Winning!

Post Race Post:  Well, we did it! I survived my first 10K and am still here to blog about it! Overall, our times were less spectacular than what I had hoped, but the course proved to be more uphill than I had hoped, too. There were several 4 and 5 year olds who bested us, but at least we kept pace with the guy in the gorilla suit and we totally smoked at least one of the 90 year olds. As my calf muscles can attest to, I did my shuffle further today than ever before! I was even able to successfully evade all paramedics and first aid services despite the increased mileage. The weather was cooperative for my race and stellar conditions prevailed. While I had to make use of one port-a-potty about halfway through, I stayed mostly dry and in control of my bodily fluids. As we approached the fifth mile marker, I even let my sister have one of my precious tissues, because my supply was holding out so well and I was in a generous mood.

4km, 6 tissues, and one port-a-potty

She had been kind and told me how hard the race was and how easy it looked for me, and she never pointed out that my 1 minute rest walking breaks were closer to 5.  It was not lost on me that she was never out of breath enough to converse, and I only had to remind her once that I was incapable of such jolly banter. We lost a bit of time at my necessary pit stop, and a bit more at the Slip N Slide. In all the race day excitement, I even forgot to use my swim goggles while belly surfing on the slippery surface. The last mile was hard, and thankfully the cameras did not capture my pitiful ascent uphill into the stadium.  I managed to pull it together for a grand finish, because that's the mandated behavior at my moment of victory!

Pre-race, found a cow ON a crack

     So what's next for me? Another 10K? Maybe. I'm definitely not ready for a half marathon. I'll continue to try to run because I know that I've made huge gains in my endurance level that I don't want to lose, and someday it should get easier. Bolder Boulder next year? Perhaps. My son is now convinced he'd like to give it a try, and I'll admit I like the thought of playing coach:  what goes around comes around! My clothes are already prepped for a triathlon, so who knows? Biking is probably the only sport I like less than running, so a triathlon at least has some blog potential! For now, I am content to munch away on my hard earned chocolate doughnut and savor the accomplishments of the day.  Thank you to everyone who has offered support, encouragement, or advice, and followed me on my quest! Cheers!

Numbers 215 and 216: Seize the day!

Post-race energy running high.

Mmmmm. 

On Your Mark

3 days till race:  Here we go! Last entry before race day! I will be sure to post again after the fact to let everyone know how it went. I completed my usual 2-3 miles at the gym on Tuesday and Thursday without suffering any major incidents or set backs. I've got my ID bib, my timing chip, my superhero swim goggles, tissues, extra leakage protection, and no water! Everyone has been asking if I'm ready for my race. Absolutely, I'm ready! And by absolutely, I mean Hell, No! Really, people have you been reading my blog?   I'll do my best shuffle as long as I can, except for the uphill portions because everyone knows I'm really not ready for that. Who knows what times I'll put out, and I will only be truly disappointed if I'm so slow that I don't make it into the stadium before they lock the gates. I'd like to feel confident that I can run the entire race, but running is still hard. My best 3 miles is no 6, no matter how contorted the math is. I have made enormous progress since my breathless rest break at the end of the street, but my biggest success is still just being alive and well enough to enter. I am bound and determined to try to enjoy this thing and hopefully my fluid regulatory systems are cooperative. I've decided to go without tunes so I can revel in the race day hoopla that surrounds the Bolder Boulder. Also, I wouldn't want to miss my one fan out there cheering for me. If I execute my take off properly, I am confident I can shave a few seconds off my time on the slip & slide located around the 4th mile. Will my cardiologist resurface to nudge me onward? I'm not sure, maybe. He'll probably be standing atop those giant hills with one eyebrow raised at me as I trudge upward.  My sister arrives Saturday and we will no doubt sequester ourselves so we can memorize the course and plan our attack. She will hopefully bring more to the table, as my plan is limited in scope and consists of trying to run. I could have used another 3 or 4 months to prepare, but for better or worse my race day is here and I'm claiming my spot at the starting line! Bring it Boulder! Here we come!

Running Off at the Mouth

Week 7:  Saturday I let my 9 year old coach accompany me again on my neighborhood trail, but this time he got to ride his bike. He was a bit overly disappointed when I told him no, he was not allowed to yell at me and that he needed to offer encouragement. I gave him my old camera and charged him with the added responsibility of taking some photos of me en route, with bonus points awarded for capturing my lightning speed and grace. He remarked as we approached the end of the adjacent block, "Oh, you run this part now, too?" and I was once again happy with how far I've come.
     It was a warm but windy afternoon, and I was not at all confident that the weather and my eyes would hold out, so to the mortification of my son I wore my swim goggles just in case. I would be lying if I said that I didn't relish the opportunity to embarrass my offspring just a smidgen as occasions arise, and this time was no different. When we entered the exterior path around the subdivision, the clouds to the west looked ominous and threatened to rain. I had intended to try for 2 laps but was persuaded by the approaching storm to wait until Sunday and content myself with a single, non-stop 2 mile loop. It became apparent early on that I needed to lay down additional ground rules with my son. He did a fabulous job of riding ahead then turning to snap a few photos while I gradually caught up, but he kept trying to have a full conversation.

Saturday strong & smiling early in lap 1

Both of my children love the art of conversation and have been known to ramble on and on, usually without need of much more than the occasional interjection (...as you can tell from my succinct blog, they got that from my husband). Once again assuming the role of coach, however, my son was instantly loaded with open ended questions designed to force a discussion and make a poignant commentary on my level of exertion. I initially tried to be polite and told him in full sentence form that it was difficult for me to converse while running and that I needed him to refrain from asking questions. I even softened the blow with a "Honey." As we approached the end of the first mile and his never ending questions persisted, my response was shortened to,"Can't talk; too hard," and later to a non-verbal negative head shake and some sort of hand gesticulation that even I didn't fully comprehend. This race will be loaded with thousands of friendly runners full of entertaining stories and I haven't seen my sister in a long time, but I have no desire to talk to any of them while engaged my run, nor am I capable of it. Pleasantries will have to wait, I need every last breath of air to help me last.
     Sunday was my last attempt at a long run before race day. My son rode along again, but only after absolute terms for communication were established and agreed upon. The wind was strong again, and I was glad that I had my swim goggles while jogging the western half of the loop. The problem that arose during my second lap was that the combination of sweat and heat off of my forehead caused them to repeatedly fog, periodically obscuring my vision once again and damning my plan for visual success.

Sunday's sorrowful lap 2

I can only surmise this unforeseen turn of events was due to the longer distance as I had not previously been bothered by this phenomenon. The expansion of my mileage also proved to be farther than what my bladder control muscles are content to endure without complaint. I kept wishing I'd see my neighbors cheering me on from their windows, pointing me in the right direction and offering up their bathrooms for a moment of relief. Sadly, any notoriety I have gained from my blog has apparently not yet reached my neighborhood. I had to walk some of both the third and fourth miles, but overall still jogged the majority. My phone was not cooperative after the first lap, and I forgot to wear my watch so I don't know my times. I'm sure they were not anything impressive anyway. Fortunately, I have been reassured by several seasoned Bolder Boulder alumni that there are plentiful port-a-potties along the race course, so I will likely be able to refocus my body and mind midway. I wish I could say that I feel adequately prepared for my Memorial Day race, which is how I'm supposed to feel after the long run by now. I am thrilled with my progress so far, but I have this nagging sense that this is the level I was supposed to be at when I started my training 7 weeks ago. I can only hope that race day energy with permeate my soul and carry me through to the finish line. ...Snap out of it already, it will be great!

Double fist pump: Let's Go!

iFibrillator

Week 6.5: Tuesday and Thursday were gorgeous days but I could not persuade, bribe, trick, coerce or otherwise convince my daughter to resume her solitary confinement within the jogging stroller. We headed back to the gym both days and I decided to keep trying my luck at the track. I was excited to see what other record breaking times my phone would log. Apparently on Tuesdays, the traffic flows counter clockwise around the loop instead in the sane direction, and I was off kilter from the start. As a right handed individual, running to the left feels backwards and like life is continually unwinding. I had significantly more trouble keeping track of my laps. I am sure I logged an extra 3 or 4 laps as I went with the self imposed rule: that which I wasn't sure of, I had to repeat. I made it through my first 2 miles again without stopping, but was forced to stop for a tissue break at the start of the third mile. I walked a few laps during the third mile, but somehow kept my forward momentum for the majority of it. After my 39+ laps, I triumphantly checked my phone's record of my run only to find it was equally confounded by the counter clockwise direction and had measured only 2 miles.  Dissed by my phone! My prior endorsement of my running app is henceforth modified for use on tracks only when running in a clockwise fashion. It's a right handed world out there for people and their electronics, and all hell breaks loose when you force a left handed move.
     Thursday was back to normal and it seemed easier to focus on my run. I realized only after I had started that I had tragically forgotten my tissue supply. I trudged onward not wanting to interrupt my run. My nose was more or less cooperative and while still annoying, it was not performing at the prolific rate of production previously experienced, so I managed (I would prefer not to say how exactly I managed, but rest assured a thorough shower was had afterwards).  My cardiologist also vaporized into form again, this time next to me on the track. He didn't have any trouble keeping up, but was a bit easier for me to ignore. He didn't seem to mind my attempts to run him off the track to avoid collision with the handful of real life walkers who accompanied me in the slow lane. He simply vanished and would reappear with a smile once the path was clear. I gave him fewer opportunities to question my need to slow down, and he was mostly complimentary, seemingly impressed with my achievements. He had his stethoscope around his neck, but I didn't need him to use it. I wished he would at least bring tissues if he's going to accompany me on my runs. His lab coat pockets are deep and would hold a bunch. I persevered through my standard 3 miles, but this time jogged the entire distance except for only 2 laps at the onset of the third mile. My overall time on Thursday was 37:18, my best time yet! Furthermore, my phone had resumed its complimentary attitude about my run and recorded a total of 7.39 miles at a 5 minute mile pace, more than enough to secure my position with the elite few on race day. Though I wouldn't call it "easy" yet, I can definitely feel that it is not as much of a struggle to survive the full 3 miles. Now if the race were only 3 miles and not 6...
     Thursday I also happened to be in Boulder with my daughter on an unrelated errand, and I decided to do a test drive of the race course in my car. I dreamed up the brilliant idea of affixing my cell phone to the central rear view mirror with my headband and filming the race course while I drove along. Everything was going swimmingly for the first 2 miles, and then the reflective rays and cumulative heat from the Boulder sun against the windshield caused a melt down of my iPhone and all functions ceased to work. I immediately pulled over when I heard the tell-tale ping and tried my best to resuscitate my phone (an upgrade that I've owned for less than a month) but I couldn't get anything other than a black screen. I desperately tried to give it some cooling breaths with the car's A/C and compressed the home button at least 30 times, but the black screen remained. Flatlined. How I longed to harness the life sustaining forces of the defibrillator contained securely within my chest to recalibrate my phone. I covered the deceased under my jacket so it would not be further bothered by the sun and hoped for a miracle. Annoyed with my race, which was clearly at fault for the untimely demise of my new phone, I reluctantly continued to follow the race course the rest of the way to its terminal location at Folsom Stadium. I missed 4 turns, and part of the course runs the wrong way down a one way street which was impossible in my car, so some of the pathway will be left to the imagination. There was one steep hill around the 4th mile that I will no doubt be walking up. Because Boulder would rather have runners die than finish the race, they have made the end of the course another steep incline as runners are about to enter the stadium to cross the finish line. I may be down to a commando crawl by that time, but one way or another I will finish!
     After tracing the entire route, I took my phone to the Apple Store to see if anything could be done. The pleasant staff member listened patiently to my blathering story about running my first race, the exceptionally bright sun, and how I killed my phone. He carefully took my phone and powered it down with the simultaneous depression of the off switch AND the home button. Apparently, to successfully defibrillate an iPhone, one must use both paddles. We waited a minute or two then powered my phone back on and it was like new. Whew! Close call, but thanks to my skillfully trained technician, my phone and its running app live on and I can keep this little incident to myself.
     After returning home, I received the disheartening news that my internal defibrillator stands in the way of my access to the spiffy pink bladder muscle zapping contraption. So, until I can talk to the manufacturers of both devices, I'm stuck in a Kegle holding pattern. I'm guessing that the contraindication is based on theory and not actual human experience. After finding out the combined wave lengths, voltages, velocities, and other potential astrophysical parameters that I'd be dealing with, there may be opportunity for negotiation. In any case, the matter is not likely to be resolved by race day which is now just over a week away. For better or worse, I am back to my Special K days, keeping my fingers and toes crossed for good measure.

The Loveliest Lap

Week 6: I did it! A whole lap around my neighborhood without stopping! Never mind that it's only 2 of the 6 miles I'm supposed to run in 2 weeks; I conquered my subdivision! The weather was warm and conducive to speed, and though my back pockets were overflowing with snot laden tissues, I did not stop until I had completed my loop. My eyes stayed clear and my bottom stayed dry, either through dehydration, luck, learned mastery of fluid regulation, or divine pity on my soppy soul. In any case, I had fewer hardships to contend with and was successful in enduring through a full 2 miles. The worst obstacle I had to overcome was near the end of the first mile when I was dive bombed by some sort of flying insect. I wholly expected to swallow the little beast, an incident I figure is now overdue given the number of days I've been running outside. The instant journey down the gullet would have been more palatable than the critter's chosen path onto my sunscreen plastered lower lip. He either was enamored with the flavor or became so embedded in the protective barrier that he was unable to free himself. I was not deterred and with a backside swipe of the hand (no time for tissues when bugs attack) he was gone and I never had to slow for a moment. His legacy was harder to erase and for the next quarter mile I continued to scrub the remainder of my sunscreen from my mouth and pronounced a few vulgarities in his honor, but managed to trudge onward without hesitation.

     After success in my lovely first lap, I paused and took a victory photo to commemorate the occasion. I was also in dire need of air, so I partook in my first walking break which I felt was duly earned. During the previous mile, I became acutely aware of the constricting forces of my new sports bra, which was competing with my lungs for control of my chest. It was the same size and brand that I usually buy, but it was made of a different material comprised mainly of nylon. The top portion was comfortable enough, but for unknown reasons the manufacturers replaced the standard elastic band at the base of the garment with an inflexible strip of concrete. This portion of the bra became increasingly restrictive as my breathing rate picked up, preventing my lungs from expanding sufficiently to breathe at a running pace. I found myself intermittently trying to relieve the pressure by physically lifting the bottom band upward and away from my chest so that I could manage a few sweet, unrestrained gulps of air. I survived my lap and did not let the belligerent article of clothing impede my stride, though once I finished the loop I gave in to a break to provide my lungs with some respite. While it is a pretty sports bra, it will no longer be accompanying me on my runs.
     Sunday was supposed to be my long run, so I ambled on for a second loop. I turned off my time tracking app, already content with the day's achievements. I walked the entire third mile and part of the 4th, but jogged the last downhill portion and all the way back to my street. I was never fully able to regain the pace or effort of my first lap, largely because my lungs kept complaining about the overpowering, oppressive vice grip of my bra. Unlike my fluid control issues and my limited endurance which both take time and dedication to improve, my sports bra can be easily changed with the reasonable expectation of immediate results on the next run. Despite not really lasting for anything close to a "long" run, I am happy to see some definitive progress in my endurance and tolerance of the sport.
     Monday morning I headed out to do some more shopping, but not for anything to do with running. I was wearing last year's size 12 pants and a large shirt, which I'd been continuing to wear despite the obvious abundant roominess present throughout. I wish I could take all the credit for my weight loss, but I received a significant jump start after my hysterectomy when I became seriously ill with C. Diff. Consider yourself fortunate if you never have to familiarize yourself with this nasty bacteria. For me, it took an infectious disease doc, IV fluids, and 2 months of treatment with 2 different antibiotics to treat, and I was one of the lucky ones who responded to treatment. Suffice it to say that the one remaining orifice that has not been problematic during my training runs so far provided me with ample running time throughout that ordeal.  Regardless, I have been diligent in my exercise routine and race day training, and have continued to improve my muscle to fat ratio while keeping the weight off. I have never enjoyed clothes shopping much before, because whatever would fit on top would infallibly be snug in all the wrong places below. Monday was different. I optimistically pulled some size 8 pants and medium skirts to try on, but the attendant laughed at me and further reduced my selected sizes to 6 and smalls. For the first time ever I fit into size 6 pants, and I didn't have to wrestle them on and I could still breathe! I have NEVER been a size 6. I skipped sizes 6 and 8 in high school and went straight into the double digits. The size small dresses and skirts that the wonderful store staff member brought were still roomy and one skirt was traded in for an XS. I may go back tomorrow and the day after that, too. Just to try on things in small sizes and savor the downsizing of my posterior. My butt may hate running, but by running I have less of a butt to hate, which is even better!  I came home and tried to take my picture, but I couldn't hold still.

Happiness in my new pants

                                         

The Fast Track

Week 5.5:  Thursday was a bizarre rainy day here in typically sunny Colorado and I headed back to my gym for a run. I decided to break from the treadmill and tackle the indoor track. At my gym, the track protrudes precariously from the perimeter of what would be the 2nd floor, if there were actually any flooring besides the 5 feet wide running surface. From the track you have a bird's-eye view of the entire gym below which is divided into three separate sections for basketball, more basketball, and joint cardio/weight lifting equipment. I borrowed a box of tissues from the locker room and placed them along with my towel in an inconspicuous location beside the track. The sign posted claimed that 13 laps was equivalent to a mile, but I wore my cell phone with running app activated to be sure, and to keep track of my times. I started off intentionally slow and tried to get past the initial sensation of muscle failure that always plagues my first mile. After the first few laps, I was surprised to find myself able to increase my pace to what I would consider more of a "run" for about the first half of each lap. I then resumed my former jogging pace for the remainder of the lap to allow some form of recovery. Truth be told, the layout of the gym below inevitably contributed to the timing of my enhanced efforts when in view of the more populated cardio room, and my recovery phase along the deserted basketball courts. I half expected people to openly look up and cheer me on, applauding my effort and perseverance in the face of grand scale humiliation, but I guess the news of my blog has not yet reached my gym. I found myself obsessively counting each lap and reiterating the number the entire way around lest I became confused and forgot a precious lap. I continued in this manner and completed the first mile with decent stride and without stopping. I took a brief tissue and towel break and checked my times. According to my phone, I am the latest and greatest running hotshot on the planet! Not only was my time under 12 minutes, but my phone thought I completed 4.37 miles in that time frame and averaged a 2:29 minute mile. It mistook me for my car. Disregarding the complimentary but far fetched mileage, if my time was accurate I completed my first mile in 11:38!  Another first!
     Nose and sweat once again contained, I resumed my meticulous logging of laps and trudged on though another 2 miles. This was the first I've been able to complete 3 full miles since coming down with my cold, and it felt like finally my training was back on schedule. By the end, my phone was convinced I ran 6 miles in 38:29 minutes. The app I am using is called RunKeeper, and I would highly recommend it to all other novice runners who might be similarly challenged to identify with the running world and who could benefit from some positive reinforcement. I would also recommend usage on an oval running track for optimal app performance, as I was less impressed with its record of my statistics outside. If only the race day timing mechanisms could be so user friendly! Regardless of the pleasantries offered by my phone, finishing 3 miles (confirmed by the 39 laps I painstakingly tallied) in 38:29 is still sweet progress for me. While I had to walk a bit more during the 3rd mile, I was able to jog/run nearly all of the first 2 miles, which was a lovely victory by itself!
     On Friday afternoon I stopped by the Bolder Boulder store to shop for a memento of the race. I had managed to retrieve my race day packet earlier in the week, so I am ready to go! While I was in the store, I noticed that to qualify for the topmost level, the elite "A" heat, one needs to have a time of 38 minutes or less. Once I recovered my faculties after the realization that some people can actually run that fast, I realized that according to my erroneous phone I nearly qualified to run among the superhumans. If I repeat Thursday's effort this weekend at the track, I'm sure I can shave off a half minute from my time. Then I can revisit the store and show them my undeniable cell phone proof to gain entry into the top heat!  It would be surreal to rub elbows with the fastest of the fast; to appear competent and fast, if only until the whistle blows. Sadly, whatever accolades I would gain from being secondarily clumped with the running elite would immediately vanish once everyone started their running pace and I was left behind doing my whimper of a shuffle across the starting line.  Eyebrows would raise and I would only be able to defend my performance to a certain extent. Still, the thought is entertaining and something I cannot promise to renounce.
     I returned home to partake in another Friday night happy hour, wishing that I had nothing else to talk about. This week was the meeting of the minds with my doctor about my leakage issues south of the border, and now that my 2nd glass of wine is on board I can confidently proceed, ensured an empathetic online ear. We discussed all available options to control the ever present jostling induced dribble. We ultimately decided against pharmaceuticals which seemed not applicable to my scenario, but which I would have happily gobbled up in hopes of a dry run. We also decided against surgery. As some are unlucky in love, I am unlucky in surgery.  Instead, I opted for a home gym for the nether region. The state of the art device is newly on the market and looks like a miniature leaf blower outfitted with a deflated punching balloon over the nozzle. The entire apparatus is bubble gum pink, in what I can only assume was a blatant attempt to make it appear more female friendly. Apparently one inflates the balloon section once it is nestled properly in its southern headquarters, and then Kegles away with audio guidance and biofeedback provided by the machine. It is also equipped with electrodes that provide impulses to further zap the bladder control muscles into shape. While intriguing and somewhat exciting to have opportunity to channel electrical impulses through that area of my body, there is still the concern of potential interaction with my defibrillator, firmly implanted in the northern quadrant of my chest. I have not tried out my defibrillator yet. I would prefer to never test its capabilities, despite whatever surreal experiences may inadvertently be offered by a super charged bladder control contraption devised to tighten the spigot of my southern hemisphere. My father also has an internal defibrillator which to his dismay has inadvertently misfired nearly 10 times.  He likens the ordeal to the sensation of a laboratory frog flopping about on the table, and I am not keen on frogs in general. The fact that the medical community maintains an incessant fascination with electrical current as a means to resolve whatever ails me is somewhat concerning, but apparently not enough to make me reject it as a viable treatment option. My doctor is currently researching its compatibility with my other electrical force-field, and then there's the ever present issue of insurance coverage. If all things are agreeable, I should be in possession of this gizmo within the week and stepping up my workouts inside and out, the envy of women everywhere! Just over 2 weeks to go and nothing but positives here! Giddy-up! I am ready to train!

Stroller Coaster Training

Week 5:  On Saturday I dusted off the cobwebs from our jogging stroller and took my daughter out for a short jog. I agreed to bring her on the stipulation that she remain in the stroller for an entire loop on our community trail. Our stroller is the Cadillac of the breed. It is a dual seater with enough storage in the back for carrying a whole suitcase full of tissues and it doubles as a bike trailer. The design of this enormous device has nothing aerodynamic about it, except its wheels which glide almost effortlessly when propelled. I securely fastened my daughter with both a harness seat belt and a lap belt, which at the time seemed a tad excessive given my less than breakneck speed. My daughter, on the other hand, had no confusion about my running skills and came prepared for an all day excursion. She brought along a backpack which she had previously loaded with a snack, a sticker book, 4 pages of stickers, a mermaid, 2 stuffed animals, a lift-the-flap book, and a tiara. I took advantage of the stroller's storage space for an extra jacket, my supply of tissues, and my cell phone which I had planned to use to track my times. We were fully stocked and prepared for a barrage of mishaps, except for the 2 flat tires that immediately derailed us as we attempted our departure from the garage. I tried to resuscitate them with our bicycle pump. This ought to have been easy if our pump were not really a trick pump that is impossible to secure onto tires and only designed to make you think it can be attached. I was forced to wait for my flat tire, bike pump proficient husband to come home to our rescue. As he explained after the fact, it is outfitted with a nozzle that emits air when the lever is released, and it fastens to the tire when the lever is depressed. That is to say, it works opposite every other bike pump nozzle known to mankind. Confirmation of what I already knew:  it was the pump's fault, not mine.
     Finally free from flats, we reloaded and took off. I activated the app on my phone to track my route and times. The first mile was harder than usual. The nearby terrain I had previously considered relatively flat was inarguably uphill. There is nothing quite like pushing a stroller to confirm an incline. I found that by alternating hands on the stroller every 4-5 steps, I could manage to nudge it along ahead of me without over fatiguing my upper body. It did not take me long to regret that I have never excelled at packing lightly. My daughter appears to have inherited that trait. I contemplated tossing non-essential items to the wayside, but I am generally opposed to littering and the heaviest item on board was still endearing on most days. I was forced to stop 3 times. Twice to retrieve and make use of tissues, and once because I realized I could speed walk faster and with less exertion than the nearly stationary jogging pace I was engaged in. My daughter was of no help. She quickly forgot the terms agreed to at the onset of our outing and began pleading to be set free to roam about and do the various exercise stations situated every few feet along the trail. I realized then the true rationale behind the dual seat belts and was happy to have her securely restrained within the confines of the stroller. She went for my Achilles and asked if there might be a shortcut that we could perhaps take to get home faster. She tried to convey ignorance, though she knew perfectly well that there was a shortcut, and that this shortcut traversed beside the community playground. She begged for a shortcut. Without hesitation my body joined the chorus, elated that she put into words what it was unable to verbalize. My mind was the only dissenter in the crowd. As it was difficult to speak and I could not cope with further lack of support, I made it known that any further requests would result in cessation of all future playground excursions and the immediate loss of one mermaid. Defeated, my daughter withdrew to the relative imprisonment of her solitary cell, and although sighs of disappointment remained intentionally audible, there were no further requests made and I was able to focus on the task at hand.
     By that point, I had rounded the corner and was enjoying a slightly downward slope and found I was able to use the stroller to help pull me along. Sometimes chasing the stroller and at other times making use of its momentum, I completed the remainder of my route which was the entire 2nd mile. A whole mile without stopping! Hallelujah! I would have loved to check my times despite my 3 early stops, but apparently the stroller ride is so smooth that movement is undetectable to my app and it turned off shortly after the 1st mile. Though I lacked documented times to corroborate my effort, I was overjoyed to finally last through a full mile, and confident that I could have done even better without having to push the stroller. I had high hopes for Sunday.
     I was forced to head out early Sunday morning to fit my run in as our day was already packed with other activities. This was my first ever morning run and I quickly found the air to be significantly colder at that time of day. It did not take long before I regretted leaving my swim goggles at home. I had to stop before the end of the street again because the flood in my eyes had reduced my visibility to the 4 feet directly in front of me. Against my better judgement, I decided to persevere like normal runners do. I came nowhere close to Saturday's performance and my visual impairment persisted the entire loop. At one point while I tended to my eyes, I ran into an overgrown forsythia bush that had dangerously sprawled over into the right half of the trail. Oh, I had noticed it before, but I cannot be expected to remember the exact whereabouts of every shrub and tree in need of a trimming when I am overwhelmed by a constant deluge obscuring my sight and swirling about my face. I also lost the functioning of my fingers by the halfway point thanks to the colder temperature causing me to recklessly fly through entire wads of tissues that I was unable to separate with my clubbed appendages. Once again I depleted what should have been an ample supply before reaching the end of the trail. I came home exasperated and wished I could take back the day and resume the pleasant aftertaste of yesterday.
     I am beginning to realize I might not be considered a "low maintenance" runner. I need a warm 70-75 degree day, without any form of precipitation, void of wind (slight breeze permissible), and slightly overcast but not too cloudy or too sunny. Internally, I need to be healthy, comfortable, not too hot or too cold, not hungry or too full, well rested, energetic, and I need to have leakage from my eyes, nose, and elsewhere contained and at a minimal rate of production. I admit this may be an incomplete subset and there may be other variables which I have yet to have the pleasure of discovery. My ability to run appears directly proportionate to the degree to which each of these conditions satisfies my body's requirements. I figure that race day nerves might be able to compensate for 2 or 3 of these factors but that still leaves a lot to happenstance. I'm hoping the celestial bodies align and that perfect conditions within my body and on the course prevail on race day.
     Training so far has had its ups and downs. I would have preferred a slow and steady acquisition of skill and speed, but that is out of my control. I can only brush (and wipe) myself off and try again. Tomorrow is another day and I still have the better part of 3 weeks to train.  Like Don Quixote I may be chasing the impossible dream but after every setback my inner optimist somehow resurfaces and I prepare to attack the next run with a renewed sense of bravery and perseverance. Onward Sancho! My windmill awaits!

Consequences of a Cardiac Conscience

Week 4:   Earlier this week, I had my first cardiac scare since starting to train for the race. I awoke in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in my left shoulder that throbbed and refused to go away despite flopping about in bed to shift my position. True, I didn't have any pain in my chest or neck, but I have read how heart attacks can present with shoulder or axillary pain in women, and given my cardiac history, I take all symptoms very seriously. It appears that the short sleeve of a T-shirt, when bunched up in one's armpit, will also reproduce these symptoms, but I hadn't discovered that yet. To date, I have been blessed with perfectly clear arteries, but I naturally began to suspect early signs of a heart attack. My thoughts quickly zeroed in on the bacon cheeseburger I had shamelessly enjoyed for dinner. I recognize that is not standard runner's fare, and I am not proud. For the most part I eat lean meats and loads of veggies. I watch portion sizes and I sometimes limit carbs, but I am no Saint. I like chocolate and pizza and occasionally bacon. Once a year I head out for a doughnut with my family while we watch the televised coverage of the rest of the state running the Bolder Boulder, and this year I am a little sad to miss our annual tradition. I began to question the intensity of my training efforts and wondered if my cardiologist had made some grave mistake in giving me the green light for this race. It was on a whim that I finally decided to palpate the exact location of my pain and inadvertently discovered my balled up sleeve. To my great relief, my symptoms dissipated immediately upon smoothing the crumpled mass. Crisis averted, I can proceed as planned and rejoice that my ticker is not yet ready to concede defeat. And I don't have to undergo a complete dietary overhaul yet, though I will likely steer clear of bacon cheeseburgers in the foreseeable future.
     My cardiologist visited me in my mind at my gym again Thursday. I neglected to tell him about my dinner selection, and this time I made him get on the treadmill beside me. My gym, my rules. I find it only fair if he's going to keep showing up and providing unsolicited commentary on my performance. To my annoyance, he managed an easy jog and never became winded. We played our usual game of "want or need" and I reluctantly retrieved my hand a number of times from its preferred position, hovering over the throttle, before giving in to the need to slow down. He nodded approvingly when I made the correct decision, and only raised an omnipotent eyebrow when I defiantly chose the slower speed anyway. I still had my unrelenting cold, after all.
     Sometimes it feels like a battle of mind over matter, but it would be nice if my matter were less inclined to drag. The first mile is always the worst. I start off optimistic and energetic (at least when I'm not ill) but by the first quarter mile, when my muscles realize the activity I intend to put them through, full revolt occurs with screams of abuse and mistreatment echoing from my posterior downward. I can't wait for this to improve and I'm still confident one day it will, I just wish my body were more cooperative with a faster learning curve.
     My race is now less than a month away, and I have been thinking that it is probably for the best that I've been down and out with a cold this week. Sure, I still made it to the gym once and did a couple of Jillian's, but I intentionally ignored my times and my performance can hardly count as training. On the other hand, my sister Kristiann, who is running the race with me, just ran a half marathon last week for kicks. She probably won't even notice the 10K ("Oh, is it over now?"). I am counting on altitude to help level our respective running skills.  She is accustomed to running at sea level, while I live and train in the oxygen depleted race zone. Hometown advantage. I'd say once you cut her oxygen supply in half, we're about equal in terms of where we're at in our training programs. I'm glad I've been sick, because 4 weeks left of training was seeming a bit excessive, actually. Overkill.  I am honing my running skills with such speed and grace that 3 weeks is plenty of time. I'm totally confident. I am willing myself over my cold and looking forward to new opportunities for success this weekend.  Game on! I was born to run.