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...