Puffed Up and Pouty Like a Swollen Creek

I can't talk about Fight Club yet. I am sour on things; bratty and really don't have a lot nice to say. Everything is off, out of place and just plain not copacetic in my little corner of the universe. Yes, I am hiding--throwing sticks and tossing stones and just not ready to come out. Maybe when it is sunny here again I will.

I do feel guilty for neglecting the blog. I haven't written because I am so negative lately. I can hardly stand to be around myself; much less spend time, thought, and words giving it a name, labeling and cataloging it here for you. I can't even find humor at it--at myself and well, that almost never happens. The yuckiness that I feel lately is thick and chewy and I want nothing to do with it and trust me, neither do you.

Yesterday though, when the sun peaked out a tiny bit, I did go for a little run in the morning and while not fantastic it was okay because it didn't hurt, I could breathe and of course, I was getting to run. But I didn't feel great and it was totally disgusting down by the river where I ran: sewer smell, gray and red mud slicks, twisted and broken trees, mushy gravel and occasionally, an impassable flood pool. All that on a mostly paved path.


In the afternoon I was feeling even better and really wanted to get another workout in. But Tuesdays Beau has his theater class . Typically, while Beau is in class, Carmella and I go shopping or go down by the river and she rides her bike and I run along side her. However, having seen the condition of the trail that morning and knowing Carmella's sensibilities I knew that wasn't going to work out. And because of the general lack of resources, as discussed in the previous post, shopping was out too.

So I convinced Carmella to go on a hike.

I convinced her by telling her we didn't have to run and that we could bring Lola.

Beau's theater class is in the historic section of Roswell and right near the old mill.
The mill area has been completely transformed in the last 10 or so years. When I was younger I thought of the area as a bit sketchy but now I am not even sure if I can afford to breathe the air over there it is so fancy and cute in it's pretentious small town quaint. (Hmm, that sounded a bit snarky. See, I told you I am not nice lately.)

I have heard that there are hiking trails over there and I have been wanting to check them out as I am always looking for new places with new sights to put the miles in. I have no idea how long they have been there but as far as I know they were not there when I lived over in that area during grad school. (I lived a block over on the street with all the churches. A huge 2 bedroom for $500 a month with hardwood floors that I had all to my little lonesome. It was cheap and wonderful and that is where I lived when I very first started running. Ah, nostalgia. . . )

At any rate, for those who have not been there and are also in need of a new place to run it looks like there are quite a few trails and they go all the way down to the cliffs at Allenbrook . How long the trails are I don't know-- the maps I saw didn't say but I am really really bad at reading maps. You go and figure it out and report back to me.

The trails are a little technical, probably most like the ones at Sope Creek. I don't know if you can mountain bike on the mill trails or not. I did not see signs saying one way or the other and I did not see any mountain bikers or really anyone else on the trails.

I brought my camera and we took pictures along the way.

This is the waterfall at Vickery Creek.
I am not totally clear on the names since I saw that it was called Big Creek in a few places. All I know is that I use to hang out a lot down at the waterfall off Sloan Street in high school and we called it Vickery Creek and we could walk straight across the top. And sometimes, never me, people jumped off the waterfall.

This is how it looked yesterday. I was kind of scared just to stand near it. Betting no one is jumping off it or walking across the falls this week.
There are mill ruins all over. Most people hate kudzu but one of the things I love about the landscape of the South is seeing the battles between the vines and the architecture. It is a war in slow motion.


Even though she made me promise we didn't have to run. She ran most of the time. Seriously. She is so silly. Running? It is what kids do. That walking crap is for old people.

I have never seen so many mushrooms in the area as I have this summer/fall. In fact, I have been wanting to make cut outs of Smurfs and put them under the mushrooms on the trails I run on. I think people would like that.

In my not so scientific study of local trails in the area and mushroom life the ones at the Lieta trail are the most interesting: bright pink, red or the spotted variety. At Kennesaw Mountain and at the mill trails all I've seen are the brown and white kinds and toadstools.

We walked down Sloan Street to check out the Founder's Cemetery.
I could stand it only long enough to take few pictures. I got chewed to pieces by mosquitoes if I didn't keep moving. I can't believe how bad the mosquitoes are and here it is mid fall.Aren't they usually gone by now? It it terrible. My legs look like I have the pox!

Do you see it? In this picture?

The ray of light? The sun? It is what I am hoping for these days. Trying not to read too much into it that I saw it, however briefly, in a cemetery. However, it is October so I suppose that makes sense. . . somehow.

Maybe?

Mojo MIA

I know. I suck. No blogging. And that is because I am over(under?)whelmed by summer. Can't seem to get it together.

I am desperately missing the marathon but this 90+ degree heat is not making me want to get out there and run at all. I am totally lost.

But I can feel an organization tsunami coming so maybe things will come together and I will once again be a running, cycling, swimming, blogging machine. Right now though I am sloth and slogging slowly through the heat and the lack of child care that is known as summer.

Pray for me.

2008 Silver Comet Half Marathon Race Report

Don't be fooled by the title.

One of those words in there is a misnomer.

This is my 3rd year running the Silver Comet Half Marathon. I really like this race simply because in the past I have done very well at it. In fact, my 2 fastest half marathon times are from this race: 1:41xx and 1:36xx. I even placed both years top 3 in my age group. This race is also the perfect marathon tune up. The past 2 years I have trained through this race; meaning, no taper-- just raced it as my last hard run before my marathon taper.

Well this year going into this race was a little different. First off my fall marathon is 2 weeks later this year than the previous 2 years. Second, if you have been reading my blog for a while, you know that I have complained off and on since last January about various calf problems. And if you have been reading then you also probably know that I have not had what I would call a successful race since November of 2007. Though, in retrospect, I will admit that Ga ING marathon was a pretty good effort considering I was coming off an injury--or rather still had an injury.

My training hasn't been great. Sure, I've put in a lot of miles and effort-- but duration doesn't always mean "hard effort". To perform well in a race you definitely need to put in a hard effort in training. So while I have put in a lot of time and miles hardly any of it was under a 8 min pace for the past month.

The reason I have purposely avoided a hard effort in training is that when I push the pace my legs give me issue and I can't recover fast enough to continue to train. However, if I go slow I can put in the miles--lots of miles. But as soon as I dip below that comfortable forever pace of 8:30 Bam! I start having problems. Distance is not an issue for me but speed**, apparently is. And well, to race you kinda need the speed part. It is the key component of running fast.

**I feel compelled to add that this is relative. I am by no means an elite runner by any standards. I am just talking about being faster than I was.**

Despite all this I had been cautiously optimistic that since I was "taking it easy" in training that I could put up a good race. A PR of sub 1:36 wasn't likely but it wasn't out of the question either--at least that is what I told myself. In September I had done 2 12 mile training runs that came in under a 7:30 avg pace. I figured my speed** was still there. The question was more could my legs handle it? That was the unknown for me and recent experiences told me: Not likely. Still though, ever the optimist, I didn't dwell too much on the odds. . .

My training had been going okay. I was, if nothing, being consistent and cautious. I was working through my injury: icing, massaging, stretching-- babying it. However, I was, I admit, definitely pushing the envelope with the mileage this month.

I've run a long run ( 2 21 milers, a 23.5 miles and 25.3 miler)and a medium length run of 13-17 miles every week. The first week of October I jumped up to 58 miles with only 4 days of running. The next week I ran 65 miles. The following week I ran 72 miles and was on my way to 53 miles for last week as a cut back week. I ran 10 miles at marathon pace on Monday. I ran a 21 miler on Tuesday (50 seconds slower than goal marathon pace). On Wednesday I ran close to tempo pace for 6 miles. Thursday and Friday were to be easy days.

On Thursday my house of cards came crumbling down on me. On my 3 mile "easy" run my calf completely locked up on me. I hobbled my way through it for a 9:21 avg pace after having gone out at least 2 minutes faster. After wards my calf was swollen, tight and tender to the touch. I babied the heck out of it and stayed off it Friday. I hoped and prayed over it.

Fast forward to this past Saturday: race day.

I woke up and everything felt good. I could still feel some residual knots in my calf but it was softer, better--still melon firm but not rock hard. So yeah, better. I went in with the optimistic attitude of "you never know" --really thinking it was all going to workout for me.

I drove to the start and parked at the middle school as I have done the past 2 years. This gives me the opportunity for a .8 mile warm up. I started out slow, easy pace. About 4 minutes in my calf started to tighten up.
Uh-oh, not good.
I slowed the pace and even walked a bit. The tightness turned to that familiar ache and reached down and was griping my arch. Nope, definitely not good. But! (I thought,optimistically still consoling myself.) This happens frequently when I start out. Most times the muscle relaxes if I keep the pace easy enough and I can later push the pace. This is how I have done all of my long runs. By the 3rd or 4th mile almost always the tightness/pain is gone and I can run a faster clip. For 20 more miles I should add. Certainly, other issues arise: hip pain, IT band tightness etc. But I consider those an aspect of the distance and they are not debilitating like the calf issue. Meaning, I can run through those at whatever pace. With the calf issue I cannot maintain my pace. Often times I am even forced to walk because the tightness doesn't allow my muscle to flex. It is immobilizing. Again, though. If I go slow enough I can usually work through it. . .

I got to the start area and still had about 15 minutes to warm up. I went behind the building to this open grassy area and did strides and then stretched. Basically running back and forth; really giving my legs a good warm up.

I lined up for the race in my usual spot--about 10 feet back and off to the left side. After a bit of a wait the horn went and we were off. I purposely held back. I didn't have a watch since I have yet again broke the strap of my Garmin but I was keeping the tightness at bay. I knew I wasn't going too fast. Other than my leg I felt very comfy and strong. At the mile split a 7:20 pace was called. That was pretty much perfect since last year I ran an average 7:23 pace. Definitely not out too fast.

Even still I could feel the muscle getting tight and the cramp coming on. So I slowed down. This was hard because while I was definitely capable of holding, even pushing the pace I knew I couldn't. So I got passed a good bit. I just looked down at the ground. Because of this I missed the 2 mile split call.

The tightness was getting worse and was now really hurting. So I pulled back a bit more. I heard the 3 mile split but can't remember exactly. It was 22 something. Either :36 or 46. I really can't remember. However slowing down had helped and while my leg wasn't exactly comfortable and loose it was starting to feel better. I took that to mean I was past the worst of it and could open up my pace. I started to push without issue. I felt really happy and felt like I was running how I should be running. I focused on not thinking about the pain and started picking people off. Anyone who runs a race knows that is the best feeling in the world. Being cautious and mindful of my calf though I would run up on a group and feel out their pace before passing--certain that I could maintain before pulling past them.

I missed the 4 mile split but sometime around then the pain and tightness came back full on. I still tried to maintain the pace I was running --since I just passed all those people-- but I could feel myself compensating my stride. It is hard to explain and it may not have even looked like how it felt. But it felt like I was pulling around a stiff leg and leaning to the right. My left foot was even hitting my right calf at times. I tried to focus on running from the hip, imagining my legs were like the hands on a clock--like how Ryan Hall's look--even and smooth-- and fast. I looked down and bitterly observed the runners' in front of me. Their calves. They looked loose, soft, not permanently flexed and stiff like mine felt. I hated them and their perfect calves.

And then my left foot went numb. My heart sank. It was South Carolina all over again. And then I wasn't running. I walked for a second and then stepped off and stretched. Someone in front of me was doing the same. I felt a teeny tiny bit better that someone else was struggling.

I got back on the course and tried to run. I couldn't. So I walked.

I walked past a kid calling splits. I asked him what mile this was, thinking--knowing--it was 5 but really wasn't sure. He said "I don't know, but you're at 36:50."

For a split second I felt optimistic realizing I wasn't really off pace for a PR or even, at the least, finishing close to last year's pace. All this, of course, assuming I could pull it together. I mean, energy wise I felt great. Warmed up and ready to race. I started running again and was instantly reminded of the vice that was holding me back: my left calf muscle. I asked a guy who passed me if this was mile 5 and he confirmed that it was.

And, just like that, I was done.

And just like that I quit. I stepped off the course and watched as people passed me. A few optimistically called out to "hang in there" and "that I could do it". and yes, I knew I could do it but I wasn't about to hang in there for 8 miles of pain and discomfort and possible permanent injury.

So when there was a break in the crowd I crossed and headed back the way I had come. Again a few people called out to me "Not to do it!" and I just ignored them, not making eye contact. I walked down to the trail opening as runner after runner passed me and asked the police officer blocking traffic how I could get back to the start. I explained, that I was quitting: I was injured.

He told me to wait right there. I did as told and when he had a moment he called a ride for me. He told me it was going to be a bit and offered to let me sit in his patrol car since it was cold. I told him I was fine and that it was humiliating enough to have quit the race that I didn't need people thinking I was also getting arrested. He laughed and said that I would get cold and change my mind and the offer was still open. Of course, right then I vowed to not change my mind no matter how cold I got. I am so stubborn and dumb.

And he was right.

About 2 minutes later I was cold! But it wasn't bad. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself as I watched the throngs of runners with perfect calf muscles pass me. I thought about Steph and her attitude. Her always positive attitude and how she cheered everyone on during the South Carolina Half despite her tummy woes and decided that being sad and negative really wasn't doing me any good. So, I got over it. Quitting-- it just didn't matter in the large scheme.

I cheered for people as they went by and tried my best to be encouraging. Admittedly I am not a natural like Steph. And I guess I wasn't doing all that great of a job being positive because Lauren passed me and asked if I "was okay?" And another lady stopped and gave me her jacket (I had on a skirt and short sleeves--way under dressed compared to most but dressed fine for one who planned on racing. Le sigh.). She told me to leave it on the post for her. I am glad people were still nice to me even though I felt a bit of a pariah for being a quitter.

A few minutes later I got to see the leader coming on the return.
I was glad I got to see that. He looked amazing! Wish I could run like that!
And, he had a almost a 5 minute lead on the these guys:
I was hoping to see the lead girls come by but my ride showed up. And oh boy, does the universe has a sense of humor when it comes to me.
I had to ride in a police car anyway.

I know some of you might be surprised (others, relieved--Mom, Dad) but this was my first time riding in the back of police car--having never been arrested. It was kinda exciting! And I was surprised by how little space there was! And that it was really clean. The officer giving me the ride laughed at me taking pictures of myself and offered to take one of me.
I told him I got one but I would love it if he would hand cuff me and pretend to arrest me and take that picture. I guess the answer was no since all he did was laugh and the handcuffs never came out.

He was really nice and drove me back to my car. I hurried and drove over to the finish hoping to see the leaders finish but I missed the overall winner. I got there just in time to see the girl leader finish. Unfortunately though not in time to get her picture.

I commiserated briefly with others who were there but were injured and couldn't race. Birds of a feather, you know. . .

I left because I was really cold and couldn't stay to watch for others to finish since I was driving to Bainbridge after the race. Details of that trip will be in another post --so don't ask (Lala).

As a recap, of course, I am sad that I didn't finish the race. This is my first ever DNF. Quitting really is hard! In theory it sounds like the easy way out but when you are committed and passionate about something stepping away from it is just about the hardest thing in the world to do. I've often wondered what would make me quit a race; since I see myself as a person that pushes herself through just about anything. Generally, I view "just finishing" as an accomplishment and is always one of my race goals. In the past I have always been happy that I fought my way through pain, sickness, and misery to just finish when a race wasn't going my way. Quitting, really wasn't ever an option for me.

However, I can also say with absolute confidence that Saturday I would have still been sad if I had finished. Finishing the race would have gained me nothing but making my injury worse and probably force me to drop out of the Atlanta Marathon. And to me that was a more devastating choice. So yes. I quit. I quit one race in hopes that I can still run another--maybe even, dare I think it, race the marathon on Thanksgiving.

So. . . I am taking a full week off from running and hoping that gives my calf enough time to heal and recover and I can resume training for the marathon. I know that doesn't sound like a lot of time but the way I see it I haven't taken more than 3 days off from running since I had the flu 4 years ago and even then that was only 5 days. I've run through every single injury I've ever had--even sprained ankles. Some I've even raced through. So for me I think 7 days of not running is a huge step in the recovery direction.

That said, I do plan on cross training-- weights, swimming, cycling, yoga etc. I just can't imagine not exercising everyday. That would make me depressed. And, I should add, in the past 7 years--since Carmella was born--I don't think I've ever gone more than one day of not doing some form of exercise. So I just can't even fathom. Call me addicted, I don't care. Exercise is just what I do. Like shower or brush my teeth.

However, I am a bit lost on how to resume my training next week and if you have suggestions or experience I would like to hear it. I've toyed with a few different ideas:
Jump back into a high mileage week (60-80 miles)--as was my plan for this week and next--and just continue to a 2 week taper and pretend this week just didn't happen.
Or . .
Resume my base running mileage of 40-50 miles per week and then do a one week taper.
Or. . .
Do a reverse taper and build mileage back up so that race week is a peak mileage week.

Thoughts? Opinions?

As always thanks for listening and of course, congrats to all those that ran, raced and/or Pr'd the Silver Comet last weekend!

Dinner a la Taper

Sure sign that I am in the throes of the ugliness that is a taper is a dinner menu such as this:

Pulled BBQ Pork Tenderloin Sandwiches (slow simmered all day long, so, so good)

Roasted Sweet Potatoes (with butter, cinnamon and maple syrup)

Homemade Mac n Cheese Florentine (read lots of butter and cheese and oh, yeah, a little spinach)

Magic Hat number 9

I think I gained weight just preparing this meal. And I don't think the calories I burned from my 6 mile run and 2200 yd swim can even touch it. Things are not going to be looking pretty at the start line of the S.C half iron man. And by things I mean my bulging gut and big fat ass.

Still Life with Burnt Toast and Side of Butter

It is an intriguing and brilliant piece that serves as a visual conceit on the marathon taper. Clearly what we are seeing here is the work of a master. It is apparent that the artist is paying homage to the classic Flemish still life tradition however the sober imagery of severely burnt toast suggests the gloom that permeates postmodern still lifes.

The image of burnt toast never fails to rattle the soul. It is a meal wasted; carbs rendered inedible. To a marathoner in the taper for who "carbo loading" is the very essence of being there is nothing more macabre than a wasted carb loaded meal: Even one as simple as buttered toast.

Admittedly burnt toast is a very tired symbol. So over used in both painting and literature that it has evolved as a modern cliche for "burn out". However in this particular taper piece the artist has in some sense "reinvented the wheel" by using the burnt toast to be representative of the leg muscles rather than the runner as a whole.

More specifically, the burnt toast is referring to the lower calf muscles. You can tell this is the intention because the toast is cut on the diagonal rather than left whole or simply halved. Clearly this diagonal cut is symbolizing the angles of a well developed calf. And the fact that there are two pieces of toast, both equally burnt, suggests the "burn out" is severe. This is supported by the darkness of the toast. Aside from the black and deep sepia color, the exaggeration of the toastedness is additionally depicted with visible brush strokes and heavy handed paint on the toast whereas in other areas of the painting there is a lighter touch. The effect is genius as the viewer can see, almost taste, how unpalatable the toast is. It is that burnt.

The image of the butter certainly holds a special place in the postmodern still life pantheon. The artist's choice of butter as a spread is referring to the appetite that rages in the marathon taper.

Butter, long revered as a symbol of fat, is communicating the potential weight gain that is a direct result of marathon tapering. It is also telling of how the body is so "freaked out" that there just might be another 4 hour run looming in the near future that the body is desperate for nutrients, calories, fat. Certainly, the butter depicted here is a nod to survival instinct and to the human body's anthropological need to hoard fat. Not to mention the tapering marathoner's appetite-- for who this meal was prepared-- is probably completely out of control. At first glance it does appear that the butter speaks nothing of the water retention that is wrecking havoc on the marathoner's usually chiseled physique; but upon closer examination we can only assume that the butter used here is of the salted variety.


Finally we would be remiss if we did not touch briefly on the artist's choice of a still life to depict the madness and despair that so often punctuates the marathon taper. Without a doubt this is very telling of the workouts embodied in the marathon taper: Like a still life they are inanimate, artificial and mundane. . .

Blah, blah blah. . .
Uhm, soooooo . . . .this week has sucked.

I am as burnt and stale as a piece of toast.

Oh yeah, and I am getting fat. . . mmm, butter.

I won't bother with the specifics of the breakdown cause it ain't pretty but here are the totals:
Running: (hangs head in mortal shame) 30 miles O.M.G.
Cycling: 42 miles
Swimming: 3 miles
Walking/hiking: 2.5 miles
Moving on. With the emphasis on the "moving" and the(being)"on" parts.

Still managed to be streaking.

Carmella has strep throat.

I need a job.

The Adult Evening Part II: Counter Culture

It is so unfortunate (or perhaps it is fortunate for some) that I forgot my camera last night. I heard Ryan mutter "thank God" when I realized I had left it behind. We were already running late because I was having one of those fat days.

I am certain-- whether you are female or not-- you are familiar with what I am referring to. If not, please, let me elaborate. It was one of those times where I have no clothes! Nothing! To wear. And yes, all those clothes crammed into my closet? I hate them all. Every last one of them; even though last week? I liked them. And so, you see, I have to try everything I own on but in the end I will decide to wear the first thing I tried on. You know, the outfit I had on 30 minutes ago. So. Annoying. . .

This fat, I know,-- even knew in the throes of the fat fit-- that it is the direct result of my crappy exercise this week. Well, that and PMS.

See, if I run 40 miles a week I don't feel fat. Ever. I know technically I am not fat and probably haven't even gained a pound. But when I don't run my regular mileage the hormones totally mess with my psyche. I know rationally that it is ridiculous to let few pounds of bloat get the better of me but that is what happens when I run less than my regular mileage. Sigh, this was just an unfortunate week to nurse an injury.

Are we clear?

Good.

So back to my trusty camera. It is totally unfortunate because the following are the pictures of Ryan and I's adult evening that I would have taken had I had it with me.

And just to be clear there are no pictures, only descriptions of the pictures that I would have taken had I had my camera.

You with me?

Here is the picture of where Ryan and I go to the adult novelty shop to get Wes a birthday present.

And here is the picture of the cheetah print G string that I still sort of regret not getting him because I think that would have been even funnier than what I did get him. Which sorry I am not telling you what I got him.

Here is the picture where I scream at Ryan to stop telling me how to drive. I don't know. We have been married what? 9 years? And yet, he still doesn't get that one: I.HATE. To. Drive. And two; I know I am a crappy driver. And three, most importantly, I hate hate hate to be told how to drive. I. Know. I. Suck. I am only driving so while you can indulge in drink I will not so that we can remain card carrying members of the I-have-never-had-a-DUI club. Because jail? Is something that I don't want for either of us baby. So shut up already.

Here is a picture of us eating at the worst restaurant EVER. It is called Zocalo. (I didn't link the actual restaurant because I think you should click on the review link.) It is next door to the Brickstore Pub where Wes's 30th birthday drinking fest was going down. We had planned to eat there but there was a ridiculous wait for a table and I was so hungry I was about to chew my arm off or kill Ryan because when my blood sugar gets low everything in the world pisses me off. Even the belt you are wearing. I don't care if I did buy it for you. It pisses me off. Give me food and I will be nice again.

So what was wrong with Zolcalo? Well they were in the process of "renewing" their liquor license and could not serve alcohol. Which really means that either they are in arrears with their GA taxes and had it revoked until they are paid. Or they got busted serving minors. Or, even less likely, they are total morons who let their liquor license lapse because making a profit isn't that important to them. I was like whatever; I just want to eat.

So not only did they not have alcohol they also had the worst food ever and the most terrible service I have ever experienced. So horrible that I actually thought that maybe we on that old MTV show called Boiling Points.

The final straw came when I got up to go to the restroom and Ryan said it was out of order. I thought he was kidding. Because Ryan, who had had a few beers thought all this was totally hysterical. So I ignored him and stomped off to relieve my bladder. And yes it was true: the women's room was out of order and they had put up a home made sign on the men's room that said "Unisex". I'm sorry. You can not have a unisex restroom with open urinals and stalls. That is just wrong.

Moving on.

Here is the picture of me happily back at the brew pub saying hi to our friend Brad who Ryan and I went to elementary school with and finally enjoying one of two beers I had. I was much happier after a beer. My sense of humor was once again intact.

Here is the picture of Wes opening his inappropriate gift that is in a bag that says "Super Stud". Don't you just love how embarrassed he is? Isn't it funny how red his face is? I love people whose faces gets flushed when embarrassed.

Here is a picture of Wes and Pookie at the end of the night. See how glassy their eyes are? See how they sway and are holding each other up? Cute aren't they. And today they are both understanding why I said I wasn't going to drink the Belgian or high gravity beer. "What do you have against the Belgians?" they foolishly asked me.

Here is the picture where Ryan leads Pookie and I lead Wes to my car.

And here is Wes sitting in Beau's carseat. Yes, Wes is thin but the carseat only harnesses up to 48" and 100lbs.

And here is how we left the happy couple. Passed out on their living room couches.

Happy Birthday Wes! Welcome to your 30's.

Last week totals:
Yoga: 1 hr
Walking: 1 hr; 4 miles
Running: 28 miles (Ran Mon 4, Th 6, Fri 8, Sat 10 miles)Pathetic.
Cycling: 100 minutes/29 miles on indoor bike. Level 11 hill workout.
Swimming: 95 minutes; about 4000 meters.
Today's workout: 7 mile trail run. Felt great. Best run in awhile.
Streak: 28/0

Easy Like a Sunday

Wait a second. It is Sunday.
Today was an easy day.

Of course, I would rather it wasn't but, sigh, it had to be.

You know, the leg--eye roll.

The leg actually feels fine but I decided today I would not run. I have run a little, sometimes even a lot, everyday for 3 weeks. So I think it is time to see if a day off will help the old sticks.

And see.

I listen.

Pam, I think it was, and possibly someone else, suggested yoga. Really, I don't like yoga.

Wait, let me be more specific. I don't mind the actual doing of yoga; I just don't like yoga classes. You know, yoga classes where you are asked to free your mind and focus on the "breath."

Shrug, I guess I like my exercise to be a little more intense. Not to mention, if I am being honest, I get a little competitive in the yoga class. First I think that is just part of my make up--whether I like it or not I am a competitive person.

Second, I blame gymnastics. I mean, we spent the first part of every practice stretching. I mean we spent the first part of every practice seeing who could twist themselves into the tightest pretzel while doing a middle split. And I gotta say, for what I lacked in talent and experience I definitely made up for in flexibility. And, yes, it was about the only part of practice where I shined. Yes, stretching. We won't even talk about my beam performances.

Today's yoga class wasn't so terrible because it wasn't one of those yoga instructors who insist on pretending they are a yogi and say all those Hindu phrases. This girl powered through the moves without a lot of commentary or once reminding me to find my breath. I definitely appreciated that.

And I excelled at the poses that involved core power or twisting the upper body into awkward positions. But man. I was taken down a few notches with anything that required me to engage a hip flexor or hamstring. Definitely tons of room for improvement there.

I know I shouldn't be surprised as running is notorious for shortening the leg muscles but I still thought I would at least be middle of the road and not like the tall men in class. You know the ones. The ones who hide in the back corners of the class and grunt and moan through every pose. Just goes to prove you can't bank on your natural flexibility forever. Use it or lose it. And, I have lost it.

But, again yay me on the superior quad, back and upper body strength. Those push-ups? Child's play. The instructor said, "Okay, we are going to do 50 of these!" And I was like, yeah whatever.Everyone else audibly groaned. Then she said "Kidding! We are only doing 10." Easy peasy.

We'll see how much I regret the class tomorrow.

But yes. I definitely should make an effort to go on a regular basis and you know, not like twice a year and then I might see some improvement. Heck, with some effort I might even be able to medal again in the she who is most flexible category. At the very least I might not have so many issues with my legs.


After yoga I hit the pool for an easy swim. Just 30 minutes continuous swimming. I had thought I might try a harder workout with some drills but for some reason the pool was so freaking hot it made me want to throw up at my easy pace. Not to mention I felt a little jelly like from the yoga. Ha! Jelly fish.

After the gym I had to find something to do with the kids today (Ryan is still tiling). So after a shower and some lunch we headed over to the Leita Thompson trail for a hike.

I love to run on this trail. It is very well maintained and though a bit gravely, definitely less treacherous than some of the others in the area.

So that is what all the pictures are about. I took pictures to assuage my frustration at not running.

Of course, I still had the kids with me; who as kids couldn't resist running up and then sliding down the biggest pile of dirt they could find.
You know. The kids who got in a fight over whose turn it was to hold Lola's leash.

The kids, one of who had a screaming fit in the middle of the trail because it was no longer his turn to hold the leash. Then, because it was Lola's fault he threw a rock at her. And then the same kid who had the fit, whose turn it wasn't and threw the rock, walked the last .25 mile yelling at me that he WAS!NOT!GOING!TO!HIS!ROOM!.

Meanwhile the other kid-- the one who clearly needs her bangs trimmed (hint hint Pookie)-- I mean, the one whose turn it was to hold the leash, pointed out that since she was so good could she pretty please have hot cocoa and cookies upon our return while her brother was being punished in his room? Because, you know, she was good and not naughty and waited patiently for her turn. So she? She deserved cookies and hot cocoa. For being good.

And then the kid who was to be punished screamed and cried even louder that he WAS!NOT!GOING!TO!HIS!ROOM! And that he also wanted cookies and hot cocoa. Because he? He was not naughty. And he? He told Lola sorry.

The dog just wanted it all to be over.

As I said, easy like a Sunday.

And, obviously, it depends on who's Sunday we are talking about.

21/0. The streak continues. Of course my trip to the orthopedist will probably bring it to a screeching halt tomorrow.