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!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
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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