Ode to Running

Running is on my mind this week.  I am running my third half marathon of the year in 2 days and I’m pretty excited.  Man and are heading to Kelowna tomorrow for a small getaway, and I am quietly hoping for a wicked PB.  My only regret is that Baxter is staying behind, as he’s my most fun cheerleader on any course and makes it go that much faster. 

I’ve been an on-an-off runner for about 20 years.  I picked it up briefly in highschool, but it never took because I was forced to do it in gym class, so it wasn’t something I wanted to be a part of.  I know now I would have been good at it, but I couldn’t bring myself to join track or anything scary like that.  I can still remember Mrs. Howard saying “If you’re going to run slow, you might as well be in a field picking daisies!”  It wasn’t safe to try it and grow at it.  Once I moved away to school, I ran more, but I was also a bit of a smoker then (oh, yes I was!), so obviously I wasn’t super serious about it.  I would go out a couple days a week to try and ward off some of the pounds that were sneaking on. 

When I met Man (and had long since quit smoking) I really got a little more serious about it.  I remember our first run together along the water in Victoria; it was the longest 20 minutes of my life and I whined and bitched the whole way.  I think I even cried.  I persevered and kept at it, running my routes and celebrating as I reached milestones: 10 minutes without stopping, 20 minutes without stopping, my first 5k, my first 8k, quitting, re-starting etc etc.  I would run in the dark so people couldn’t see my jiggly ass and purple face, then graduated to not giving a crap what people thought as they drove by.  At least I was DOING it, and it was more than than they were doing, sitting in their cars.  I ran but it’s truly been an evolution to call myself a Runner and appreciate just what this little body is really capable of.  Today, I know I’m suited to long distance running; my lungs love it (I can almost run with my mouth closed!), my body seems to roll with it, and my soul aches to do it.  Gone is the purple face, not gone is the jiggly ass (it just refused to go!), and always usually there is a smile on my face. 

My first 10k was an hour and 8 minutes around Elk Lake in Victoria.  I cried when I finished, I was so proud of myself.  This was the first glimmer of becoming a Runner.  It was magic.

Over the years, I’ve picked it up and dropped it a number of times.  I’ve missed it, I’ve hated it.  But I always seem to come back.  Running is like that, it’s always there, and you can’t beat the price.  For the cost of shoes and something to wear, you’re in the game.  Sure, it’s frustrating to start at the beginning after a break to get back up to speed, but it’s satisfying, and my hours of training have come to be some of my favorite workouts.   I like competing with myself and pushing myself.  There is a hill near my house that always killed me, so I never added it to my route, and now I do it almost every time I go out.  I use Nine Inch Nails “Closer” to get up it, but I do it and am still standing at the end.

My first half, in 2005 (the same year I turned 30) was slow…my goal was to complete it without any mediacal intervention, and I did, in 2:38:11.  I walked like a zombie for 4 days and had trouble sitting, but I did it.

Nowadays, I’m faster, and halfs don’t make me sore at all.  I have my system down with energy gels and what not, although I still tend to struggle with pacing.  I’m like Baxter that way, I get caught up in whoever’s passing me and speed up (he thinks he’s a sprinter when people run past us as we walk – cute!) and then die in a few minutes.  Like my work life, it’s about pacing myself.

Running is a group sport that’s individual; I get support from every other runner on on the road, but I don’t have to work out with them.  No one questions that I run when I go to buy new shoes.  No one ever says, “You gained 15 pounds, you can’t possibly be a runner!” Instead, they ask what kind of mileage I do in a week.  Anyone can do it. 

As I move into this next race, I’m optimistic for a PB, I’m proud of myself for sticking with it and pushing through a pretty bad last-race, and looking so forward to wearing my medal for the day.  Perhaps the whole week.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Coming Soon

It’s been a busy month.  Yeah, I know. What else is new?  I have been feeling off-centre for awhile; started a new job, finished a race and was left with the post-race lull, been wrapped up in lots of exciting things.  This has been nagging the back of my mind, and I have missed writing.  Time to renew priorities…

Here’s some bullets of future posts:

• I am not living the life I want to all the time and it’s pissing me off
• The Lazy Gourmet/How (I like to think) I get away with cooking once a week
• Race Recap
• Training Again
• Stomach Flu Adventures, and how I finally broke through the 25 lb plateau
• Our Adventure in Arizona Nebraska, and Minnesota, and Iowa over a 3 night trip
• What it’s like to live without the cat we both miss terribly
• Summer Plans and Upcoming Adventures
• My Love Affair with the Sunshine Coast
• My Admiration of my Ankles
• The Debate over Barefoot Running
• House Selling 101/Have We Gone Completely Insane?
• Millions of Links to stuff OTHER people have been writing that has been making me feel Lazy
• My New Coffee Mug = Life Changing
• The Minutae of my Big Life

Recap

Woke up late, avoiding the alarm, and not fully connecting that it was the thing making noise every nine minutes.  Got up slowly (no need to shock the system), quickly showered, didn’t wash hair, curled it instead.  Beautified, changed mind on outfit approximately 14 times, settled on the first thing I tried on.  Put contacts in, had trouble with the right, likely because I put them in in the wrong order (should have been right one first, then left).  I said, “It won’t go in…heh, that’s what she said” That joke never gets old.  Rushed downstairs, kissed the dog on the head, gave him a cookie, left the house.  Late.

Drove to work, very slowly.  Realized how absurd it is that all of us drive in the same direction so slowly, to get to somewhere we don’t even want to be. Talk about a big hurry  to go nowhere.  Stopped at Starbucks, despite lateness, for a grande, non fat, americano meeesto (that’s how I pronounce it to the barista), top it with a bit of honey, head to the office.  Arrive.  Take the shittiest parking spot available, next to an identical car with dings in the door.  Worry slightly that this person will have zero regard for my door’s safety and hope I leave before they do.

Arrive at desk.  Work like a slave for the rest of the day, trying to be good humored when my boss tells me, from the road, what I can work on when I am not busy and the “dust settles”.  Mumble under my breath that I am in a shit dust STORM.  Briefly drop in on a dealer at lunch to drop off a sample.  Am disappointed that he is on the phone when I arrive, as I have a bit of a crush, and wanted to flirt a little.  Yes, I know I am married.  I’m not dead.  Head back to the office, eat a sandwich.  Warm up remainder of americano in the microwave, then forget it.  Return to the lunchroom for something else and discover my coffee waiting in the microwave, squeal with delight and drink it.

Work through the afternoon, realize with dismay that I am going to miss the start of the hickey game.  Leave to battle traffic at about 5:30, hear a traffic report in not enough time to take a different route.  Drive home very slowly with everyone in the city.  Apparently all the nice weather has erased the capability to drive in the rain.  Alternately turn on and off the radio when DJ’s talk – I can’t stand the sound.  One update tells me I have missed the first period of the Canucks, and they are up 2-0.  Yay.

Arrive home, too late to go to yoga and still have an evening, so skip practice for the second night in a row.  Resolve that tomorrow it can all fit in, and that limits will be set. Venture out into the backyard to pick up the dog poop.  Glamorous.

Tidy up bedroom and gather obscenely large piles of laundry and take them to the machine.  Realize that husband has washed my (gleaming white) yoga towel with a bunch of dark, dirty stuff.  Curse him a little, but remember to be grateful that it got washed.  It stunk. Still, though, no one ever taught this man to SORT?  Watch the remainder of the hockey game – think to myself that Roberto Luongo has really nice skin.

And now, here is a random (5omm lens) shot of the dog:

 

Baxi love

 

Make salmon, peppers, and rice for dinner. Salmon is dry.  Watch PVR recording of 24.  Imitate Jack by yelling “Dinner is ready. NOW!” Heh.

Spend a couple hours working on coaching stuff.  Half watch the biggest loser until the end of the marathon, when I put down the computer and cry, realizing I REALLY should have found a way to sweat tonight.  Oops.

Put the dog to bed with a small cookie.  Let the cat in for the night, listening to his cat-rant as he comes in complaining about the rain.  Fold some dry laundry.  Make lunches for next day, tidy kitchen so the dog walker is fooled into believing that we are not total pigs, even though we are.  11:45, head to bed.  Spend 38 seconds thinking about doing it all again tomorrow.  Fall into  a deep sleep that precludes and recognition of the alarm clock in the morning.