Kickin' A$$, Takin' Names

Last night I pulled a Rocky- I pulled out my old cottons, my gloves, and ten bucks and hit Tokyo Joe's dojo for some good old ass kicking. 

 

I *hope* someday to have a high kick like HilSwank.  Maybe sans the scrunchy socks...

Years ago Face and I went religiously to this cardo kickboxing class twice a week.  We went back a few times with Smarty and/or Poet before Face's wedding a year and a half ago.  Poet's been back in town from NYC for almost a year now, and trying to stay active in a very car-oriented society.  She's regularly invites me to Hot Yoga class, which is right behind the building I work in.  She's looking to do her 30 mile round trip commute on a bike in the spring.  And she's encouraging Face and I to go to kickboxing. 

I'm so happy she did.  I noted the leather on my gloves was stiffer than I remember- a side-effect of neglecting them.  It took a bit of wear to loosen them up, and it took a bit of class to loosen me up as well.  We worked on heavy bags with combinations.  At first I took it slow, trying to get the form back into my body, place my feet correctly, but by the end of class I was wailing on that bag.  ::Jab, cross, hook, (feet shuffle) kick::  Drop and do pushups for 60 seconds.  ::cross, hook, uppercut, elbow, roundhouse::  Drop and 50 side-crunches each side.

By the end of the 50 minutes we were sweaty and feeling great.  While my body felt like it was slipping into a pair of old jeans, Poet is still just learning the moves and form.  She did a great job, worked hard, and seemed to feel amazing.  I'm glad to see the supportive attitude that kept Face and I returning class after class remains at the dojo.  The teacher came around to each group to ensure we were using proper form AND trying our hardest.  

Right now I plan to go to kickboxing every Thursday.  It's fantastic cross-training for my hip and ankle, and pretty much the only upper-body workout that I do.  Bonus: kicking and punching feels GOOOOOOD.

A Walk in the Woods

Saturday I went on a brief hike in Fox Forest with My Runner and our friends the Strongs.  The Strongs are hiking the Long Trail in VT for 30 days this summer, so we're testing new gear and getting some miles in together.  My Runner and I will be hiking in a bit here and there during their trip.

It was rainy and much colder than it's been the last few weeks, but I was so happy to be outside it didn't matter.  Well, proper rain gear and the absence of a pack helped.  The Strongs brought their dachshund Seamus, who was pretty rugged for the 5 mile hike in the rain.  My Runner had started cleaning up some of the trails in Fox (ok, I helped a *little*), and it was very obvious what was worked on and what still needs work. 

Ridge Trail in Fox Forest

The Strongs are a great couple.  My Runner and Mr. Strong met in college and have been friends since.  Both Mr. & Mrs. Strong are athletic, mainly backpacking and doing yoga.  They work in high-stress jobs in the high-stress state of Massachusetts, so the fact that they're very laid back people with open minds and hearts is even more amazing.  Spending the morning hiking with them gave me great joy.

Being the busy social bee I am, that afternoon I drove to northern NH for a reunion of an outdoor adventure class I took as a senior in High School.  This is the course that gave me the (small amount of) knowhow and confidence to do things like backpacking, hiking, and other outdoor activities.  It was great to see people I had such intense experiences with over ten years ago, and how much we still had in common.  It was also great to see Coach, our teacher, again.  Coach MADE this class.  Literally and figuratively.  He still teaches in, in a slightly different form at a different school, but the class is by him and will likely die when he retires.  You could call it a cult of personality, but I think it's his sheer drive and love for what he does.  Not just outdoor education, but self-education.  I learned more about me, about what I can do and accomplish, about my limits and the limitations I put on myself, in that one class in one year than I had the first 18 years of my life.  And I was happy to get the chance to tell Coach that, even at (almost) 30 I still feel the effects of his coaching every day.

Group Photo. Coach is the tall guy in the back

Back to Hillsboro where My Runner and the Strongs were partying down.  The next morning hailed a race: the Muddy Moose.  For me and Mr. Strong, a 4 miler.  For My Runner and Puma Girl, 14 miles.  Mrs. Strong piped up during the partying-down, "I could run the 14 miler."  HELLS YEAH was the unanimous response, even though she had never run more than 7 miles.  We all went to bed too late and with too much beer in our bellies.

The next morning arrived EARLY.  The clouds were still hanging low, but the temps were warmer than the predicted 30's and 40's; thank goodness for small blessings.  We loaded into the cars four an hour plus drive to the muddiest trails I've seen.

Running 4 miles felt like 10 on these trails.  You could run extra lengths and bushwhack through the trees to avoid the mud and puddles, or you could dive right in and hope you don't turn your ankle on a hidden rock or stump.  Either way you were gonna get wet and dirty.  I chose for option number 2 most of the time, but boy does that take a LOT of energy.  Each foot had an extra pound or so from sand and water.  You never know how deep you're gonna go, so you land harder on every step.  You're constantly ready to loose your balance, so all your stabilizer muscles are on alert.  I've never had more fun on a race!  I wish I hadn't been nursing an ankle, I totally would have gone for the 14 miler (and probably died in the process, but died smiling!)

Playing in the mud

Mrs. Strong DID do the 14, and kicked it's muddy ass!

Mrs. Strong, living up to her name

After the race, changing into dry socks, shoes, and clothes, we headed back to Hillsboro for some hearty food, kitty snuggling, and quality couch time.  That's the other benefit of being a runner- couch time is *restorative,* and therefore totally acceptable.  :-)

Wild Rover Series, 3 of 3

Hynes Tavern 5-miler, 3/14, Lowell, MA

Net Time: 49:05, mile avg: 9:50

Woke up at 8:45am, unsure if the faint smell of beer was coming from me or from the massive amount of empties left from the Epic St. Patty's Day Party.  While I wasn't hungover (thanks, Mom and Dad, for the excellent purification system), I was SUPER tired.  I must be getting too old for 4:30am bedtimes.  Still, I eventually roused myself and headed downstairs and tiptoed amongst the overnight guests to get ready.

There was new fallen snow/slush on the ground in Hillsboro.  I knew Lowell wouldn't have snow, but it would be cold, rainy, and likely windy.  I borrowed some nifty techie thermal undies from My Runner (thanks babe!), toasted a bagel, downed a cuppa, and headed out.

I'm glad I bundled up as much as I did.  I arrived with plenty of time to nap a bit in my car before heading to the starting line.  The turnout was smaller than the race directors had anticipated, but still pretty impressive.  I was struck by how nonchalant the start was.  The last two races had national anthems, this one had nothing but a guy yelling "Go!" on a bull horn.  Another runner commented about the inability to purchase a gun in Lowell, and I realized that gunshots in Lowell are probably NOT the safest way to start a race.

I was apprehensive about this race.  It's the longest in the series and I had the worst training week.  I ran one... maybe two days since the prior race, plus hockey.  Not really a good way to prepare for my longest race to date.  I had even briefly considered not going, but halted that thought process pretty quickly.  My Runner rightly pointed out that the finishers medal would look super lame with just two of the three pieces, and that thought got me out there.  Now, to keep me going forward.

The first mile was pretty easy.  Wearing my new waterproof EMS jacket and a hat, I stayed relatively dry.  My hands were raw, but it was warm enough with my hood up that they would warm up soon.  But I was going too fast.  I could feel myself pushing, wanting to get out of the weather, not enjoying the run.  I needed a pacer.  So I found one.  A woman, a little shorter than me, with a long thick brown ponytail, wearing the Frozen Shamrock race shirt and a vest.  She was running with an easy stride, passing a few folks but mostly just running.  Something about her speed and the way she was running spoke to me.  So, like the creepy stalker that I am, I ran behind her.

I don't know why I didn't run up and talk to her.  I wasn't feeling very communicative that day (having turned down the generous offer from Face to accompany me to the race- I didn't want anyone to have to stand in the rain for an hour just to see me run by).  Sometimes I followed her closely, sometimes I let her get a bit ahead. Just after the 3 mile mark we went down a hill where she was just more willing to pound than I was.  I was getting tired and needed to throttle back to make it another mile and change.  She never had more than about a 20 second lead on me, which on a city course meant I could still see her most of the time.  After the race I found her, went up to her, and thanked her, letting her know that she pulled me and challenged me at the same time.  She seemed surprised, but totally happy.

While there were hills on this course, the most challenging aspect was the weather.  Rain, yeah, chilly, yeah, WIND oh yeah.  Running through a cemetery we were all blasted by a headwind that made the rain fall sideways.  Getting to the finish line felt like sprinting even though I was running at the same pace.

This is the one race I did not get my free beer.  Figuring I'd had enough beers the previous night, and my pants and shoes combined weighed an extra 10 lbs with the water, I was ready for home.  I was tired, but it felt damn good to have my finisher's medal.

Wild Rover Series, 2 of 3

Claddagh Pub 4-miler, 3/7, Lawrence, MA

Net time: 39:10, mile avg: 9:48

My Runner called me at 8:25am to let me know he was almost at my house.  Wow, I thought to myself, he's running early.  Must be perky this morning.  Come to find out he thought we were leaving an hour earlier... whoops.  Not sure if that was my bad or his, but I felt kinda guilty about it...

I was feeling good, despite having returned from my sojourn to my alma matter with Pocket after midnight the previous night.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and in the high 50's.  We were meeting my Dad in Lawrence for the race- the first time My Runner and Dad would meet.  Dad was there around the time we were taking off from ManchVegas, giving him plenty of time to warm up his creaky old joints (ok, he's only 59, but he said it first.)

We found (dubious) parking and headed down to the Claddagh parking lot to meet up with Dad and get my number (My Runner was "bandit" running- he didn't pay the entrance fee and had no number).  We killed a little time with introductions and catching up, then headed over to the starting line where My Runner and I lead Dad to the back of the pack.  "How far back we goin'?" Dad quips.  I just wanted to be in the sun.  Plus it's more fun to pass people than to be passed.

Sidebar- most races play the national anthem before the start, like a traditional sporting event.  Often it's a recording, or it's some kid who sings in the local church choir/community theatre/karaoke contest who belts it out and sharps that high note.  Generally, it's awful and doesn't make me feel patriotic in the least.  The group that the Claddagh race director hired sang *beautifully.*  A trio of women (or girls, I couldn't actually see them) singing in a capella harmony, hitting every note in clear, strong, and blended voices.  I'm not a super patriotic person, but I was moved.

The race was an easy start, bringing us through downtown Lawrence before moving out into neighborhoods.  As I started the run I noticed I was leading, with Dad and My Runner a bit behind.  My Runner had just run a snowshoe marathon the day before, so I knew he wasn't at full strength.  But I was a little surprised my Dad was having trouble keeping up.  I checked to make sure I wasn't pushing it *because* of my Dad... and I wasn't.  Hmm... Still not sure if he was faking it, but in any case it made me feel pretty good about my very very average 9:30 mile.  Dad asked My Runner to snap some photos of us:

Lawrence is an ugly city.  I'm sorry.  I wish it wasn't, but even downtown had no redeeming qualities.  It's a good thing they put this race on, or I'm not sure why ANYONE would ever choose to visit.

As Dad and My Runner talked about races, Ultras, and folks they both knew (or knew of) I was struck (again) by how similar they are.  Yes, perhaps I am a cliché.  One thing I admire about my Dad (and My Runner) is that he says what he thinks, other people's opinions be damned.  There are plenty of times in life where this is a good quality.  There are also some times when this is socially awkward, like when Dad basically (but maybe jokingly) called My Runner a pussy for running with his Pops even though he had a slower pace.  I can't remember if THIS is the comment my Dad made that prompted me to call him an ass, or if it was another....  Seriously, what did he think *I* was doing at this race?  Did he think I was a pussy runner?  Was he a pussy runner if he was slowing down for me?  Dad has some good qualities, but he definitely IS an ass when he doesn't think about how other people will react to what he says.

The course is shaped like a lollypop: go in one way, loop around, and go back the way you came.  The loop around was really the only challenging part of the course, as it went up a significantly steep and long-ish hill.  Training in Hillsboro paid off.  It was challenging, no doubt, but more than do-able.  As we descend the hill, Dad turns to me, "I'm thirsty!" for beer, is the inference.  Another runner, a man about my Dad's age, comes up behind us.  "Me too!  Got any beer in those water bottles?"  We joke around for a bit with him as we headed back down to the finish line.

I kept pulling ahead, motivated by the sunshine, warm weather, and full bladder, but pulling back again not wanting to leave the guys.  As we round (and round) the final blocks, the finish line comes into view with the big clock just seconds away from 40:00 minutes.  I really wanted a sub-40 minute time.  Well, ok, I really wanted to sprint and let it all out.  I spit out an "I'm going for it" to the guys and bolted.

The guys were content to come in at their own pace.  Probably a good thing since my stomach was maybe a little pukey feeling after the sprint.

We collected our medals and headed in for our free beers.  There seemed to be pasta too, but my tummy was happy with just beer (is that a problem? nahhh...).  Dad was very complimentary towards my running, and I was happy to be able to run by his side.  After our free beers we headed back to MachVegas for some food and more socializing.

Wild Rover Series, 1 of 3

J.P. McBrides 3-miler, "Frozen Shamrock," 2/28, Haverhill, MA
Net time: 27:45, mile avg: 9:20


The morning after the wildly successful Luau, I dragged myself out of my warm, comfy bed, scrambled up some eggs and toast, and checked the weather.  It was cloudy and chilly, but calm and dry- pretty much the conditions I'd been running in for the last month.  I gathered my usual running gear: Brooks, mittens and Lifesavers (for the last time this season), along with my newly found iPod (MiniMcL discovered it in the couch cushions during the Luau... what she was searching for in the couch cushions, I didn't ask...). I kissed My Runner goodbye and headed out to Haverhill.

I'm not gonna lie, I had butterflies in my stomach.  Not for running 3 miles, but because I hadn't raced since the Beaver Brook 5K in December.  I've said it before, but there's a certain feel about a race, an excitement that doesn't exist at a "run."  It's not just people, it's the ritual of the event, with it's "official" starting and finish line, electronic tracking devices, announcements, etc.  Did the pre-race dance of getting the number, the t-shirt, and the swag, then waited in line for the bathroom for 20 minutes.

The Wild Rover series, and I assume any beer/bar sponsored race, tends to be a social affair.  Folks were there in groups, chatting, many dressed in crazy Irish/St. Patty's Day outfits.  It was a fun scene, and not hard to make conversation with those around me.

I started closer to the front then I meant to, but held my own throughout the race.  My iPod was shuffling through my "workout" playlist; all the songs that were once tired and old felt new after a three month hiatus.  Shuffle was doing a masterful job of random-happenstance-coincidence as one great song after another played, perfectly matching my mood, my pace, and my surroundings.  It was hard not to sing along out loud, but I did let myself groove with it:

The batteries ran out pretty quickly (not having been charged).  I really didn't mind since I run without music most of the time anyways.  The folks near me weren't super chatty, so I filled my mind with thoughts of Haverhill as we moved into the Bradford area of town.  Parts of Haverhill were filled with Ye Olde New England Charm(TM), and parts were just plain run down or abandoned.  Zion Bible College has moved in to Bradford College's campus since the last time I was in Haverhill.  It was nice to see that area thriving again.  This was the most well-laid course of the three, I thought, as it took you over the Merrimack twice, over and under bridges, a few ups and downs and loops.

Post race was CHILLY, with volunteers handing out space-blankets.  Speaking of chilli, that's what they were serving at the finish line, along with chicken and split-pea soups.  Declined the tin foil cape space blanket, grabbed a chilli, and got into the beer line.  Rather than handing out tickets for free beer, JP McBrides had dedicated beer taps on the back porch.  There were 2 problems with this plan: 1)with only one tap, the beer line was LOOOOONG.  2)They had obviously set up the tap as the starting gun was fired, and the beer was really foamy.  I combated these issues by making pals with the two older gentlemen in front of me in line, chatting about this race and others, space blankets, and the merits of a totalitarian system of government.  Since the taps were so foamy, the bartenders were filling two cups for everyone, essentially providing me with a total of an entire pint of free beer.  It was Rolling Rock, so it's not like I won the lottery, but it was a nice gesture on their part.

Unfortunately, the nice gentlemen disappeared after retrieving beers, and I was left in the yard double fisting foamy brew with no companions.  I ambled around, looking for a situation or a conversation, but no go.  People were with their people, or looking for people, or not interested in new people.  It was the first time that day I was sad to be on my own at this race.  I shrugged and enjoyed my beer until I started shivering, then took that as a sign to head home, first of three finishers medals hanging proudly around my neck.

Back in the (Training) Saddle Again

Running Partners

With permission from my excellent PT staff, I'm back training again.  It's hard.  Sometimes to the point of being demoralizing.  The first time I did a mile and change I thought I would die on the last hill.  2.5 miles was similarly killer.  Mentally I accept that this is where my body is after taking such a long rest, but emotionally it's a very difficult pill to swallow.  I get into my head, think about how much I lost and how far I have to go....  then it's a downward spiral.  My chest gets tight, the tears sting my eyes, my teeth clench... none of which actually contributes to my running.

The other night when My Runner and I were out on a 2.5 miler, he made a good point (this happens a lot....).  He asked what I was so worried about.  Getting re-injured is my biggest fear.  "Before or after the half-marathon?"  Well, either, really.  "You have to pick one," he pushed.  Well, if I have to choose, it would be before.  I don't have any races scheduled for weeks after the half.  I don't care if I drag my mangled limbs over the finish line as long as they CROSS the finish line.  "Then focus on the smaller races.  Increase your mileage slowly.  If you have to walk to finish the races, so be it.  It beats not being able to even toe the line."  He was right.  I've been worrying so hard about the half-marathon, but I have FOUR races to complete before I even do that. 

I'm working on a new training schedule.  It's all very informal now.  It's been suggested that I track my miles here so I stay accountable, but I'm reluctant.  Partly because I PROMISE THIS ISN'T A RUNNING BLOG.  Partly because maybe I'm not ready to be accountable.  Maybe I'm afraid to really see how far behind I am in numerical form.  It will solidify my feelings of defeat. 

I'm also afraid I'll get hurt again before the next race.  In fact, I did hurt myself again on Saturday.  Luckily, it wasn't lasting and I was able to rest it and run on Sunday, but it was scary and frustrating enough that I couldn't hold back the tears.  Sure, it hurt physically (tweaked my quad when I slipped on ice), but mentally I felt so defeated.   I'm afraid I'll get so frustrated I'll want to chuck the whole thing.  I'm afraid I'll never find running fun again.  I'm afraid My Runner will get so fed up with my negative attitude he'll stop wanting to run with me.

So, as much as I need to work on my training physically, I need to work on my mental state.  I have to find the joy in running, overcome the frustration and negativity.  I found personal joy in running; that's why I invested so much time and effort in it.  I miss that joy.  The feelings of defeat can be overwhelming sometimes, but as I run, as My Runner talks me through my feelings, and as I work through my fears, I'm finding that the negativity is lessened.  I still huff like an ornery Clydesdale going up the tough hills, letting out the occasional ragey groan at how tough it is.  I still feel my chest tighten when I let the bad stuff wash over me.  But it's easier to hold the tide at bay.  Sunday, running 3.5miles for the first time since my injury, I actually found myself smiling and laughing during the run.  I felt some joy at running.  It was wonderful, and I can't wait to run again and work on finding that feeling.  My next training goal isn't distance, it's joy.

Not extatic, but moving toards joyfull....

DoubleMint

This is the second week I've played two hockey games in a row, even though we're four weeks into the season.  Already this season I'm feeling much more confident about my playing, and I'm having a lot more fun while I'm on the "ice."

The two teams (Nerd Herd on Mondays and Jets on Tuesdays) have pretty different dynamics, even though teams share not only a captain and goalie but also 4 other players (including myself).  Though in general I feel the Jets have a greater number of more experienced players, the team and the league feels like Nerd Herd circa season 3-4: we know what we're doing, so do our opponents, but no one's got a super-gelling team out there.  I think by the end of the season we'll all know each others' style much better, and the plays will come (I hope).

While I love my Herd, the last season and a half have been tough.  We've gotten to the playoffs with good strength twice.  Tasting the sweetness of victory has changed things- some for better some for worse.  I love everyone on the team; we've been together for at least a season and a half, many folks have been on the team since day one or I've known for years (ie decades).  Socially, it's the best group you could know.  However, the last season and a half has also seen a lot of negative energy, in part due to ignorant officiating, and in part to a misdirected competative spirit.  I came out of most games last season sad about my performance and even sadder at the shitty mood of the team.

This past weekend I played hockey with a bunch of the guys in an informal "pickup" type game.  All the other guys were on rollerblades, but since me + wheels = death I played the game on foot.  So, um, you guys, I guess we invented wheels 'cause it makes moving shit around a lot easier.  IE, I ran my ASS off.  But I played pretty well.  Not crazy awesome, but really solid.  Scored a goal, which is more than I can claim for my social leagues.  Got props from some of the guys who have been playing since they popped out of the womb.  I was exhausted by the end of the 4 hours of playing, but so SO happy.  And I realized I knew a lot more about hockey then I had previously thought.  I realized what a rut I was stuck in, mentally.  I realized I should trust my instinct and have faith in my abilities. 

I finally got my head on my shoulders.  All last season I thought I had lost it.  I felt like crap about my playing after every game.  I missed most of the passes, I got upset, beat myself up.  I'm so glad my faith in myself is restored.  I know playing with other people in a different environment has been a big part of this change.  Discarding the negative feelings I was carrying with me, part of which I was pulling in from other people (being empathetic has its advantages - not in hockey).

So.... yeah, my hip's kinda bothering me.  More than it has.  I totally over used it though, it's my fault.  Saturday 4 hours of hockey in 15-20 degree weather, Sunday 16 miles on the bike, 2miles and change running, Monday hockey, Tuesday hockey...  I'm limping like a grandma this morning.  I do my stretches and sometimes even do my exercises, but it's all for naught if I keep overusing my muscles.  I'm working on re-starting my half-marathon training, and I'll be sticking to it.  2 miles is WAY more of a struggle than it should be at this point in the process, but I need to make sure I don't overdo "recovery."

In the meantime.... I'm moving.  Probably in April or May.  It's a more emotionally charged process than I ever thought it could be.  More on that soon.  The storms just gaining momentum and it's hard to see clearly at the moment....

FatAss 50K (on a bike) Part 2

I check back on my group when I'm in front - everyone's looking good, so I ride ahead up this hill, challenging myself and knowing that they're alright.  Occasionally I see us from an outsider's eye: two or three runners on a cold winter day, and a biker with a silly striped hat.  I find it alternately absurd and fantastic.  I know there are people driving by in their SUV's, kids plugged in to the DVD player in the back, looking at us like we're crazy.  I know this because I used to be those people (sans SUV, DVD, and kids).  It's ok.  Either something will move them and they'll come around, or they won't.  I'm glad I came around.

One of the fun parts of going on any kind of trek, especially one that puts you in immediate contact with the world (as opposed to behind the window of a car or train, etc.) is seeing things you would never have seen otherwise.  Gross things, like riding over freshly killed chippies; random things like a glove stuck in a snow bank; awesome things like a FOUR TIERED SNOWMAN (seriously, that this was kickass).  I personally cherish those little sights and experiences.  Like cairns, they remind me that I'm on a path, creating mental landmarks and a framework for the journey.

Side note: Henniker must have an awesome sign maker, because almost every business, office, or establishment had a carved and painted wooden sign hanging out front.  It was very "old timey" looking, and I'm sure someone in the Henniker planning department is super proud of him-or-her-self for making businesses get them.  Mr. or Ms. Planning Department Person, well played.

Avoiding traffic in Henniker was a challenge.  The roads are narrow, there's a big long hill, and for some reason EVERYONE was out in their cars on Sunday.  Actually, traffic was pretty heavy almost half the time, even in Hillsboro.  The runners could move to sidewalks when they were available, but that wasn't a great game plan for me - the ice and snow was too unpredictable under my wheels, and (because I am stubborn) I wasn't wearing a helmet.

Entering into the Gould Pond area the second time, all the runners are tired.  I'm cold, my quads are a little stiff, and my butt is totally saddle sore, but I'm still feeling pretty good over all.  It was unspoken, but everyone could feel the mood dropping.  Instinctively, we all took turns doing our best to keep things light, keep everyone moving forward, keep minds off of hurting feet or aching legs.  Sherpa exclaims that the last 6 miles in Hillsboro to be the LONGEST SIX MILES EVER and he's not wrong.  I knew I was feeling better than these guys, but good GOD it took forever to get through that neighborhood!

That last turn back onto Bog Rd. was magical.  One final hill, and at the top is the house.  We all wearily trudge up the driveway, looking forward to warmth (I *didn't* get frostbitten toes, thankfully), bathrooms (whatever moves you forward, right?), couches and kittehs.  Beef stew, "Turkey Beans," tea, water, chips, and an assortment of other belly warmers were consumed over the next few hours.  We said goodbye to Sherpa as he went home to his fiance, and gladly sank into the comfy cushions in the living room.  I've never been so content to drink tea and watch football in my life.

With all the fun I had, all the things I saw, there's nothing quite like the joy of completion.  I can never really relax until the job is done.  Even though I was stiff and cold, I felt great.  The state of my body was a testament to my day: completing 32 miles on my bike, however slowly, spending the day with friends, being out doors in this beautiful state, challenging myself.

FatAss 50K (on a bike) Part 1

My Runner had originally signed up for the Boston Prep Race this weekend.  Always frugal, he decided to save the entry fee and create his own run.  Thus the Fat Ass 50K was born: two 16 mile loops in Hillsboro and Henniker.  Since I'm convalescing, I rode it on my bike.  Sherpa joined us from the Seacoast, and Puma Girl on the second loop.

The forecast had predicted 37* temps and rain for Sunday.  Thank you, nature, for holding off on the rain, though the temps were low.  My Runner, Sherpa, and I on my cycle headed out at 9:30am in a crisp winter day with the sun shining through a few clouds.  The loop is beautiful, starting out on packed dirt roads and paved back roads of Hillsboro.  We cross under the highway and turn onto a road following the Contoocook River (ask Sherpa how it got it's name... )  In Henniker we cross over the highway again, following a rolling path back east, leading to the neighborhoods around Gould Pond and back to the start.  As the day moved from sunny to overcast, the landscape remained beautiful: country roads, downtown Henniker, a highway overpass with views of the mountains all around.

I love being out with My Runner.  It wasn't until we couldn't run together that I really knew how much I loved it.  I missed my running partner.  Sure, I miss running, but I mostly miss running with him.  Honestly, it's a great time for us.  We talk and laugh and catch up, we challenge each other, and sometimes it's the easiest time to say the hardest things.  Being out there with the bike wasn't the same, but it was close enough.  32 miles is a loooong run, even for an Ultra Runner, in the off season, and I'm glad I could be there with him through this challenge.

Sherpa seemed psyched to run Sunday morning.  If you haven't read his blog, I encourage you to.  While I don't agree with every opinion he has (and he's got a few...) I do agree with his core philosophy about human potential.  Hell, I've experienced it.  When I first met Sherpa at the VT50, he asked if I ran.  I'm pretty sure I laughed at him and at the thought of me EVER being a runner.  Well, shows what I know.  Anywhoodle, Sherpa was a frickin' riot on Sunday, catching My Runner and I up on some gossip, telling dirty jokes, sacrificing his gloves to the defecation gods, dancing down the road to Led Zepplin....  Not that there weren't quiet moments, but if you're gonna spend 6 hours in the cold, having a good time makes it much funner.

After a bit of food, bathroom breaks, and (for me) warmer socks, we were back out on the road.  Puma Girl joined us for the second lap.  Puma Girl has been training hard for the Peak Snowshoe Marathon and was nursing some heel pain, but luckily found that was not an issue today.  It's always great to see someone challenge themselves, and Puma did just that and came out on top.

A fresh addition makes a difference in a group.  Granted, I felt somewhat removed the whole time since I'm on wheels and they're on feet, but I could still observe the dynamic.  Actually, I could probably see it clearer.
I often had to choose to bike on ahead or slam my breaks and steer to the side to avoid traffic.  I preferred going behind the group rather than in front if I had to.  I liked seeing everyone, making sure they were all ok.  Still, even in front I had time to think about the day - we were out for 6 hours - and the group.  I remember when I was in high school in Venture class, Coach K would tell me that leading is harder than following.  I always knew that to be true when one is the lead in planning, on a group project, etc, and I was comfortable with that kind of risk.  But leading on a trail was frightening for me.  What if I'm going too slow?  Too fast?  What if I miss a marker and get us lost?  What if someone behind me sees my ineptitude and calls my dumbass on it?  Eventually, with the help of that class, I pushed my self to lead more often on the trail and let others lead more often in the planning.  I still find it challenging to be in the lead on excursions, but the combination of that experience at 18 and my subsequent years in this world have enabled me to let go of the anxiety and the questions.

Part 2 posted soon!

Therapy of the Physical Kind

You'd think with a family of medical professionals (and some working towards it) I'd be smart when it came to physical ailments.  Turns out I'm merely sophomoric.  And there's a reason I went into the arts and not the sciences.

I misdiagnosed my injury owie.  After my evaluation with Effie, my PT, today, she pinpointed the pain better than I or my doctor did and found that the rotator muscles, the ones that keep the ball in the socket of my hip joint, are actually the problem.  After a thorough session of stretching and flexing and pushing, she determined the cause to be high flexibility in my hips (I actually saw her eyes get wider when she was rotating my legs) but weakness in the adductor and abductor muscles (the in and out ones).

Effie also found that my quads were crazy tight.  She had me lay on the table with one knee at my chest and the other leg hanging off, with the edge of the table at butt level.  Apparently, one's leg should hang at a 90* angle.  Mine was more obtuse - closer to 120*.  Whoops.  She guessed the tightness was a combination of not stretching and my glutes compensating for my hips.

I walked out with homework and hope.  I have several stretches that I have to do daily, plus strengthening exercises.  She told me I was allowed to ride a stationary bike, but I should refrain from running until the pain goes away.  Effie will be doing my overall plan, though I'll meet with her and Laura, another clinician, twice a week.  Monday is my next appointment, and I'll be doing more exercises and getting new homework.

Obviously it's too early to tell if I'll be able to train at all or even run the half marathon.  I did let her know that I signed up for it and am going to VA, regardless of progress, but I'll be advised by them on if I should attempt it.  

It's nice to finally feel something other than frustration.  I felt like Effie really heard me.  She knew that being active was important to me.  She treated me like an individual, and took the time to help find stretches that worked for me, correcting my form in some cases.  It was everything I hoped for.  

The real challenge?  I've never been one to do my homework.  Of course, I was never as motivated by trigonometry as I am now.

Hockey Squared

Coming off my week of rest, I'm about 3 weeks behind in my half-marathon training and starting the new hockey season on Monday.  Followed by Tuesday.

Yep, thanks to the ever zealous Cap'n Mop, I (along with his wife Face) are now playing hockey TWO nights in a row.  Initially I was trepidatious, to say the least.

ok.  Initially I was totally stressed.  I had just cleared most of my calendar and am still recovering from an injury owie.  Now all of a sudden I was committed to not 10 games of hockey but 20!  I started to hyperventilate as I filled out my calendar through March....

Taking deep breaths, counting slowly, I calmed down and thought about it.  I really enjoy playing, even when I'm not playing well.  I knew my playing suffered last season from lack of practice; here's a built in "practice" opportunity.  Even better, I'd be playing with different people both nights, which would help me learn to adapt.

While I still get the heebs looking at my calendar and its very few empty spaces, I feel much better about my commitment to playing hockey.  It's fun, I've wanted to improve, and when it stops being fun I will stop playing.



ps... don't worry, cap'n, it'll never stop being fun.  ;-)

Nerd Herd Season 5 Playoff Game

Last night was the playoff games for NHSSC hockey. Nerd Herd was 2nd seed in the league - pretty impressive considering not two seasons ago we were happy to have ANY wins.

The previous game saw a change in officiants. Not only was "Skip," the ref for most of the season, not there, but we had TWO refs, one of which was an old highschool/hockey buddy of Mop's. The calls were very different from Skip's, whose style is akin to "Penalty! by... um... eenie-meenie-miney-moe...." It was a fun game with a lot of play, and after winning we were psyched and ready to take on playoffs.

My spirits personally fell when I saw Skip was officiating again. I mean, he seems like a nice enough guy, but he really doesn't know hockey well, and he doesn't know how to control the game. He's not confident in his calls. The worst is that our team dynamic sinks dramatically every time we feel like we get a BS call. I play on this team for fun, not to get pissed. I can't say I blame my teammates - I'm rarely a victim of a bad call. But I knew our play would suffer for the bad attitude.

Still - pre-game milling was good. Team seemed in high spirits as we watched the first playoff game finish up between Seed 1 team and Seed 4 team. It was a tight game (with traditionally bad calls by Skip), but both teams were battling hard. My Runner and I did our pre-game laps around the track; I was trying to work out a little nag in my left calf that's been hanging in there since last Friday.

(Recap penned by El Capitan at the end of the post, for those of you who are stat-minded)

We start the game out feeling great. Herd's really cheerful (and CHEERING!). My Runner gets the first goal in our first shift. It was great. Unfortunately the other team brings it back and scores two on us. We get some weird whistles - calls that don't make much sense, but their warnings, so ok. Moral starts to drop a bit. I miss some passes, and an opportunity to shoot.

I'm getting frustrated at myself. I'm not really contributing to the offense. I'll crash the net and not be able to get open, or get open and miss the pass, or get the ball stolen 'cause I'm not looking. I'm covering other players when they're in our zone, and I'm able to slow down or steal the ball sometimes, but overall I've become a defensive player. Not really what a winger should be. Not in a playoffs game.

I keep coming off the rink mad. This isn't really like me. Sure I know when I'm playing better and when I'm worse, but usually I can keep my head in the game. This time I had to leave the rink, take deep breaths, not sob. My Runner, bless him, keeps coming to check on me. The nicer he is the harder it is to pull my self together. I do my best to ask him to go away without being a douche - difficult to articulate when you know you'll sob if you open your mouth. He seems to get it. I breath deep a few times, wipe my face, and get back in to support my team.

When I take a high stick penalty (and I hate this because I know as my stick is coming up to my wast to catch the ball that I'm gonna get called, but I can't stop it), I'm furious with myself. The team is down by one, now *I'm* making them play three-on-four. My stupidity has caused us to be down a man at a playoffs game. As soon as the whistle blew I knew it was my penalty, I spun around and practically ran off the rink. It took everything I had not to hurl my stick in frustration but a) that would get me kicked out of the game and b) my lovely teammates were all in the way - no need to cause more harm.

This time the sobs won't stay down. Again My Runner comes to check on me. Again I send him packing; he exacts a kiss before he goes. I know I need to calm down. I have at least one more shift on the rink and I have to play fully. I'm mad at my penalty and mad that I can't get my head in the game and mostly I'm mad that I'm so freakin' mad! This game is supposed to be fun and I've preached it AT THIS VERY MATCH that we need to calm down and play our game. Way to listen to my own advice.

The rest of the game passes as I hold it all in and do my best to be present for the team. We don't win, the team is upset, and the bad calls (which robbed us of possibly two goals) has pissed of Cap'n Mop to a level I have rarely seen. However, MiniMcL's boyfriend is there from CT with his kickass camera - that means team photo time! Everyone shakes it off, congratulates each other on a great season, and smiles are (hopefully) genuine.

Unfortunately, my crankiness extends to the after-party (the waiter being a total 'tard didn't help either). I feel awful about my behavior that night... Lovely MiniMcL singing her love for me and all I could say was, "please stop." I couldn't explain that I didn't want to burst into tears at Margaritas. Face and Smarty looking at me with concern, then *getting* that that was the problem, instantly turned things around to cheer me up. I love those girls.

Despite my own personal horribleness, it's been a great Nerd Herd season. I love my team, its awesomeness and its faults. I love playing hockey. I want to work to be better. If the team can't work together to get practices organized, I've got to find a way to practice on my own. I think that's the only way I'm ever going to be satisfied (or at least have a chance of satisfaction) with my game.

OFFICIAL TEAM UNOFFICIAL RECAP:

The Nerd Herd entered the NHSSCHL playoffs riding a wave of confidence

following the most successful season in franchise history. They met a

familiar foe in the opening round, the Road Runners.

The game opened with a fired up Nerd herd squad taking advantage of an

odd man rush. Phil "Cowboy" Turbe sent Mike "Cap'n Mop" Grages running

free up the boards, and he centered it to Josh "The Cat" Robert, who

collected it and fired it home for an early 1-0 lead. Unperturbed by

the fast start of the Nerd Herd, the Roadrunners fired back, scoring 2

goals before the end of the first period to take a 2-1 lead into the

second. The Nerd Herd battled back, appearing to score the tying goal,

but it was waived off, as the referee had "intended to blow" the whistle

before the goal was scored.

The second period began with the Roadrunners expanding their lead to 3-1

before the Nerd Herd could answer back. Phil again fed the ball down

the boards to Matt "TTT" Tetrault, who was able to find Jon "Turbo"

Turcotte who took advantage and narrowed the gap to 3-2. The Herd

continued the charge as Keith "Classy" Chasse got the ball deep in the

zone, Mop collected it and found Josh for his second of the game,

knotting the score at 3. The Roadrunners again surged back, scoring two

more quick goals before Josh finished off his hattrick. Katie "Killer"

McLaughlin chipped the puck down deep to Mop, and he found Josh in the

slot. Josh rifled it home and again brought the Nerd Herd to within 1

at 5-4 at the end of the second period. The Nerd Herd again thought

they tied the game, but The officials waived it off, saying the ball hit

the post. Video review seemed to support the Nerd Herd side, but it was

not counted.

Unfortunately, that was as close as the Nerd Herd got. The Roadrunners

scored to open the lead to 6-4, and then capitalized on another

powerplay to close out scoring at 7-4. Despite their frantic efforts,

the Nerd Herd couldn't get on the board in the third period.

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish!

Dolphin Challenge, here I come.

Beaver Brook 5K - Report

.... and the alarm went off soooooooo early......

I looked at my phone and see a text from Pocket - she's not coming. She's worried about injury running on snowy trails, which is understandable since at this moment she doesn't have health insurance. But I'm bummed. "What's up?" My Runner asks as I sigh. "Pocket's out." My Runner, who was waffling on racing since he missed his kittehs, picks up the torch and comes with. I assure him that he doesn't have to, that I'm a big girl and can run on my own, but he ignores my protest. I'm glad - I always prefer company.

It was chilly, but not freezing. We drove down winding roads to the Beaver Brook Reserve in Hollis, passing farms and farmhouses covered in a blanket of snow, sales on Christmas Trees, ribbons of blue woodsmoke drifting up from chimneys, and apple orchards dormant for winter. Sky was a perfect blue with few puffy clouds, the snow was sparkling in the sun. We arrive at the trailhead park, and I grab our numbers, shirts, and goodie bags. The race director and volunteers are friendly and fun. Race Director is up front about goodie bags - he's cleaning his garage. That explains the mix of energy drinks, energy "chews," lube samples, and meat seasoning all in one bucket. The group reminds me of my dad's running group - the focus is fun, socialization, and sharing the sport we love.

My Runner is up-beat, making me laugh, but I am still bumming. I'm tired. We trot up and down the trail a bit, and I decide today is not the day for the added challenge of snow-shoes. A good choice in the end, I think. The run itself was challenging enough.

There were runners of all sorts, mostly there for fun, which was great. A group of girls who could have been in high school or college (I've recently realized I'm too old to tell now), older couples, families with kids and dogs, and a few real "racers." Once we got to the starting line I was beginning to feel better. Looking around at everyone else who had decided to brave the snow made me feel like some sort of wonderful misfit. My Runner gave me a pre-race goodluck kiss, always an ego booster, and we were off.

The start of the trail wasn't too bad. Enough runners and snow-shoers had trotted it that it was packed. About 1/4 mi in, though, it got a little more powdery. This would be my challenge for the rest of the run. Running in powder is much like running in sand, except when I run in sand I've always been barefoot and not racing. Using stabilizer muscles rarely used, unexpected slips, etc. "Light on your feet," My Runner says, trying to help me out. I'm not totally sure what he means, but I reach into my "dance" training and move my center of gravity up from my hips to my chest and hope that helps. I can feel my footfalls changing, but I'm still sliding all over.

"Take shorter steps," he advises. "Don't fight the snow, just go with it." All great advice, but it was hard for me to put it all into action. I couldn't not fight the snow, even with shorter and lighter steps. I was working just as hard to fight off frustration as I was to stay on my feet. Finally I realized I wasn't enjoying what I came out here for - the fun of being outside in the woods on a beautiful winter's day. I couldn't raise my eyes too much off the ground - I slipped worse when I did that - but I adjusted my gaze up a little, keeping my eyes scanning for hazards and trail conditions ahead while still being able to look at and enjoy my surroundings.

It's a pretty area, and I was settling into a stride, and finally starting to enjoy myself. We turned onto another trail and My Runner and I were able to run side-by-side. He's got a big smile on his face and words of encouragement. I'm feeling really good, and starting to overtake some runners. We reach the turnaround - halfway. "Save some gas for the end," he warns, rightly so, since the trail has been all downhill on the way in and will be all uphill on the way out.

Still, I feel like I'm being somewhat conservative. I'm "reeling them in," as My Runner puts it: slowly catching up with folks in front of me and passing them. Move too slow and they get away, move to fast and your line breaks. I'm feeling tired, but good, and I have confidence in finishing.

Then we hit the last, oh, 3/4 mile. Powder. Uphill. ugh. I'm still slipping all over the place, which is frustrating. Slipping while climbing was worse. The more frustrated I get, the tighter my chest gets, the harder time I have breathing. We finish a particularly lengthy climb and I just half to walk. I can feel my breakfast yearning to come back up. I'm so mad at myself for walking I'm catching sobs in my throat, which is NOT helping me recover my breathing. My Runner, who was in front of me setting pace, continues with encouragement. "You can do it! Focus on your breathing. You've got this, we're almost there!"

I shook off the self-loathing and started shuffling my feet. Short steps. Wasn't moving fast, but was running. Focused 4 feet ahead of me, which luckily for me was My Runner's very shapely butt. Anything that keeps ya goin'. :-)

The finish line was in site - at the top of the hill of powder. "Here we go, we're at the end, finish strong!" "Yep, ok." heh... finishing on my feet was about as strong as I could manage. But finish on my feet I did. Crossing the finish line, all I wanted to do was double over - my breakfast still hadn't decided it wasn't coming up. My Runner was all smiles, hugs, kisses. I loved that he was so proud and happy, but I really didn't want to puke on him. He grabbed me some water and hot cocoa, and waited for me to collect myself.

"Twenty-seven thirty-six, hon." What? Really? I didn't even notice there was a clock at the end. 4.5K in 27 minutes and change in the snow. Suddenly I didn't mind feeling like crap - I worked hard, and I made good time. (at posting time official results are not up. boo.)

I think back on the run and I remember the challenge, sure, but in a positive light. I remember the snow-smiley face someone had put on a tree that made me laugh. I remember the guy running with a beagle that so wanted to hang out with My Runner that he slowed the guy down, and the man with the beautiful Newfie watching and encouraging runners. The way the snow started flying when the snow-shoers started the race. I went from feeling like crap to feeling awesome, the sense of accomplishment and shared experience buoyed my spirit.

Before the end of this month I have to decide how dedicated I am. I'm registering for an 8K in VA Beach, and I have to decide if I'm going to try for the half-marathon the next day. I have a training program, I know my body is physically capable of completing a 13 mile run once conditioned. I'm just ... nervous. I've done two 5K's, and now I'm gonna train for a half-marathon? I'm worried I'm over extending myself. But maybe the challenge is what I need to get me there.

I still have two weeks to decide.

Shamrock Marathon: http://www.shamrockmarathon.com/site3.aspx

Feaster Five - the Prequel

Last night was the very first time I've run 3.5 miles.

This is important because tomorrow is the first time I'll be in a 5K (3.1 mile) race.

I'm nervous and excited. And nervous. And excited. And we get pie, so that's fun. :-)

The hardest part of training recently has been getting my brain wrapped around the concept of running for more than 20 minutes. Actually, that's been the hardest part of training overall (other than recovering from the flu). My legs can do it, my lungs can do it, my brain is already in the other room stretching and thinking about a snack.

Last night I set a time goal rather than a distance goal and worked on some mental games. I figured I was running about three songs per mile. That really helped me visualize how long I'd be running for. I also used mental pictures to keep me interested in the run, since running on the treadmill is BO-RING! Images from watching others run, hikes I've been on, some of my out door practice runs, running behind My Oh-So-Hot Runner were some of the best.

It was not easy, but it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. The mental games really helped. This morning I was a little sore, but I didn't stretch for as long as I usually do since I stepped off the treadmill at 9:45pm (see previous post about over-commitments...) All in all, I'm happy with where my body is and hopeful that I'll have a fun time with Pocket Size at the race tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Body Con

One side effect of all this running and hockey playing and trapezing (next class is Saturday, wOOt!!) is that I've lost about 15 lbs and 2 or 3 sizes. Which, well, good, I guess. But I can't say it ever really mattered.

I'm of the body acceptance camp. You have your body, and there's a limited amount of things you can do to control how it looks. Western society holds up unrealistic images of beauty for women (and even some for men, but obviously it's more prevalent for women). I spent most of my life hating the way I looked - my nose, my feet, my hands, my "Buddah Belly" (thanks for that quaint nick-name, family). I never believed it when someone told me I looked nice or good or even cute. NEVER. That's a lot of stress on a girl! I went through the phases - deciding not to give a crap and eat whatever I wanted, which just made me fatter, then deciding to give a crap and work out like a mo fo and got skinnier, but none of it made me HAPPIER. Not until I decided to accept my shape, no matter what it was.

I also don't believe that fat people are inherently lazy. It's the most socially acceptable form of prejudice to dislike or mock people who are heavy. Hell, I've been guilty of it (though mostly I mock what people are WEARING, not their size - taste is ALWAYS mockable). Now that I'm getting more and more into sports and running, etc, the media that I'm looking at denounces fat. Well, fuck you. Some people enjoy life in different ways. Also, go to any race, even the VT50 - there were people there that I would NEVER expect to be runners based on their size. But they ran - muddy trails in back woods for more miles than most people walk in a month. Are they lazy? No.

So, yes, I work out. I run. I play sports. But it's not to be "skinny." Part of the freedom of body acceptance is accepting that your choices have consequences. I made a choice that I would make myself happy, no matter what that meant at a given time. Sometimes it makes me happy to play hockey for 2 hours, so I do. The consequence of that choice can mean sore muscles and bruising over 60% of my body as well as serious caloric burn. Sometimes it makes me happy to eat nachos and drink margaritas, (ok, most of the time it makes me happy to eat nachos and drink margaritas) and the consequence of this choice is a fully belly but also experiences with friends and loved ones that deepen my relationship with them.

So, if you see me and say, "Gosh, Leeapeea, you're so thin!" and I give you a weird look and a questionable, "Thanks," let's go ahead and move on to another topic, m'k? Maybe order a plate of nachos and a couple of margs... ;-)

5K Training - The Real Challenge

Got hit with Whooping Cough or some other quaint disease this week which effectively put me out of commission. I stayed home from work most of the week, only going in on Wednesday, Veteran's Day, when no one else in the office would be around for me to infect (or to bug me. I was very productive that day). It also barred me from what was supposed to be my 20 minute run on Wednesday. Having a hard time dealing with inactivity on such a tight schedule, I volunteered to play goalie for the boys at Hood Park. It was fun, got a few new bruises and used shoulder and calf muscles I didn't know I had, but standing in the 40*(+/-) weather for an hour, damp through with sweat, after my shift probably did me in. My cough turned into a hack, my body ached from my toes to my scalp, and not moving made me soooo happy.

After recouping all day Thursday and most of the day Friday, I went for my scheduled run on Friday night with My Runner. I had planned on doing Wednesday's "timed" run of 20 minutes, rather than pushing through to Friday's "distance" run of 2.5 miles, since it would be an increase of 0.5 miles and it had been 4 days without running AND being sick. My Runner had different ideas.

We ran a loop in his neighborhood, which is maybe a bit South of EBF, NH. Mostly dirt roads, definitely no sidewalks or street lamps. I was having a tough time. It took a while for my body to loosen up after 3 days of bed rest. Once that happened, I realized how bad my lungs really were still. I hadn't been breathing deeply, except for coughing, since Monday. My esophagus was a little ravaged. The air was chill and dry, not helping me stay comfortable. Still, the 5:30pm traffic zipping down the country lane kept me thinking about things other than my legs and my lungs, namely staying alive.

(ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.)

((you know you were thinking it.))

(((incedentally, i love that this is the song you're supposed to sing to accurately time out chest compressions when giving cpr. well, this song or "another one bites the dust," depending on how morbid your inner radio is.)))

This was the first run I've done with significant hills. I'm glad for it - it's something I know I'll need to work on, and it was good to get My Runner's advice on how to handle pacing adjustments for the uphills. I was completely winded when we got back to the house, but happy that I ran the whole thing, later confirmed to be 2.4 miles - longer than I've run in one go yet.

It's funny how different things can encourage you to move forward on different days. Sometimes I just need my running partner to talk to me - when Pocket and I went running last weekend, I barely noticed the time as we chatted and caught up about boys and jobs and such. When I ran with her today (another 2.4 mile loop, this time in her neighborhood on pavement), it was all I could do to take a small part in the conversation. I love listening to My Runner tell stories about other runs he's been on, or about something stupid that happened at work. Flirting with him keeps me moving forward too, though that's usually a whole different kind of motivation... When I'm running on my own, only certain songs will do, keeping my body fluid and ready to move, beat driving me on.

The hardest part is how easily I can get broken down. My Runner likes to ask, "how are you feeling?" That question forces me to examine my body in the middle of the run. When I do my mental self-exam and feel my calves aching and my hip flexor getting touchy and my lungs raking air in and my face hot and dry.... Knowing I feel like crap is hard. SAYING I feel like crap makes it real and all of a sudden I want to stop. Running in Pocket's neighborhood I was familiar enough with the terrain to know exactly HOW FAR until we got back to her house, and HOW BAD I wanted to stop running. I didn't, but convincing my mind to keep running was just as hard as convincing my body.

It's mental. I mean, I am recovering AND pushing, so it's physically hard, but I know my body is completely capable of running 2.5 miles. But feeling like I want to, being aware of that carrot dangling in front of my face, finding a way to adjust my pace, cadence, etc., to deal with the little aches and pains, THAT'S the challenge that I'm facing now. These last two runs were hard, physically, yes. But they were HARD. Mentally. I'm not just training my body for this run, I'm training my mind.

Next Training Run: Tuesday, on my own, 25 minutes. Goal: Time & Hills

This is NOT a running blog.... I promise....

...but I do have to say that last night I actually really registered for the Feaster Five. This is it. I'm really doing it now.

oh god... i'm really doing this.....

5K Training - Pavement

Lastnight was my 15 minute run. (Well, ok, I've run longer on a treadmill, but that's like running in a hamster wheel.) I have yet to figure out how far I went - I suspect it will be close to 1.5 miles. (ed.- it was 1.6 miles, actually) I ran from my office in a Millyard that has been converted to office and storefront space, so there is always a lot of light and there are a lot of people around at that time. Now that it's mostly dark when I get out of work at 4:30, I'm a little nervous to run by myself in Manch, especially in my neighborhood. I used the tricks I learned from living in NYC - stay where it's light and there's a lot of foot traffic.

I don't own a watch, so I created a playlist on my ipod that was 18 minutes long (extra time for warm up and cool down walk) to time my run. It worked pretty well. And, while it wasn't *easy*, the run wasn't hard either. The problem with being by the riverfront at the Millyard is that there's no hills - just a few slight inclines.

I hope to be able to drive the course in Andover before long so I can see what the terrain is like and be sure I'm preparing correctly for it.

Next training run: Saturday, with Pocket Size. Goal: 1.5 miles

5K Training - Setting the Schedule

Yesterday and today I worked on actually plotting a training schedule to get ready for the 5K. Apparently, 5 weeks is what is reccomended. Whoops.

Pocket Sized and I compared dates and came up with a few days to run together before the race. That was a start. I let My Runner do some legwork and he found the following resources which I leaned on:

http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-380-381--11944-0,00.html

http://www.runnersworld.com/images/cma/beginner5k_table.jpg

http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-380-381--11940-2-1-2,00.html

There's a TON of resources for training for a 5K. Couch-to-5K programs are everywhere, and they're all basically the same. They include a lot of run, then walk, then run. And most of them take 5 weeks or more. But I've got 3.

So I took the table from the middle link and adapted it. I'm running just about every other day, sometimes with an extra day. Here's the plan:

11/2 - 1.25mi (yeah, that was yesterday - ran before hockey. Hockey running doesn't count towards this plan.)

11/4 - run 15 min

11/7 - run 1.5mi

11/9 - run 20 min

11/11 - run 20 min

11/13 - run 2.0 mi

11/15 - run 25min

11/17 - run 25 min

11/19 - run 2.5mi

11/22 - run 30 min

11/24 - run 3mi

11/26 - run 5K race

I really like the combination of timed runs vs. mileage runs. I've been so focused on distance lately that running for a time will be a good mental change. I hope to maintain about a 10- or 11-minute mile pace, though 10 would be ideal.

Looking at this schedule, having days off is frustrating, but I know I need them to let my body rest. I'd like another week - maybe another couple of 3 mile runs before I do the 5K. But as it is I'm increasing my distance a little on the fast side. I'm going to have to really commit to doing warm up/cool down and stretching to make sure I don't injure myself. I'm also still playing hockey and I've got my next trapeze class near the end of this training.

I'm pretty confident I can do this. Whelp... I'm doing the race. I'll finish it. One way or another. Hopefully on my feet. :-)