Nirvana

I just realized that I haven't written anything for two weeks now, and that maybe, just maybe, this blogging stuff is harder than running. At least I don't sweat as much while writing. At least not on the outside.

I want you to know that I have still been running, just not writing.

Our training schedule consists of five runs a week plus cross training, and, in an ideal world, some strength training and ab workouts. Real life, the spawn, the dog, the two-fish-thank-you-Jen, jobs, school, the lawn, the badly-needs-a-remodel-house, my parents, our friends, and the fact that all those mouths in our house expect to be fed before 10PM often get in the way.

Anyhoodle, our ideal training schedule looks like this:

Mondays - Rest, Abs, Strength
Tuesdays - Tempo Run (currently 50 minutes)
Wednesdays - Run (currently 40 minutes), Abs, Strength
Thursdays - Run (currently 50 minutes), Abs, Strength
Fridays - Total Rest
Saturdays - Long Run (this weekend is 140 minutes or so, maybe 13.5 miles)
Sundays - Run (30 minutes), Abs, Strength

I will tell you right now we almost always skip that darn Sunday run. Mostly because I can barely walk on Sundays. Now that it is nicer weather, I promise to be better - or at least ride the bike on Sundays.

Last night, after work Nick and I set off for our 50 minute run. We didn't have a babysitter, so the three youngest spawn rode their bikes with us. The plan was to run a loop through the neighborhood for 15-20 minutes, deposit the kids at the elementary school playground, and run the last 30 minutes while the kids played. We brought our dog Unagi, too. She has been missing out on our runs because dogs aren't allowed to run with our team.

Have I mentioned that the first mile always SUCKS? {Sorry Mom} The first mile my legs felt tight and heavy. I was out of breath almost immediately. My calves were burning. I was hot and sweaty after 1/3 of a mile. Ohhhhhhh and then those evil thoughts crept in..."If we turn around, no one has to know", "I could tell Nick I have an injury", "I'm not fat, I'm voluptuous", "Starvation would be easier than this", and my recent favorite, "Who said there was anything wrong with WALKING a marathon?"

And then Unagi decided to help motivate me. She pooped in the middle of the sidewalk. I have found that when you are a chubby-bubby-turning-athlete-training-for-a-marathon you must look for motivation in all things. Yesterday it was dog poop. Promise serious. Motivational dog poop. Coming to a running store near you.

The motivation in the sidewalk pooping was that we got to stop running long enough for her to finish her business and for Nick to pick it up. {You didn't think I picked it up, did you? One-hundred pound dogs poop a LOT. I'm not sure I could manage that load, even with the strength training.} For some strange reason, my legs and breath decided to cooperate after we started running again. Unfortunately, Nick wasn't feeling the motivation from the dog poop. It may have even been de-motivational dog poop for him. By the time we got to the school, Nick told me to go on without him, he was done for the day. We had only run 18 minutes and had 32 minutes of running left.

I am a wimp. I don't like to run alone. Running with Nick and/or our training team helps to motivate me. I was really tempted to stop running and just walk the rest of the time with Nick and then something truly bizarre happened. I found my inner athlete. I knew she was hiding under that cellulite!

I decided that finishing the run was a test of my commitment. I changed the mode on my watch from distance to pace (so I wouldn't slow down without a faster runner) and decided to run an out and back course rather than winding through the neighborhood. I set the goal to keep my pace around a 10:16 minute mile, with an allowance for hills. I ran west on Northern Lights, into the sun. The "out" leg of my run was mostly uphill, although the incline is so gradual that I had never noticed when riding in my car. I was tempted to move off of the road and onto the Coastal Trail, but honestly, I was too scared to run alone on the trail. I spent some time thinking about my fear, trying to decide if I was being a ninny or being safe. I couldn't decide...what do you think?

I would love to tell you that those 32 minutes were glorious, that you should all go out and immediately buy running shoes and start training today to reach athletic Nirvana, but I would be lying. Webster's second definition of Nirvana (after the first definition of the final beatitude that transcends suffering) is, "a place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality."

Hmmphhhh. Oblivion to care? I don't think so....I ran along the road, watching out for cars, looking for moose, minding my footfall on the loose gravel, watching for frost heaves, keeping an eye on the scary looking man on a POS bicycle, and wondering exactly who was in the trees when I smelled cigarettes and saw no cars or bikes nearby. Oblivion to pain? No....I was all too aware of the cycle: shoulders (drop arms, shake loose), lungs (focus on breath), lower back (stand tall), knees (watch frost heaves), shins (watch footfall), and back to shoulders. Oblivion to external reality? How do you transcend sweating so profusely that the dust from the road is causing a mudslide down your face?

But I did it. And I loved every minute of it.