting my groove with Stone Temple Pilots and Peter Gabriel, so I focused on my tunes and kept going.
Slug Alley was fairly quiet this morning because it was raining, but I did see a small cluster of about a dozen squirming bodies huddled under the protective blooms of a yellow Scotch broom shrub (they're the ones that grow wild all along I-5, and when in full galore, the stretch from US-2 and Everett Mall Way smells like pee. This is when I hit the "recirculate" button on the ventilation system in my van...). These brooms also have a tendency to fully launch my seasonal allergies - I was putting 2 and 2 together as I trudged along.
My allergies began shortly after my son was born and have worsened over time (I joke with my kids that they got all of my good stuff and now I'm rebuilding...). They seem to be seasonal, although blood tests have revealed I am also allergic to all things cow - even beef. I did a long stretch of eliminating all things bovine a few years back and my allergy symptoms stayed about the same, so my infantile logic has given me permission to continue eating cow food products declaring, "If I'm going to feel itchy and sneezy anyway, then I should get to eat what I want - so there. And neener, neener, too." It's good to be a grown-up. With the cottonwood flying and lawnmowing season in full swing, I have noticed more eye itchiness and a slight wheeze at bedtime in the past week. I'm thinking between conditioning my lungs to this new routine of cardiovascular activity, the likes of which my body hasn't seen in 20 years, and the rebellion of my immune system to various particulates floating in the air, I have thirsty lungs today.
The good news is that as I increase my cardio fitness, my lungs will get happier. Also given that exercise is a fabulous stress reducer, physiologically and emotionally, the inflammation level in my body in response to pollen in the air can only get better, and my lungs will get happier. So a few mornings I feel a little desperate for air - easy breathing is way overrated, right? ;) I'll just keep singing that old song "One foot in front of the other...." as I plod along. Time to go Google the rest of the lyrics ;)
My lungs felt like there wasn't enough air in the atmosphere today and I have to say that is an absolutely awful feeling. Each step was really a challenge today, not because my muscles were protesting as expected, but because I felt thirsty for air. The muscles warmed up after the first few minutes, but my respiratory system was having none of that. No deep breaths or arms overhead could quench that thirst today, but knowing what I know, I knew if my physiology really desperately needed oxygen, I would just pass out. Just like when a kid threatens to hold their breath or screams so much they run out of oxygen, the Innate Intelligence of the body takes over and that kid (mercifully, for those poor parents) passes out. The kid conks out, Innate takes over and resumes normal breathing to get plenty of oxygen to the brain and body, and the parents get a brief respite from the tantrum. Everybody's happy! I didn't feel like I was going to pass out, so I pressed on, confident that my lungs and brain were getting all the air they needed, pacing myself carefully, and psychologically reassuring myself I was OK. All this self-monitoring and self-talk was definitely interrupting my groove with Stone Temple Pilots and Peter Gabriel, so I focused on my tunes and kept going.
Slug Alley was fairly quiet this morning because it was raining, but I did see a small cluster of about a dozen squirming bodies huddled under the protective blooms of a yellow Scotch broom shrub (they're the ones that grow wild all along I-5, and when in full galore, the stretch from US-2 and Everett Mall Way smells like pee. This is when I hit the "recirculate" button on the ventilation system in my van...). These brooms also have a tendency to fully launch my seasonal allergies - I was putting 2 and 2 together as I trudged along.
My allergies began shortly after my son was born and have worsened over time (I joke with my kids that they got all of my good stuff and now I'm rebuilding...). They seem to be seasonal, although blood tests have revealed I am also allergic to all things cow - even beef. I did a long stretch of eliminating all things bovine a few years back and my allergy symptoms stayed about the same, so my infantile logic has given me permission to continue eating cow food products declaring, "If I'm going to feel itchy and sneezy anyway, then I should get to eat what I want - so there. And neener, neener, too." It's good to be a grown-up. With the cottonwood flying and lawnmowing season in full swing, I have noticed more eye itchiness and a slight wheeze at bedtime in the past week. I'm thinking between conditioning my lungs to this new routine of cardiovascular activity, the likes of which my body hasn't seen in 20 years, and the rebellion of my immune system to various particulates floating in the air, I have thirsty lungs today.
The good news is that as I increase my cardio fitness, my lungs will get happier. Also given that exercise is a fabulous stress reducer, physiologically and emotionally, the inflammation level in my body in response to pollen in the air can only get better, and my lungs will get happier. So a few mornings I feel a little desperate for air - easy breathing is way overrated, right? ;) I'll just keep singing that old song "One foot in front of the other...." as I plod along. Time to go Google the rest of the lyrics ;)
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Day Two - Early Start!
Today I actually got up before my alarm (this is not the norm - actually it's not the norm for ne to even get up WITH my alarm in recent days...) at 6:11 a.m.. I knew I had an action packed day ahead and saw this, at first, as an opportunity to welch on my running commitment. Who would know? Oh THAT'S right - everyone I blabbed to that I've started running would know, Andrea would certainly know when she didn't receive a sweaty, pink post-run face picture text today, and ultimately I would know when, in just 32 short days, I am doubled over on the side of the road and all the other Warrior Dashers are blazing past me with looks of pity and mocking in their eyes. I put my feet on the floor, grabbed my running clothes and headed out to the living room so as not to wake the hubs and kiddos. It was peaceful and I was relishing a few moments of quiet bliss before braving Day Two.
Much to my surprise (utter shock, is probably a better term), I felt great! Minimal creaking and crepitus, no muscle spasms that dropped me to the floor, and I slept like a baby. Cautiously optimistic, I was encouraged that this whole running thing might just work out after all. IPod in place, and I'm off!
I decide to retrace my route from yesterday since I am new to running and the aftermath of what my body will do for at least the first few days. I reassure myself I will enjoy the predictability of where I'm running today and know what to expect when along the way. Out of the neighborhood, first turn out, I encounter something I didn't expect but probably should have.
Slug Alley. This is what I have dubbed a stretch of sidewalk along my route that had the single largest population of slugs I think I have ever seen this morning. Gross, garden destroying, toe sliming critters littered the sidewalk. In Jersey we don't have slugs. OK - we probably have them, but not in plague-like proportions like we do here. Either that or they hid from view in order to avoid us riding over them with our banana seat Huffy bikes like we did to their earthworm cohorts after rainstorms (Yes - we were evil children. Twenty bucks says YOU'VE poured salt on a slug or toasted an ant with a magnifying glass at least ONCE in your day...). Wanting to keep my sneakers (Yes - that's what we call 'em in Jersey) free from slug guts, I dodged them all, sparing every mucous coated little body in my path. Then, almost as if to declare, "SLUGS ARE COOL!", one long and roly-poly fella stood up. Naturally not on two feet, but straightened about two-thirds of his grotesque vermiform shape up off the sidewalk. Then he sat there like that for about 10 seconds, just waving his little antennae at me for spite. Clearly he was more fit than I was to be able to accomplish such a feat of physicality, and he was sticking it to me. Point taken - the slugs have just as much right to party on the sidewalk in the morning just as much as I have the right to run there. I stopped for a second to try to get a picture of him on my phone, but as soon as I got the camera ready, the slug laid back down, further enunciating his coolness by denying me a picture. Touche, my little filthy friend, touche. We will meet again tomorrow...
Onward and upward (literally) to the long, gradual incline of the hill. Everytime I've driven this hill, which is nearly every school morning for 7 years, I've neglected to recognize it's actual rise. Nothing for a car, maybe even a bike, but for a newbie Grandpa runner like me, it was a force to be reckoned with. I made it further than I did yesterday before I had to stop for a breather, but I only stopped for 30 seconds this time, and pressed on. A new personal (albeit small) victory!
Running in the morning is a different experience than running in the afternoon, as I did yesterday. The kids are all locked up in their respective educational institutions, a lot of folks are off to work, and the residential roads are fairly quiet. The morning is a hustle and bustle of cars and buses and kids and commuters - and for some odd reason I feel compelled to represent the runners of the world by putting on a happy face and even saying, "Good Morning!". Why? It's like this weird inner sense of duty that makes me want to make other people think that running isn't so bad. "Come join us! Look how happy we runners are! We're all lovin' the Kool-Aid!". As I greet these strangers with a cheery wave, a smile, and even a "Hello!", I wonder if I can even be called a "runner" yet. I mean it's only Day Two of Grandpa running and I'm already feeling like I'm representing some group of exercise fanatics to the general population. Seriously? I think I'm taking my obligation to the pubic and the running world too seriously. Day Three I return to just being a sweaty, Grandpa runner, who will probably wave and smile at you along the road JUST because I'm friendly, NOT as any kind of representative for runners of the planet - I think. Did I not mention we would tour my neuroses on this journey? ;) See you on the road!
Much to my surprise (utter shock, is probably a better term), I felt great! Minimal creaking and crepitus, no muscle spasms that dropped me to the floor, and I slept like a baby. Cautiously optimistic, I was encouraged that this whole running thing might just work out after all. IPod in place, and I'm off!
I decide to retrace my route from yesterday since I am new to running and the aftermath of what my body will do for at least the first few days. I reassure myself I will enjoy the predictability of where I'm running today and know what to expect when along the way. Out of the neighborhood, first turn out, I encounter something I didn't expect but probably should have.
Slug Alley. This is what I have dubbed a stretch of sidewalk along my route that had the single largest population of slugs I think I have ever seen this morning. Gross, garden destroying, toe sliming critters littered the sidewalk. In Jersey we don't have slugs. OK - we probably have them, but not in plague-like proportions like we do here. Either that or they hid from view in order to avoid us riding over them with our banana seat Huffy bikes like we did to their earthworm cohorts after rainstorms (Yes - we were evil children. Twenty bucks says YOU'VE poured salt on a slug or toasted an ant with a magnifying glass at least ONCE in your day...). Wanting to keep my sneakers (Yes - that's what we call 'em in Jersey) free from slug guts, I dodged them all, sparing every mucous coated little body in my path. Then, almost as if to declare, "SLUGS ARE COOL!", one long and roly-poly fella stood up. Naturally not on two feet, but straightened about two-thirds of his grotesque vermiform shape up off the sidewalk. Then he sat there like that for about 10 seconds, just waving his little antennae at me for spite. Clearly he was more fit than I was to be able to accomplish such a feat of physicality, and he was sticking it to me. Point taken - the slugs have just as much right to party on the sidewalk in the morning just as much as I have the right to run there. I stopped for a second to try to get a picture of him on my phone, but as soon as I got the camera ready, the slug laid back down, further enunciating his coolness by denying me a picture. Touche, my little filthy friend, touche. We will meet again tomorrow...
Onward and upward (literally) to the long, gradual incline of the hill. Everytime I've driven this hill, which is nearly every school morning for 7 years, I've neglected to recognize it's actual rise. Nothing for a car, maybe even a bike, but for a newbie Grandpa runner like me, it was a force to be reckoned with. I made it further than I did yesterday before I had to stop for a breather, but I only stopped for 30 seconds this time, and pressed on. A new personal (albeit small) victory!
Running in the morning is a different experience than running in the afternoon, as I did yesterday. The kids are all locked up in their respective educational institutions, a lot of folks are off to work, and the residential roads are fairly quiet. The morning is a hustle and bustle of cars and buses and kids and commuters - and for some odd reason I feel compelled to represent the runners of the world by putting on a happy face and even saying, "Good Morning!". Why? It's like this weird inner sense of duty that makes me want to make other people think that running isn't so bad. "Come join us! Look how happy we runners are! We're all lovin' the Kool-Aid!". As I greet these strangers with a cheery wave, a smile, and even a "Hello!", I wonder if I can even be called a "runner" yet. I mean it's only Day Two of Grandpa running and I'm already feeling like I'm representing some group of exercise fanatics to the general population. Seriously? I think I'm taking my obligation to the pubic and the running world too seriously. Day Three I return to just being a sweaty, Grandpa runner, who will probably wave and smile at you along the road JUST because I'm friendly, NOT as any kind of representative for runners of the planet - I think. Did I not mention we would tour my neuroses on this journey? ;) See you on the road!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Day One - Let's Get In A Little Practice...
It has begun! The first day of my running career has begun, really, under duress. Oh mind you it's self-inflicted duress, so don't feel bad for me or anything (OK, maybe just a little...). Here' the story....
Several months back, my husband and I are discussing a fun run (they lure you in with the whole "fun" part), and he said he heard about this thing called the Warrior Dash from a friend and his wife who were considering signing up. I had heard about it, too, and it looked absolutely hilarious on the website. Basically, it's an all out, wacky obstacle course/run for adults, finished off by awesome local bands playing all day at the finish, and a beer garden. What could possibly be more fun than that? I mean you belly crawl in mud, jump fire and climb hay bales - just a sampling of the Warrior Dash activities that sound perfectly suited for middle-aged delusional weekend warriors like myself. So we signed up with this couple (with the plan for the manly men to go all out, and us sensible ladies to run at a comfortable pace without dislocating anything or vomiting) and then subsequently duped 2 more couples to run the Warrior Dash with us. I remember saying things like, "We've got lots of time to train" and "It's going to be so much fun!" All of that is very hazy at this point and I'm wondering if that really was my voice, but the reality is now I am up to the point where I am supposed to train. OK, I'm well beyond the point where I am supposed to begin training. The training is on like Donkey Kong.
After a meeting today, I stopped by my friend Andrea's house (she and her husband are one of the other couples we convinced to run Warrior Dash with us, probably over at least a few glasses of a nice red blend...). She and I were discussing our lack of confidence in being able to run 3.5 miles while also completing obstacles involving water, ropes, barbed wire, fire and climbing. I hadn't run since high school. She was having a hard time keeping pace with a friend of ours when they last ran together (at least she had run in the last 2 decades - me? Not so much...). Mind you, the other friend Andrea was training with runs half marathons and crazy things like that. I told her to run with me! I run like a Grandpa. No disrespect, I KNOW there are awesome Grandpas out there who could leave me in the dust 10 yards (OK, 10 feet) off the starting line, but I'm talking Lipitor takin', bad knees from college football havin', gets up at 4:30 a.m. to put the coffee on kinda Grandpa runnin'. That's my speed. Slighty more than a walk, but definitely not what most people would call a "run". So she said, "Show me." In my sensible black patent flats, trouser jeans, shrug and full bling, I ran (read: "Grandpa ran") through her kitchen. She said, "OK - I think I can do that!" She in her leopard flats, and I in black patent, we did 2 full laps of Grandpa Runnin' through her kitchen, to the entry, through the dining room and down the hall. We looked awesome - and by awesome, I really mean pee your pants, rolling on the floor, someone must have gotten these women on Candid Camera awesome.
We paused in her kitchen to discuss our success and new found love for running our way. We were confident. Bold. Warriors in the making! And we were out of breath. Collapsing into laughter, and winding that up with a yawn, we declared we would run - and cheer each other on, because we HAD to train for this event. Vomiting in public is so tacky and wheezing is not attractive, especially when there is the definite possibility of aspirating mud, so train we will. I left, promising Andrea I would run today and text her when I was done.
Knowing my propensity for welching on any exercise commitment, she texted me not long after I left, and attached a picture of her tired, pink, sweaty post-run face and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I'd better get out there and she wanted a picture of my sweaty, pink post-run face, too. I owed her that much. I mean, we were now Grandpa Running partners - a bond stronger than blood and usually forged with a Cosmo.
Begrudgingly, I donned what I deemed looked most like running clothes and took off. My sweet little neighbor boy called from across the street, "She's jogging!" Praise that little boy - even HE said I looked like I was doing something resembling running! With headphones tucked firmly in my ears, I took off for the asphalt jungle with AC DC rockin' my first steps.
If anything can get me through running, it's music. It's really funny that I have had a "Fire It Up" playlist on my IPod for over 2 years and only ever listened to it in the car. Let's hope these upbeat tunes I picked an eternity ago will really do their job or this could end badly, probably with me consoling myself with a donut. If I can make it through roughly 6 songs and remain upright and conscious, I know I've run about 20 minutes, which is exactly what my other seasoned runner friend (who I also suckered into the Warrior Dash) told me to do. "Start there and build - you'll be fine", says the marathon runner to the dough girl. 3 minutes in, I have a cramp in my side. Potato salad and chicken sandwich for lunch be damned! I was running (to the best of my knowledge), so I ignored it. By the time Nine Inch Nails came on, the cramp was gone and I didn't stop running or pass out, so I considered that my first personal running victory. I pressed on.
The next block ahead I was greeted by a clearly disgruntled Public Works employee who was mowing the lawn. He gently rolled his eyes as I passed because he had to pause the riding lawn mower for a few seconds so I could get out of his way. I smiled, even waved, and pressed on. Look at me!! I'm the happy running girl!!
By the time I reached my first big turn in the giant suburban rectangle I was making, I was feeling like I could see why people actually enjoy this wild thing called "running". Then I began my ascent of a long, gradual hill. A third of the way up, I was giving myself a little pep talk - NIN was still going, I was really making progress and I was too far from the house to give up now. Half way up, I was cursing exercise, Jack LaLane and everyone who said this would be "so much fun!" (wait didn't I say that in February?!?). Two thirds of the way up, I needed a breather. I checked my watch and I had already gone 12 minutes!! Happy running girl was back. I walked for exactly 60 seconds - no more, no less.
I started running again, and, ironically, the next song on the IPod was "You Dropped A Bomb On Me". I laughed to myself thinking, "That's what my body is saying to me right now." My lungs and legs never saw this coming. My quads and calves were hurling words at my psyche that would make a trucker blush. They were all talking their sweet talk, "C'mon, Nick! Stop this foolishness while we're all still friends and intact! Let's just mosey on home for a cookie and a nap. Be sensible, woman!" In spite of the temptation, I silenced the Sirens hiding in the cellulite and I pressed on.
The blessed turn on to 91st brought a wonderful breeze and the beginning of a light drizzle (I KNOW! In the Pacific NW in June! SO WEIRD!). I could see the home stretch and felt renewed. I pressed on to the last trip through a side street, down a big hill (jogging this was a risk because my legs were feeling a little less than stable at this point), and into my neighborhood. I made it home and even ran up my driveway, hit my stopwatch - BAM! 24:07. Can I get a "WOOT! WOOT!" I ran! I ran! I really, really (Grandpa) ran! And I didn't die, throw up, wheeze, or dislocate anything! Success. A warrior in training.
I proudly took a picture of my pink, sweaty, exhausted face and texted it to Andrea declaring, "Grandpa Runners Unite!" And here we are...
Several months back, my husband and I are discussing a fun run (they lure you in with the whole "fun" part), and he said he heard about this thing called the Warrior Dash from a friend and his wife who were considering signing up. I had heard about it, too, and it looked absolutely hilarious on the website. Basically, it's an all out, wacky obstacle course/run for adults, finished off by awesome local bands playing all day at the finish, and a beer garden. What could possibly be more fun than that? I mean you belly crawl in mud, jump fire and climb hay bales - just a sampling of the Warrior Dash activities that sound perfectly suited for middle-aged delusional weekend warriors like myself. So we signed up with this couple (with the plan for the manly men to go all out, and us sensible ladies to run at a comfortable pace without dislocating anything or vomiting) and then subsequently duped 2 more couples to run the Warrior Dash with us. I remember saying things like, "We've got lots of time to train" and "It's going to be so much fun!" All of that is very hazy at this point and I'm wondering if that really was my voice, but the reality is now I am up to the point where I am supposed to train. OK, I'm well beyond the point where I am supposed to begin training. The training is on like Donkey Kong.
After a meeting today, I stopped by my friend Andrea's house (she and her husband are one of the other couples we convinced to run Warrior Dash with us, probably over at least a few glasses of a nice red blend...). She and I were discussing our lack of confidence in being able to run 3.5 miles while also completing obstacles involving water, ropes, barbed wire, fire and climbing. I hadn't run since high school. She was having a hard time keeping pace with a friend of ours when they last ran together (at least she had run in the last 2 decades - me? Not so much...). Mind you, the other friend Andrea was training with runs half marathons and crazy things like that. I told her to run with me! I run like a Grandpa. No disrespect, I KNOW there are awesome Grandpas out there who could leave me in the dust 10 yards (OK, 10 feet) off the starting line, but I'm talking Lipitor takin', bad knees from college football havin', gets up at 4:30 a.m. to put the coffee on kinda Grandpa runnin'. That's my speed. Slighty more than a walk, but definitely not what most people would call a "run". So she said, "Show me." In my sensible black patent flats, trouser jeans, shrug and full bling, I ran (read: "Grandpa ran") through her kitchen. She said, "OK - I think I can do that!" She in her leopard flats, and I in black patent, we did 2 full laps of Grandpa Runnin' through her kitchen, to the entry, through the dining room and down the hall. We looked awesome - and by awesome, I really mean pee your pants, rolling on the floor, someone must have gotten these women on Candid Camera awesome.
We paused in her kitchen to discuss our success and new found love for running our way. We were confident. Bold. Warriors in the making! And we were out of breath. Collapsing into laughter, and winding that up with a yawn, we declared we would run - and cheer each other on, because we HAD to train for this event. Vomiting in public is so tacky and wheezing is not attractive, especially when there is the definite possibility of aspirating mud, so train we will. I left, promising Andrea I would run today and text her when I was done.
Knowing my propensity for welching on any exercise commitment, she texted me not long after I left, and attached a picture of her tired, pink, sweaty post-run face and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I'd better get out there and she wanted a picture of my sweaty, pink post-run face, too. I owed her that much. I mean, we were now Grandpa Running partners - a bond stronger than blood and usually forged with a Cosmo.
Begrudgingly, I donned what I deemed looked most like running clothes and took off. My sweet little neighbor boy called from across the street, "She's jogging!" Praise that little boy - even HE said I looked like I was doing something resembling running! With headphones tucked firmly in my ears, I took off for the asphalt jungle with AC DC rockin' my first steps.
If anything can get me through running, it's music. It's really funny that I have had a "Fire It Up" playlist on my IPod for over 2 years and only ever listened to it in the car. Let's hope these upbeat tunes I picked an eternity ago will really do their job or this could end badly, probably with me consoling myself with a donut. If I can make it through roughly 6 songs and remain upright and conscious, I know I've run about 20 minutes, which is exactly what my other seasoned runner friend (who I also suckered into the Warrior Dash) told me to do. "Start there and build - you'll be fine", says the marathon runner to the dough girl. 3 minutes in, I have a cramp in my side. Potato salad and chicken sandwich for lunch be damned! I was running (to the best of my knowledge), so I ignored it. By the time Nine Inch Nails came on, the cramp was gone and I didn't stop running or pass out, so I considered that my first personal running victory. I pressed on.
The next block ahead I was greeted by a clearly disgruntled Public Works employee who was mowing the lawn. He gently rolled his eyes as I passed because he had to pause the riding lawn mower for a few seconds so I could get out of his way. I smiled, even waved, and pressed on. Look at me!! I'm the happy running girl!!
By the time I reached my first big turn in the giant suburban rectangle I was making, I was feeling like I could see why people actually enjoy this wild thing called "running". Then I began my ascent of a long, gradual hill. A third of the way up, I was giving myself a little pep talk - NIN was still going, I was really making progress and I was too far from the house to give up now. Half way up, I was cursing exercise, Jack LaLane and everyone who said this would be "so much fun!" (wait didn't I say that in February?!?). Two thirds of the way up, I needed a breather. I checked my watch and I had already gone 12 minutes!! Happy running girl was back. I walked for exactly 60 seconds - no more, no less.
I started running again, and, ironically, the next song on the IPod was "You Dropped A Bomb On Me". I laughed to myself thinking, "That's what my body is saying to me right now." My lungs and legs never saw this coming. My quads and calves were hurling words at my psyche that would make a trucker blush. They were all talking their sweet talk, "C'mon, Nick! Stop this foolishness while we're all still friends and intact! Let's just mosey on home for a cookie and a nap. Be sensible, woman!" In spite of the temptation, I silenced the Sirens hiding in the cellulite and I pressed on.
The blessed turn on to 91st brought a wonderful breeze and the beginning of a light drizzle (I KNOW! In the Pacific NW in June! SO WEIRD!). I could see the home stretch and felt renewed. I pressed on to the last trip through a side street, down a big hill (jogging this was a risk because my legs were feeling a little less than stable at this point), and into my neighborhood. I made it home and even ran up my driveway, hit my stopwatch - BAM! 24:07. Can I get a "WOOT! WOOT!" I ran! I ran! I really, really (Grandpa) ran! And I didn't die, throw up, wheeze, or dislocate anything! Success. A warrior in training.
I proudly took a picture of my pink, sweaty, exhausted face and texted it to Andrea declaring, "Grandpa Runners Unite!" And here we are...
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