27

Yesterday was my birthday. Hooray! I’m getting to the point where birthdays shouldn’t be such a big deal anymore, but with my surprise party last year and a really terrific day yesterday, I have to admit that I’m not at the point of getting depressed by the mark of “another year older” just yet.

My really terrific day began with a birthday donut. My sweet husband had gone to Dunkin Donuts while I was out running and left a tasty breakfast for me to discover when I returned. Cue the “awwwwww.” Then, on my way to work, a co-worker texted me: “do you like caramel?” Yes… “How about walnuts?” Sure…um…kind of a weird text message for 7:00am, don’t you think? He brought “turtle” brownies to work in honor of the day. Later on, another co-worker bought me a smoothie from the coffee shop next door. My funny brother wrote me a birthday poem, AND because it was Wednesday I got to enjoy a half price margarita at Arizona during my birthday dinner. Sweet!

Yes, thanks to the birthday donut, brownies, smoothie, margarita, and key lime pie, my naive little goal to “eat healthier” and “consume less junk food” took a big hit yesterday. Tehe.

I now have a pretty, non-broken watch (yay!) courtesy of Scott. It’s an Ironman. It’s sort of blue/gray and may be the same one that Running Buddy has but she already gave me permission to copy her. Then, as a complete and fun surprise, he signed me up to “own” part of the Swamp Rabbit Trail. We saw this a couple of years ago and got a big kick out of it…as a fundraiser, they’ll assign a portion of the trail as “yours” based on GPS coordinates for some sort of fee. It’s a neat way to raise money for a trail that I am eagerly awaiting the completion of. So…out by Furman? After you’ve passed Foothills Rd on the way to Traveler’s Rest and immediately after you go under a bridge? For a few yards it’s mine, and I have a cute little sign with some numbers on it to prove it. Great fun!

You Spin Me Right ‘Round

The Monday evening spin classes continue. Scott  has started attending with me, which is good on a couple of levels. First, with him beside me I’m less likely to take an unnecessary “slow down” break. I can’t slack off in front of “coach”! Additionally, I’d been begging him to come and experience spin for my own sick satisfaction. Scott has a road bike, and I was curious to see if (not to mention hoping desperately that) he would find  the workout nearly as challenging as I do. I didn’t feel like I was getting quite enough credit for a cross training session that is surely more strenuous than a little jog in the pool!

So a few Mondays ago he went, and I was disappointed to see a substitute instructor. Drat! We still got a good workout, but as I told Scott afterwards, the regular instructor is tougher. She must have been on vacation, because she wasn’t there the next time, either.

Last Monday, however, she returned…yes, she of the motivational speeches. I was thrilled that Scott would finally get a chance to experience her spin class. After we left , I said, “well?” He responded, “yeah, that was tough.” Yes!

This week was more of the same…with the exception that a larger class size made her seek out a greater number of “woos” to her motivational speech. When only a smattering greeted her “and how’s everyone feeling?” after a particularly hard interval, she actually threatened to start the workout over if we couldn’t demonstrate the proper amount of excitement. (Do you think she’s somehow read my blog and decided to turn me into a “woo girl”? Probably not, but that’d be kind of funny!) I refused to “woo,” and  Scott was notably silent as well (Attaboy, Husband! Thanks for the solidarity!), but she eventually received a satisfactory response.

The past two classes, I’ve been amused by what I see as her resemblance to Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. Does everyone remember the commercials? If not, follow this link. Now, the spin instructor doesn’t run around tackling people for forgetting to wipe down their bikes or anything, but she combines a tough-as-nails, drill instructor persona during the class with her actual, sweet as pie personality anytime else. Occasionally, we’ll be in the middle of an interval when someone new will walk in and you can see an interesting  juxtaposition of the two. “CAN YOU ADD ONE CLICK MORE? I THINK YOU CAN! KEEP THAT PACE UP, I DON’T WANT TO SEE ANY SLACKING TODAY!” Door opens, newbie enters. “Hi, there! Good to see you!” It reminds me of the Terry Tate commercial…and I just crack up. You’ll see what I’m talking about around 24 seconds into the video. Good times.

Not Me! Monday

Ok, I’ll admit it…I’m hooked to the “not me” phenomenon. I can’t help it. It’s just fun. Here’s this week’s edition, go to MckMama’s blog for the whole big list.

Some more things I did not/would not/have never done:

• When I got my hair cut on Thursday, I did NOT think to myself, “wow, if cutting 3 inches off makes me feel this deliciously cooler and lighter and more comfortable, I wonder how much better I’d feel if I shaved my head.” No way.
• I did NOT skip running all weekend because of a TEENSY bit of  humidity. I’m way tough, in the middle of training for a very important duel, and I would never let a Florida summer get the best of me.
• I did NOT cry when I opened Running Buddy’s birthday present yesterday. (She was taking care of the cats while we were out of town, and had left me a very spiffy, 50th anniversary edition of The Lord of the Rings when I got back.)  I’m NOT a big softy and wouldn’t tear up over an extremely thoughtful, totally unexpected birthday gift. No sirree.
• The note with the book may or may not have said, “have a great year, hope you survive our duel.” I did NOT find this hilarious and am not thrilled that she can at least feign excitement in my made-up summer challenge. What a great Running Buddy!
• I did NOT bring up the subject of possibly trying another marathon yesterday. Even if I did think such a thing, I’m sure it was just a random thought and  not actually a seriously consideration, because a second attempt at 26.2 is nearly as silly an idea as shaving my head. I can clearly remember the monotony of training as well as the utter misery of the event itself. What resonable person would be willing to undertake such an effort again? No. Nononononono.

On Gratitude, or…It Could Always Be Worse

I’m  not sure how much of this whining has been internal, but you may have heard/read me complaining about summer and longing for the return of fall. Or winter. We all know how much I love running in a cold rain, and it doesn’t look like I’ll get the opportunity for months and months. So sad. Instead, I get…summer. The time of sweat and mosquitos. I’ve made a few halfhearted attempts to talk myself into enjoying the season, but the truth is I’ve been more than a little discontented with the whole thing.

Well. I have now been to Florida in July, and I’ve changed my mind. I will TAKE a South Carolina summer and be grateful for it, folks. Holy cow. I thought this was bad? It was 102* at 9:30 at night! The TV said the humidity was at 87%! When I walked out of the house/car wearing glasses, they fogged over immediately. What is that? And then, when we got home at 6:00 last night, I stepped out of the car and said, “wow,  Scott, this feels so much better.” I’m going to have to watch myself and try not to complain about this quite so much. It could always be worse.

In This Corner…

I’m sure you’re just as excited about the upcoming DUEL as I am, so I thought I’d let you know a little more about our contestants.

In the red corner, weighing in at approximately  none of your business, is the MegaRunr.

Bio:
Megan, as anyone who’s read the “About Me” page knows,  has been running for more than half her life. She ran for a Division II school, where she was an All-Conference and All-Region athlete in multiple years. In college, she raced the 5,000m and 10,000m almost exclusively. Her favorite event is definitely the 10,000m. Megan is adopting (what seems to her) a very serious training plan courtesy of her husband. So far, it’s included speed work, a variety of cross training, and even (on two occasions so far) a morning and evening workout. When he heard that Running Buddy is having some troubles getting motivated to train, his response was, “then you need to train even harder. If she beats you when she’s not even running,  you’ll be really ticked.” And Megan always thought he was such a nice guy…

Plus / Minus
(+) Megan’s biggest strength will be her conditioning. She’s never had much of a kick, so her plan of attack is a tough, steady pace to wear Running Buddy out before the last 400m.

(-) Megan’s biggest weakness is her lack of speed. If she can’t find a way to shake RB prior to the last 400m, she will be in trouble. BIG trouble.

Personal Records
800m – 2:32
1500m – 5:06
3000m – 10:42
5000m – 17:56
10,000m – 36:59

Goals
Time – 13:00 (1:10 faster than last year!)
Misc. – To NOT have to read ”Harry Potter.”

And, in the blue corner, we have the reigning RB vs. MR world champion…Running Buddy!

Bio
Running Buddy has been running since she was 15 years old. Her favorite event is the 3,000m (or 3,200m). She ran for a small Division I school and following a brief retirement returned to the running scene in 2008 for some road races. In 2009 she completed the Kentucky Derby Marathon, her first and probably last attempt at 26.2. She is currently experiencing a drought of motivation and hopes to pick running back up again in time for the race. Jack, her dog, is her loyal running companion and training coach. After the July Duel, Running Buddy hopes MegaRunr will let her retire quietly from competitive running!

Plus / Minus
(+) Running Buddy’s key strengths are her speed and ability to enter a time warp as soon as her feet touch the track. It won’t matter that she hasn’t raced on the track in 3 years…her legs remember, and they are waiting for the opportunity to shine.

(-) RB’s biggest weakness is that she’s not married to Scott. Although Jack is a loyal companion, he doesn’t have much experience with (human) distance running or coaching distance runners.

Personal Records
800m –  2:28
1500m - 4:51
3000m – 10:28
5,000m - 18:26
10,000m – 38:41
Marathon –  4:14

Duel Goals
Time – 13:30
Misc. – To win the duel and make Megan read “Harry Potter!”

Six?

This weekend, Scott and I pass the six-year mark. That is, six years of marriage. We started dating four years before that, so later this summer we’ll hit the milestone of 10 years of togetherness.

Wow.

According to a random website that came up when I searched “wedding anniversary gifts,” the traditional gifts for the 6th anniversary are candy or iron. The modern gift is wood. Seriously? Who comes up with this stuff? Lame-o. I’m trying not to eat (as much) candy  lately (as a consequence, I crave nothing but chocolate), so that’s out. And I’m completely failing to think of something I want that’s made of iron…multivitamins – no, wrought-iron gate – no…ooh, an IRONman watch? That could work.

Happy us, husband! I pray that we get lots and lots more years of “us” ahead. I’m so happy to be your wife, and I’m looking forward to all of the “Scott jokes” to come.

Track Talk

What does this make, three weeks in a row of track practice? That’s gotta be a record for the year. I was a little (ok, lot) scared of this practice…it’s a hot one out there, and the workout today was a 1 mile warmup followed by a 400, 800, 1200, and 2000. Egad! 2000m? That’s more than a mile! That’s five laps! If you couldn’t tell, long intervals in the heat make me nervous. I know it’s something I’ll get used to, but I’m not quite there yet.

I was a few seconds a lap slower this week. I tried not to be frustrated by this: getting into shape isn’t usually about seeing immediate results. The fact that I’m out here trying means a lot. (You like that? That’s approaching optimism.) I pushed as hard as I could, still trying to get a “speed” workout in despite my legs’ loose interpretation of the term.

After the 800m rep, I started running my “jog” lap (the GTC workouts prescribe a jogged lap between each interval) on the infield. I know this means I wasn’t getting precisely 400m in–and I’ll probably have plenty of bug bites to pay for it–but the temperature difference between the black, shimmering-in-the-heat track and the green green grass was incredible and well worth the price.

I called it a day after the 1200m. The way my pace kept slowing without my consent, I’d end up running it at my “easy” pace, and that’s not why I show up out there.

Why do I show up out there? To get faster, obviously. To have something to blog/complain about every week, possibly. And also…for the relays. Every so often, Darrell and Ed host a 4×400 (or 5×400, depending on the number of participants) relay at the conclusion of the workout. The fast guys become team captains and take turns selecting the rest of their team. You may remember that in the last relay I participated in, Scott chose me with great reluctance. He used the same joke again this time, and the crowd loved it. “I guess…………I’ll take my wife.” You’d better, bucko, because you might find your chilvary paying off.

Tattoo guy, black tank top girl (forgive me, I’m terrible with names), Kyler, Scott and I made up a team. Tattoo guy led off, and GTC President Joe Hammond set a commanding lead for his team. The interesting thing about these relays is that you never know what strategy the other teams are going to use. Our team put our fastest runner as the anchor, others like to lead off with their ace. It generally makes for what looks like a lopsided race at the start but ends up a closer race than you would imagine with such a range of ability levels and track experience. We were in 3rd at the first handoff but 4th at the second…and then Kyler grabbed the baton and TOOK OFF. Scott yelled, “don’t use it up all at once!” but his warning went unheeded as Kyler passed two of the other runners in the first 200m. Now in 2nd, he managed to narrowly evade the bear at 300m to finish his leg.

Now, it’s my turn. Amazing how having a baton in my hand takes me back to the early days of running…and I’m off. The 4th leg of Joe’s team is just finishing the first curve, and I set my sights at reeling him in gradually. I lose hope on the backstretch–it’s too much ground to make up–but after the final turn I’m pulling up alongside the other runner. Everyone alternately cheers, “Go, Tony!” and “Go, Megan!” and I manage a final, tiny kick to put our team in the lead and hand off the baton to Scott before gasping for air.

Scott, of course, is Scott. He takes off, and none of the other teams who saved their fastest runner for last is close enough to touch him. We win the race, with 2nd/3rd coming down to the wire. Darrell, as usual, has reached into the cache of unclaimed race prizes, so we are treated (in our case) to hats or (in others) commemorative bags. Not too shabby.

The Case of the Missing Clothes

I feel like I’m trapped in a Nancy Drew and/or Hardy Boys mystery. Several weeks ago, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen one of my favorite sport bras in awhile. This was slightly annoying but didn’t concern me overmuch…I assumed it was in the laundry basket. Several cycles of wash/dry/fold later, I’m forced to face an unfortunate truth—the sport bra is missing.

“Okokok,” an imaginary teenage sleuth says, “let’s retrace your steps. When do you last remember wearing the sport bra?” Um, like I can remember that. I’ve been running a LOT lately. I can’t remember what I’m wearing every single day.

“Hmm,” says the sleuth. “That doesn’t help me solve your case.” Well, who asked  you? And why is there a voice in my head? I check each dresser drawer carefully, because maybe it slipped behind the drawer and is languishing at the bottom of the dresser. No dice. I check the shelf in the closet that houses running shirts and shorts, hoping that it’s somehow slipped in here…uh-oh. Where are my green shorts?

“Ah-ha! The plot thickens. This is much  more serious than simply a missing sport bra. How exciting!” You again? Geez. “Let’s look for clues!” Clues? Are you kidding me? Let’s go look in the dryer again and see if I missed it. Not in the dryer. Maybe in my car? No, only “need to be recycled” Wal-Mart bags and a fossilized french fry in the car. At work? No. At the gym? No. I’m much more likely to forget to bring clothing TO the gym than to forget to remove clothing FROM the gym.

“Time out. Can we PLEASE look at this logically? You can’t remember the timeline, you won’t let me look for clues, the least you can do is stop and think.” Ok. Stopping. I’m thinking…I’m thinking that there should be a reason why both the shorts and the sport bra should be missing at the same time. I’m forgetful, but not THAT forgetful. Why, that’s most of a running outfit! How could this happen? What would I do with a running outfit that is not in the laundry or put away neatly or hiding in my car…

Bingo. It was Mr. Green with the candlestick in the conservatory! I mean, they’re hanging on that little hook of the closet door because I wore them once sometime in the distant past but didn’t run very far so I figured they were good for another run before being deemed “laundry.” And then I forgot they were there.

Ta-da! The Case of the Missing  Clothes has been solved! Thank you, imaginary sleuth! On a separate note, does it seem like I’m having an inordinate amount of trouble getting “ready to run” these days? The watch calamity, vanishing wardrobe…what’s the deal?

A MeganRunning First: Not Me! Monday

I like to think that I’m not the type of person who generally jumps on bandwagons, but I often read MckMama’s blog and last week a “Not Me! Monday” post wrote itself. This can be a little confusing, but the basic rules seem to be admitting to embarrassing activities and covering it up with a facetious, “I wouldn’t do that! NOT ME!”

• Last week, I did NOT get outsmarted by a piece of technology. I’m a youngish, hip chica with an xbox avatar and a kinship with Adobe Creative Suite products. I most certainly do NOT get confused by all the data made available by the Garmin Forerunner. Not me! I’m much cooler than that.
• I did NOT determine that our toilet is leaking and diagnose the exact location of the problem (the washer for one of the bolts holding the tank to the seat is no longer sealing) and then inform Scott that I’m “not dealing with that this weekend” simply because I’m tired of messing with running water in our house. That’s irresponsible. I did not also sit in the bathroom measuring the slowness of the leak (1 drip per every 81 minutes) to rationalize my laziness. That would in itself be irrational. Not me!
• I have NOT been fighting Scott every step of the way with this “increased effort” training plan. This whole “duel” with Running  Buddy is my idea. I gave him carte blanche to whip me into shape. I would not grumble and plead for mercy at every turn simply because I don’t want to go to the gym on a Sunday or run a mile interval on the track on Wednesday.
• I did NOT exact revenge in traffic. I have no problems with road rage whatsoever. If while on the way to work a stalled car in the center lane required me to merge right and I was initially unable to because a certain young gentleman was paying more attention to eating his Chik-fil-A chicken biscuit (they are good) than to traffic, I certainly wouldn’t take a certain evil pleasure in refusing to let HIM back into the “good lane” after he made an obscene gesture and swerved around me only to discover the reason I was inconviencing him with my presence. I wouldn’t do that. Not me!
• I did NOT confuse the leftover from Christmas, no-longer-current-postage Nutcracker stamps with the “forever” Liberty Bell stamps. Even if I did, I would not risk my reputation as a cheapskate by piling 2 stamps on a letter to avoid going to the post office and buying the $0.02 stamps or whatever would make up the exact difference. I would not let laziness win over frugality. Never!
• I have not semi-seriously considered shaving my head. I know that I would regret the decision immediately. I know that my hair is not absorbing as much heat as I think it is and that I’d waste a lot more money on sunscreen without it. I also know that females with voluntarily shaved heads aren’t exactly “in,” and that my husband would be slightly…how do you say…disappointed teed off. With all of this logic behind me, the real reason I’m still sporting a pony tail is NOT that I’m afraid of discovering an oddly shaped noggin underneath all this hair.
• I am not JUST NOW figuring out what Google Reader is and how to use it. I have ceded to requests to help the blog be more “Reader-friendly,” so of course I know exactly why Reader is going to make my life so much more enjoyable. I am not sad for and missing all of the extra clicking I used to do.
• I am NOT very, very proud of myself that I can trick the cat into coming out of the bathroom. She loves the bathroom but if allowed to remain there unattended will either eat toilet paper or open the shower door and lick the water from the floor. Either way, it ends with her throwing up a few days later. No fun. Because she loves the bathroom, the usual routine involves me picking her protesting, squirming body up and hauling her outside, much to the detriment of my clothes. That’s no fun either. I’ve discovered that I can entice her out of the bathroom by flicking a hair tie…lately, I’ve managed to cruely pretend to flick a hair tie with the same results. I do NOT find an innocent animal’s confusion hilarious. No sirree Bob.

Whew, was that therapeutic. Now I’m sure you’ve all revised your opinions on just how weird I am.

HeyHey!

Following one of those fantastic, circular, marital conversations  (Hey husband, where’s your watch fixing thingamajig? “I think you had it last.” Noooo, I gave it back to you. “You did? Are you sure?” Yup, pretty sure.  Because I knew if I kept it I’d lose it, so I gave it right back. “Well then, it’s in the box.” Ok. Where’s the box?…), I fixed my watch yesterday. Yay!

So, the question of the day is…how long until I break it again? You should know that I think I fixed it better this time, and I’m going to try really, really hard not to do that nervous thing where I spin it around my wrist. Something tells me that might be hard on the watch. I’m fairly certain that I lasted longer than a week. My estimate is 17 days. Anyone care to venture a guess?

***Update ***
I just heard a snap. The watch is hanging in there, but I must have seriously overestimated my fixing abilities once again. That, or the spring posts are conspiring against me. (NO, I wasn’t doing that spinning thing. I’m resisting the temptation.) It’s a tough call. The watch continues to remain one piece, but I’m not holding out much hope for longevity.

***Update to the Update***
It broke. Again. (I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!!!!!) Hmph. D, I guess you win…your guess of 13 days is closer to 1 day than mine.

Inspiration

With the time I could have used fixing my still fixable watch, I was instead inspired to create a unique and thought-provoking piece of art…

Ooh...a timeless piece from her "Breakin' Timepieces" period.

I thought you would enjoy it. It’s sure a piece of…something…right? Do you like how I even incorporated my nemesis the spring post into the finished product? Oh, yeah.

I’m not sure whether I’m more dismayed by my heretofore unknown capabilities for watch destruction or at the thought of running (gasp) watchless. However, I should patent my recent invention–the supercool running watch palmgrip. That’s right, folks. Tired of that unavoidable tanline from wearing a watch on your (dare I say it…) wrist? Suspicious that others are stealing glimpses of your watch for free splits? Weighed down by not one but two rubber straps? Who wouldn’t be? For a mere $20, bring your sadly out-of-fashion watches with their passé, fully functional bands to Megan for alterations. In return, you’ll receive what’s bound to be the latest craze–palmgrips. You’ll be amazed. Split-stealers and tanlines will be a worry of the past, as your watch is safely tucked inside your palm. Stop weighing down your wrists…go with a palmgrip!

Hahahahahahaha…too much fun. Seriously, though, this is what I’m down to. As soon as I locate Husband’s watchband fixing thingamajig (honey, where’s the thingamajig?), I’ll try to fix the Ironman again. If that doesn’t hold, I’ll go buy a replacement and handle the thing with kid gloves. If I had kid gloves. What in the world are kid gloves?

Have you ever wondered…

…what runners talk about? It’s a question I’m often asked by non-runners. The first hurdle to overcome as I answer is trying to help them understand that, in general, running is not an activity that precludes talking. It’s a concept that’s difficult to grasp if running is a “punishment” to you. And then, if I answer honestly, my response is normally greeted with disappointment. “Oh, you know, anything. Movies we’ve seen, what we’re cooking for dinner, random day-to-day annoyances…” I can see the disbelief on their faces, “what? Really? I always thought runners were so quirky and crazy. I didn’t think they’d talk about normal/boring stuff.”

Normally, I find myself talking about normal things while running. But then, occasionally, you get gems like this:

The scene is track practice. The characters are Scott, a couple of the other “fast guys,” and me. In between intervals, I spotted a bug crawling on Husband’s chest. Ew.

M – Gross, Scott. You have a bug crawling on you. (sending said bug flying as I said so)
S – Ok.
K1 – It was alive? Most of mine die. (Sidenote: One of the hazards of summer running are the bugs. The annoying ones that fly around your  head, the irritating ones that bite, and the poor navigators that fail to yield to larger traffic. By the end of a run, it’s common to end up a gnat graveyard.)
S – That’s because you’re going so much faster that they die immediately on impact.
M – Or because your sweat is poison.

Off we go on another interval. In the next break, one of the fellas (and apparently a blog reader) commented on the rather noticeable fact that I was carrying a stopwatch by its lone remaining strap.

K2 – So is that the infamous watch?
M – Um,  no. Sadly, this is my least broken watch. The Ironman broke again, so I’m back to wearing the Nike one I busted last summer. The catches snapped off, so I can fix it temporarily but it always comes back apart. Very sad.
K1 – So, pretty much your sweat dissolves plastic.
M – Apparently.

Is that weird enough? Causes of bug death and the magical powers of sweat? I aim to please.

Oh, and yes, my Ironman watch is broken again. It re-broke soon after the miraculous fix, and I’ve been too disheartened either to re-re-fix it or blog about my failure as a watch repairwoman. Reason #2 never to get a Garmin: I’m apparently rough on watches.

Confessions of a PC Runner

I am in denial. Even with all my talk of PCPRs, I’m having trouble putting the past behind me and living in the now. I expect myself to run to the old college standard despite the fact that it has been (eep!) four years now since I competed as a collegiate athlete.

Nowhere is this so clear as at track practice. Husband and I had a little conversation prior to this week’s workout:

Queen of Denial — Do I have to go to track practice this week?
Husband — You’re running the duel, aren’t you?
Queen of Denial — I really don’t want to run a mile rep. It’s going to suck.
Husband — It’ll be good for you!
Queen of Denial — Yeah, but I can’t run more than an 800 at 1:40 pace.
Husband — Um…so slow down. I bet you could do it at 1:47 or so.
Queen of Denial — I don’t want to be that slow.

Husband went on to give a wonderfully encouraging speech that said he understood but I just needed to not think about the “used to be” and concentrate on getting this Megan into better shape. It was a great speech and he’s absolutely right…I apologize in advance for the annoyingly whiny tone, but it’s just so HARD! Other running is a bit easier. College Megan has never run in South Carolina. She’s certainly never run the Swamp Rabbit Trail or any of my Simpsonville routes. During marathon training I would occasionally fantasize about how much faster I’d be done with my long runs if long run pace was still 8:00, but that was it.

But on the track…oh, on the track. An oval is an oval is an oval. It doesn’t matter if it’s Greenville, Wichita, Cleveland, or anywhere in between. The memories assault me. They hold up a picture of the 10k runner chick at the peak of her career, when she could run 1:30 pace all the live long day. It’s her fault that 1:47 pace seems unacceptably slow. Those memories goad present Megan into running faster than is actually wise, leading present Megan off the cliffs of lactic acid despair. The contrast between then and now seems so stark and so sad at the track. Boo hoo.

Taking a determined step away from pointless complaining and…I think I put up a partial wall to the “College Megan Museum” yesterday. I was at the track against my will, growing increasingly irritated with my shirt. It was stiflingly humid and I was recalling fondly the days of running freedom—running in a sport bra. By the time the first interval was over, I was convinced that my shirt weighed 20 pounds and was plotting my demise. After a quick confidence boost from Scott, I thought, “who cares?” and chucked the conspirator. I ran the rest of the workout in a sport bra, and it felt really good. Plus, no one threw up at the sight of me or even seemed to notice, so that was good too. (Sidenote: I know that I’m in very good shape for an average person…I don’t have a problem with my weight per se. In fact, it’s a whole lot easier to find non-running clothes now that I’m “normal!” It’s just the “then and now” comparison while running that causes difficulties.) When I ran to the bathroom at the end of the workout and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I just had to laugh. That’s all? Sure, I don’t  have a six pack or anything, but that’s not so bad! It’s a similar experience to discovering that my old running shorts (mostly) still fit…in trying to cling so  hard to college Megan, the picture I hold of present Megan has become hopelessly skewed. Hopefully the construction of the College Megan Museum will help put things right.

Operation Laziless (Final) Update

Well, in typical Megan fashion I didn’t complete 100% of the workouts prescribed myself. I did, however, run or cross train six of the seven days last week, and I’m off to a rip-roarin’ start this week as well.

In case anyone’s inerested,  here’s the final recap:
SUNDAY ——– 2 miles…check! And one of those miles was at 8:32 pace, just to see if I could do it. Then I walked a half mile, because walking is fun.
MONDAY —— XT (1 hr. spin class)…check! But then,  you already know about that from yesterday’s post.  
TUESDAY —— 5 miles…sorta check! It was only 4,  but ME has had a vicious summer cold so I let her pick the distance. It didn’t seem fair to force my own random running plan on her when running at all would be a major accomplishment for me under the circumstances. I’ll run 5 on Saturday, ok?
WEDNESDAY - 6 miles (track practice)…check! Even though the weather couldn’t decide between steamy, rainy, or stormy, I was there. Running intervals.
THURSDAY —XT (shudder…30 min. aqua jogging)…nope. Sorry. I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed for aqua jogging. I rationalized that at this point a little rest would be good for me.
FRIDAY ———- 3 miles…check! Managed to get my (un)lazy self out for a morning run. Spiderwebs aside, it was a nice run. (I made the mistake of being the first person through the trail around our common area…cobweb city. Ew.)
SATURDAY —– 4 miles…sorta check. I ran 3, but one of the miles was the Garmin-fooled 7:22 so that’s pretty good, right?  I know, I told you all that I’d catch up my extra Tuesday mile on this day, but I didn’t. I lied.

Garmin: 1, Megan: 0

I was outsmarted by Scott’s Garmin on Saturday. I have neglected the iPod as of late (I’ve been very disappointed by the wildly varying distance gauge…even though it’s calibrated and I run a fairly consistent pace, it’s been all over the map. Quite annoying.), and when I finally readied it and myself to run I noticed that the battery had gone dead. Phooey. That’s what I get for ignoring my friend the nanobot.

I was about to go out the door completely technologyless when Scott suggested I take his Garmin. He does this frequently: Mr. Engineer is a big fan of data, so the Forerunner is the perfect running tool for him. I’ve always been resistent to it because it looks ginormous and heavy compared to my Ironman, and he continually tries to bring me around to his side. I’ve always thought this is because the only thing he likes better than buying me things is having me USE the things he’s purchased. He’d like me to have a Garmin, but he has to know I like it first or risk having it be like a certain unfortunate first Christmas present. (He bought me a very pretty necklace that I’ve only worn a handful of times…possibly less than a handful. It’s all my fault, of course…I just have trouble taking the time to put jewelry on in the morning. I’ll have to take it all off when I go to run! Because, clearly, life revolves around running.)

So this time, to humor him, I take the watch…only complaining a tiny bit about  how heavy it feels. Start, stop, lap…suresure…it’s a watch. It’s not until I begin running that I realize ”coach” could have an entirely different reason to force the watch on me. What better way to keep track of my progress than to have little brother literally tracking every step I take? Ooh, he’s a sly one. It’s too late to go back and tell him that I’m onto his evil plan, so I spend the first mile playing with the Garmin. 9:18? Holy cow. Too slow! 8:45? Well, that doesn’t feel too bad. 8:24? Don’t mind if I do! The watch obligingly beeps to let me know that I’ve passed the mile mark, and I decide to up the pace a bit to see what I can do. Why not?

I increase the pace into the “moderately uncomfortable realm” and peek at the watch. 8:23? What? Okokok, maybe it needs a minute to accustom itself to my new, blazing speed. Waiting, waiting…8:17? Are you kidding me? I have to be able to break 8:00 pace. This is crazy. The rest of the mile passed in a blur…fighting the watch, fighting my legs, fighting for oxygen…when the watch signaled the end of the second mile, I glanced down for what I was sure would be a shameful split. What I saw almost knocked me to the ground—7:22. Ah-ha…I get it. The “average pace” window I was staring at was telling me my average for the entire workout, not for the mile. Outsmarted by a watch. Awesome. At least I know I can run under 8:00 pace!