It's Muggy

Sweat stings my eyes.  My watch is yelling at me.  It wants me to slow down.  I have no desire to listen to it.  I don't.  



I push forward.

I am on my second 800 meter repeat and the air is thick with humidity.  Why oh why did I wear a hat?  My watch chirps at me to stop my 800 and cool down before picking up the pace again.  The data on my watch tells me I ran my 800 meters a second faster than the first one.  The easy pace I'm doing ensures I cool down.  My watch begins to beep; it's time to pick up the pace again.

The pace is a hard comfortable.  Oh my gosh it's muggy.  Why did I wear a hat again?  I notice a teenager doing strides while her dad tries to keep up.  I smile at the incredible father /daughter bonding moments that will come out of sweating out hard workouts together.  My watch is telling me to slow down.

Beep, beep, beep.  My 800 is over.  A second faster again.  Nearing my water bottle, I flick my hat off and it lands right next to the bottle.  SCORE!  I take a swig or two of the liquid gold and continue on my cool down pace. My watch beeps again telling me break is over.  I am completely unsure how this is possible as I thought it told me to slow down only 5 seconds prior.

Have I mentioned it's muggy?  My 4th 800 repeat goes by quickly and I've knocked another 2 seconds off my previous time.  Calculations quickly tell me I am now 4 seconds faster than my first which is 15 seconds faster than what the training plan called for.  I'm sure a coach somewhere would be yelling at me to slow it down.  I'm a week into my 3 week taper and the Taper Tantrums have struck.

Two more repeats to go.  The heat is getting to me and I notice my 5th 800 meter is 5 seconds slower than my last; more in line to what it should be but my effort seemed harder.  My cool down time is less than a millisecond long before my watch is telling me to get going again.

Last one.  Thank you Lord.  I push it knowing I am on my last one.  I try and wipe the sweat from my eyes.  It stings.  Suck it up princess.  It's almost over.  I round the last turn and with mercy my watch beeps again telling me it's time to cool down.  2 seconds slower than my last.  I'll take it.  It's muggy.

My friends and I start our cool down mile and talk about today's workout.  The easy pace feels good.  The conversation is good and before we realize it, the mile is over.  We stretch our well-worked muscles and talk about football; finally the season begins.

Walking back to our cars, we high five each other and solidify the weekend's running plans.  Sitting in my car, I turn the key and reach to press the button which puts the top down.  It's definitely a top-down kind of a drive.  

After all, it is muggy.

No More School, No More Books

It's hot and the sun is bright as I step onto the black oval of a local high school track.  My friends and I meet every Monday to push ourselves with speed or tempo runs.  Meeting earlier than I could make, they had already begun their workout.  I step onto an outside lane and begin my easy paced warm up mile; alone.  The quiet is what I need.

The last day of school is normally a day of celebration in our household, yet today I found myself deep in melancholy.  Selfishly I could not wait for this day - no more packing lunches, no more homework, no more grade checks.  I was done with conversations centered around school work.  The day was finally here.  YES!

What I was not ready for was the feeling of sadness at the bus stop earlier that morning.  My youngest hops on the bus to embark on his last day of elementary school; after today he would be walking the halls of middle school.  The bus driver, Mary Anne, shuts the door and turns to wave at me ~ just as she has done every day for the past 11 years once each of my boys had boarded the bus.  As she pulls away and I start my car to leave for work, it dawns on me : this is my last day of elementary school.  My days at the bus stop are over. 

I wasn't ready to close that chapter.

My feet are carrying me around the track and helping me let go of the emotions of the day.  To hold tight to those feelings would not change the reality of that part of my life being over; no, this was a chance to embrace something new, something scary and I will be just fine.  But it doesn't mean I'm not staring this opportunity in the face without sadness in this mama's heart.

My friends, Kathy and Karen, are on a cool down lap and turn around to meet me as I finish  my warm up.  The next couple mile repeats we run together.  Kathy just watched her youngest son graduate from high school two days previous and understands every single emotion.  The three of us talk and more importantly, we laugh.

As they started before me, I am off to run the final mile repeat on my own.  The sun is hot.  The black track reflecting the heat suddenly gives me incredible amounts of empathy for how bacon feels in a frying pan.  Despite it all, I nail the pace of my final mile.  I feel good.  I feel better than I had all day.

The workout is over and we head back to our cars.  We gather in the parking lot and the conversation gets long.  There is no homework to go home to, there is no rushing home to pack lunches, there is only me with my running friends talking about whatever it is we want to talk about.

And I am enjoying every single minute of it.   

The Affair

My household is still sleeping when I quietly sneak out the back door.  The sun remains hidden behind the night, yet emerging slowly as it's light begins to outline the mountains ahead of me.

The affair began a few weeks ago and in three more weeks it'll be over.  Although he is never boring, he tires me and a handful of weeks is about all I will be able to handle of him.  No one can see me as I make my way down the road; this is a good thing as I rolled out of bed only a few minutes before.

We meet Thursday mornings on a quiet and desolate road.  Other options are available, but none fit into my schedule as easily as this road.  I arrive and suppress my feelings to run the other way.  No, I must follow through with this.  I can't see him but I know he is there.  

Inhaling deep I look at my Garmin, press the start button and begin to run.  Hard.  Bart slinks out from behind the shadows.  He falls in step right behind me, he pushes my pace.  I can not out run him.   His voice breaks the silence in my head, telling me to slow it down.  I look at my watch.  He's right.  He's always right.  I curse him.
 
Half of a mile later, I find myself in a slow and easy pace.  Bart says nothing.  My watch beeps.  Bart pushes me and I am forced to pick up the pace once again.  The nighttime clouds created an air laden with the mugginess of summer.  Beads of sweat drip down my forehead.   Bart smirks.  "Don't flatter yourself" I mumble.

Another 800 meters completed, I slow my pace once again.  While catching my breath, I smile as the realization hits me - not once did Bart tell me to speed up or slow down.  The correct pace becomes easier to find.  Despite nailing the paces, Bart hovers over me refusing to let me go.

The cycle repeats itself several more times.  I am hot, I am tired and I want to punch Bart in the face.  Yet, he does not give up on me.  Like a bad penny you can't get rid of, I hear his voice over and over again, "Come on Cheri, you got this."  or my favorite, "Oh yea?  You can't punch me if you can't catch me."

With the workout done, I turn and head for home.  Bart disappears into the shadows.  I question the sanity of this affair.  I am a tired and sweaty mess, not caring to ever see him again.  Yet, after a long shower and few hours removed from our rendezvous, a secretive and coy grin emerges on my face.  It is this feeling of tremendous accomplishment which drives me back to him time and time again. 

Yasso 800s will be waiting for me next week to push me, work me and to make me stronger come race day.  Bart and I will continue this love/hate relationship. That is until the day comes when I catch him.  And instead of punching him in the face, I will hug him while standing at the finish line of my Boston Qualifying Marathon.        

The man himself.

   

How Much Can You Bench Press?

How much can YOU bench press?  (Does the question beg of a tone in which you can hear the antagonizing sneer?  Good.)

I don't belong to a gym or have a personal trainer.  I run.  What I do have is a 15 year old son with a weight set.  This is great for him as it keeps him interested in exercise and away from video games, well at least make it so he isn't always playing video games.

Earlier this year I sprained my ankle and started going crazy without my daily run.  Craziness makes one go insane.  It's true.  I googled it.  In my insanity I asked my 15 year old son to show me some exercises to do on the weight set.  He relished the moment of son-teaching-mom and showed me some exercises to do. 

They weren't my favorite, but I did them.  They didn't take much time and it made me feel like I was at least doing something which was far better than doing nothing.  It wasn't but a couple weeks (and to my complete surprise) I began to see definition.  One could actually see my arms had muscles and weren't just appendages hanging from my shoulders.

I am still trying to find out where my abs are hidden.

Running is my exercise of choice and after slaying the Ankle Dictator I resumed my 30 to 40 mile weeks. Every once in awhile I walk by the weight set and still pump out some of the lifts he showed me.  Today I realized how glad I am my son taught me what he did.

Having nothing particular to do on my lunch today, I filled my car up with gas and took a few minutes out of my day to stop by the house and surprise the boys.   I walked through the garage (past the weight set) and through the back door.  My oldest was sitting on the sofa watching something extremely educational on tv (I'm certain).

"What are you doing here?"

"Just stopping by to get a hug from you, can I have one?"

He smiled (!) and stood up from the couch.  All 6'1" of him bent down to give me one of his big bear hugs.  When the kids were little I did not think anything could trump a hug in which you feel tiny little fingers wrapped around your neck.  Now I know big boy hugs are just as special.

He breaks away and smiles before sitting back down.

"Where is your brother?"

"At the neighbor's."

Once out the sliding glass door, I call for my youngest.

"Mom?!?!?"

"Yep, it's me!  Can I get a hug?"

"MOM!!!!"  The lilt in his voice betrayed his excitement.  Leaving his friends behind he came running through the back yard.  I stood in the lawn waiting for him.

Without warning, my 5'1", 95 lb, ten year old linebacker of a son leapt up in the air and into my arms.  I caught him while standing my ground.  He wrapped his legs around my waist and gave me a body hug.

"What are you doing here Mom?"

"Stopping by to get a hug from you and your brother."

He lets go, smiles a big smile and says, "Ok, I'm going to go play now."  And off he went.

Driving back to work, I thanked God for my health and the strength I had to catch my leaping son.  I thanked Him for big boy hugs and the blessing of being a mother.

So I ask you, how much can you bench press?  You don't need a gym membership or even a weight bench.  Pick up a 2 pound sack of potatoes for $3 on your next trip to the grocery store and lift the bag ten times with each arm.  Arm curl a 32 ounce water bottle (that's 2 lbs!).  The possibilities are endless when using simple, every day items.

People often ask me why I run; more often they tell me I'm crazy.  Truth be told, there are lots of reasons why I run.  However, there is just one answer on the top of my list, and it is this - I feel better about life more now than I ever did before I got up and moved my overweight tush off the couch.  Being healthy and active brings a certain color to the world, a color you didn't know was missing.  Once you see The Color, you want everyone to see it.  That's when they start to call you crazy.  But it's ok.  You can see The Color and you know one day they will too if you lead by example.  Especially your children.

Get up and move.  I don't care if you walk, ride bike, swim, or chase squirrels in the back yard.  Doing one small thing a day is a stepping stone to seeing The Color.  And I promise you, you will see it.

Afterall, if life throws you a 5'1", 95 lb 10 year old little boy, don't you want to be able to catch him?

Believe in yourself.

Rest In Peace Mad Woman

The Mad Woman is dead; may she rest in peace and never come back to haunt me. 

I, with unabandoned excitment, went for a run this morning!  Actually, it was more of a walk/run/walk/run and it felt great.  The alarm rang and in an instant I was out of the bed and putting on my running clothes.  Within minutes, I was out the door and testing the strength in my ankle.

Thus, the Mad Woman had to die.  With each gentle step I took, I was digging her grave deeper and deeper.  With the ability of being able to run returning, I am no longer feeling like a mad woman with pent up energy wanting to pull out my hair.

Running helps me sleep better. 

Running helps me feel better. 

Running gives me energy. 
Running keeps me sane. 

This is why I have missed it so.  My sanity comes in the form of shoe laces being tied at 5 a.m.  This morning my walk/run took place in the rain, but I didn't care.  I was out there and I was running.

Now to work on that Ankle Dictator.  I am hoping to carve his name next; underneath that of the Mad Woman's.

Diary of A Mad Woman : Part 2

The Ankle Dictator and I are in a stare down; each waiting to call the other's bluff.  Unfortunately, I am not bluffing and he isn't joking so we continue to stare at each other.  It's a waiting game and I wait impatiently for him to flinch.  Maybe I should flirt with him.

Oh the Ankle Dictator thinks he can trick me.  He brought me a gift that he thought I'd love; wrapping it up in fancy little paper with a great big bow thinking I'd be impressed.  Cleverly gifted was the promise of sleeping in.  One would think the gift of extra sleep would be welcomed and I won't lie, the first day or two the Ankle Dictator snagged me hook, line, and sinker.  Not anymore.  While in training and after 4 days of hard running, I'd earned a day off of running therefore allowing me to sleep in.  Oh how sweet that day was.  Now that I have them every day, they aren't so sweet - more like the sweetness of a sour patch kid.

After a week of snow, ice and finally rain, we were blessed with a day of the most incredible sunshine and blue skies.  I'd look out my window and every thought was consumed with how it was incredibly perfect running weather.  I cursed the Ankle Dictator.  As my sprained left foot is needed for the clutch in the car,  I couldn't even drive my convertible.  Sigh.  I bought a latte instead.  It made sense at the time.

Saturday morning I wouldn't have to get up early to meet my friends for a high mileage run, leaving me with the freedom to make plans for Friday night.  We invited our friends Suzanne, Jim, Karen & Tim over for a friendly (?) game of Pit.  Not one of us could remember the last time we had laughed that hard, each declaring our abs were getting the best workout they'd ever had.  We rediscovered cheek muscles and the next morning they were still sore. 

The Ankle Dictator and I continue our stare down; but I will take my laughter-induced sore abs and cheeks and begin a new workout.   And I will workout hard in hopes to gain some of the endorphins running gives me.  When the sore muscles come, I will sharpen my stare at the Ankle Dictator and when he least expects it, I will wink at him.  Hopefully it'll fluster him enough to forget about my ankle.

Diary of A Mad Woman : Part 1

It is 5 days removed from spraining my ankle, 5 days of no running, and I am still alive.  Amazingly I haven't killed anyone either; that could be in part that everyone can out run me right now, but let's attribute it to my incredible self-restraint shall we?

The Ankle Dictator has been pretty quiet, not jabbing my ankle every time I move.  The trick, I discovered, is sitting on the couch with my foot up.  This alone is an accomplishment worthy of marathon-finish line proportions.  Never have I sat still for this long.  Who would've thought that rest really does work?  Each day I've been able incorporate more and more into my day letting me know that my ankle is doing much better in it's recovery this time around than it did in 2008.

Mr. Meany Pants visited me the other day.  Dressed all in brown, he hopped out of the big brown box truck he drives and had the cruel audacity to bring to me the Running Warehouse package I had ordered before I sprained my ankle.  Can you believe the nerve of some people?  Although I will say I look forward to the day I can break in this bad boy.  Saucony's ViziPro will make me light up in the dark without having to wear my jacket.  It even comes with a flashing light on the sleeve.  This satisfies my gadget geekiness (<---- that is a word now).

I'm planning the exercises I will be able to do that do not involve my ankle.  This has proved a little trickier than anticipated; even some of the weight set exercises require me to brace my body with my feet and ankles.  As it gets stronger I'll be able to incorporate more and more.

Today I'm planning on an intense upper body workout ~ I am painting my oldest son's room.  Oh come on now, did you really think I'd sit still all day?

 

Push

At my desk eating my lunch, I find myself staring out the window. I sigh. I'm tired. Not a missing-several-hours-of-sleep tired, but a physical tired that comes from pushing yourself athletically beyond your current limits.


My running group and I met at the track last night and did a tough 1600 meter repeat workout. The weather was hot, the workout was tough and it felt great! Drenched in sweat and drinking some water down, we all headed out for an easy paced 2 mile cool down run. Despite my muscles aching from the workout, it felt good to go at a conversational pace and feel the intensity slowly working it's way out and be replaced by a calm knowing you left it all out on the track.

As a busy mom and wife, my alone time to run is at 5 a.m. before the rest of the house awakens; this means my coach prescribed "Easy 5 mile run" on the plan today would have to be run less than 10 hours after finishing my track workout the night before. I had no problem keeping the easy miles easy.


Which brings me back to the present; sitting here at my desk, eating my lunch and staring out the window. My muscles are tired and my body is relaxed; both gifts from pushing myself physically. It's a welcomed kind of a tired, one that brings motivation.


Still, I think I'll treat myself to a latte. After all, it can only help, right?