I found the starting line AND the finish line, and all of the ks in between. It wasn’t chip-timed, but based on my very best photo forensics, I’m calling it: 58:25. (Best by 55 seconds? I’d really, really like to believe it.)
What I AM sure of, is that I had the best cheering section there.
(The whole story tomorrow, for people who are into that kind of thing, but SPOILER ALERT: yay.)
I think I have a race today. “Think” encompassing outliers including “Can we find it,” “All the signs are going to be in German. INCLUDING course directions…” and “Usual running buddy is okay to sit on the sidelines.”
I have accomplished one important pre-race detail: the soundtrack. And cookies. But since the starting gun isn’t until 4 p.m., there’s a lot of time for awry to go. Weird. I’ve never started a race that late in the day. All the more time to carbo-load, my dear.
Wait. Is this Nordic Walking?
PRIZE.
Minimalism is hard. Seriously. In decorating, web design, wardrobe editing… HARD. These jokers aren’t too bad though.
They’re the Brooks PureCadence, and though I’m skeptical if they “hold your foot like an endless hug” a la the literature, so far they make me feel pretty warm and fuzzy. They’re not “Mmm, it’s really a plastic bag with laces and we’ll CALL it a shoe,” minimal, but they’re lighter than any other pair I’ve worn. They passed the first afternoon’s workout of “wearing them around the house,” and yesterday’s four miles. Morning after verdict? Sorey, I’m not sorey.
When I started running, the first pair of shoes that I got professionally fitted for were Brooks (Adrenalines, and these are their skinny cousins.) I’ve dabbled in them since, but I’m glad to add these in, most especially since even the few ounces they lack, made the jogging stroller seem lighter. Placebo? Me no carebo.
Dig.
By the “Real World’s” Judd Winick. He’s said some comforting and profound things lately, and this says about 1,000 words more.
I’ve never been so glad not to have TV. I’ve been following the news constantly, being bolder in the links that I click, but somehow reading the facts in black and white and silence seems right. The 24-loop of graphics packages, repeated video, and the show business of speculation is always more about the circus, than the stories.
And sometimes — like this drawing — the fewer words you use, the more you actually say.
It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make anything better, and it doesn’t turn back time, but it’s something. A tiny thing to keep a community and country close in our thoughts when it feels so awfully far away.
And so we put on our gear and ran. Because it seemed like the only thing we could do.
It’s a jinx-proof proclamation because it wouldn’t dare otherwise — we’re done with winter. DONE. Finished. With the end of the cooping-up weather, we’re also making more tiny steps — away from home sweet home to a new home sweat home.
Yeah, it’s pumping a little bit of iron-y that the weather gets nice and we retreat INSIDE to workout, but it has kindercare — and a nice, nice lady who lets Frankie sit on her knee while I rush around lifting stuff.
During one of my “I’m new at this and so is she” checks, (oh, every ten minutes or so) I found her sitting happily with her new buddy at the play table, not missing me in the least. I couldn’t have been more proud.
If she keeps liking it, maybe we’ll get to keep this month’s auspicious badge. (Fingers crossed, NOW no jinxes not-heretofore-enforced.)
She also came along on a perfectly lovely long run yesterday. In my head, I felt like I was doing a figure eight — I guess it’s more candy-corn shaped, but we’ll take it.
We will also take the 70 degree temperatures that let the last remaining layer get shoved under the jogging stroller. Arms! Out! And a tiny bit pinkish at the end!
Seriously, the second you start contemplating SPF, it means you’ve won.
(And here’s the real gold medal — we went to the gym, car, kindercare and the rest without uncle back up…and we did just fine. Win!)
“Your destination is on the right.”
No, GMaps. That’s an industrial park from 1945 wrapped in razor wire. That is not a sporting goods store.
We’ve been doing pretty well getting around, The Bro and I, so we decided we were feeling froggy enough to drive someplace I’d never been before. Now, I CAN drive. I just feel it’s in the best interest of continuing amicable relations with the European Union if I don’t. In Italy, my interpretive driving blended in. On the autobahn…let’s just say, no one wants me on the autobahn.
So, I navigate, which means holding my phone and repeating what the gal inside says in worse German than mine. We were doing well until we triumphantly found ourselves 40 minutes from home and a hundred miles away from a clue as to where we were, or how we got there.
But there was cake. So I let him eat it while I negotiated our geographical fate.
We never did find out how the address from the Decathlon website led us through Frankenstein to NoCluesBurg, but after searching again, it seemed like there was another branch 20 minutes away. We hadn’t driven all this way, and maybe even back in time, for nothing. Lost or not, there was shopping to be done. The mission for more of my favorite workout pants was back on.
Plus (after perhaps looking at some tiny dancer gear), we found some baby sunglasses that actually fit on her face with the help of a strap and make her look mod, baby. I will not let being prepared jinx that it’s supposed to be 63 (!) and clear Sunday and Monday.
And maybe she can wear them on the sidelines of the 10k I signed up for in May — I think I got THAT translation right, at least.
Which plays on loop to the tune of the BeeGees “Tragedy,” which sort of corresponds to the state of pace around here.
I don’t think I lost much endurance during the Grand Gestation of 2012, I really don’t. I haven’t been sucking wind during my comeback/return, but maybe because I haven’t been able to go fast enough to earn the breathlessness.
That’s some bologna.
I’ve been fighting down from 12-minute miles again. It’s like 2003 on reprise. I can only hope it doesn’t take me another decade to see another sub-30 5k and a sub-60 10k (my last big PRs.)
It’s nice to know I’m not the only one feeling like I got sent back to the beginning of the Mario level again. As the persistent pokeyness presented, I reevaluated my race schedule. The spring Half I was looking at has a course limit of 2:30. Honestly, I’m sure I could finish — I’m not sure I could finish that fast.
SO.
I’m working speed first. Getting some of that back, so that distance won’t take SO GOLDURNED LONG. Last weekend’s 5k got rescheduled for this weekend, so we’ll at least have a basis for progress. And I suppose, I’m not in any hurry. Puns/runs/etc.
And speaking of hurrying ancient history, I put on pants that have apparently not been worn nor washed since January 2010. Commentary on my housekeeping aside, and whether or not they’re still in style next to that, they got worn for nostalgia’s sake anyway.
Now. Let’s wear some paces in the same fashion.
Since actual shadows have returned, sans groundhog and however briefly, so have ankles. I dug out my FAVORITE IF YOU OWN NO OTHER PANTS OWN THESE running capris. They don’t pinch, they wick like crazy, and they’re cheap. Twelve super dollars cheap. Match them with a similarly-priced to own every color tank, and you’re good. (I wear a EUR 44 in both, so…if you’ve met me, size accordingly.)
I love them.
I’m also still playing along at the Saucony Run 4 Good app — and I got my 50 mile trophy screen today. I will take a prize wherever I can get one. This month’s miles go to Vermont’s Ready Set Run program. (And the app is legit useful. In fact, it told me that I finally broke 10 minute miles outside. It could have been because I was chasing Grandma, but still. Record stands.)
It means that it’s mildly possible that I could finish the St. Patrick’s Day 5k I’ve got lined up in the realm of 30 minutes. I’m not promising anything, but…
Something about luck being handed out at the starting line.
The point is, PANTS.
Three or four pairs of running shoes a year since ‘96, a few “magical expert in-store” fittings thrown in, and by now I’ve found a couple of brands I rotate through. One in particular I can count on always being perfect, straight off the internet.
When my new shoes got here this week, I got curious to see if they were doing anything interesting in the amateur running community, so I www.dialedthem.up.
Hmm, a hashtag, okay… Ooh! An app. An app that turns your miles into good.
It’s called “Run 4 Good” and it’s pretty cool. If participating runners meet the month’s goal (for January, it’s 10,000) they’ll double the company’s contribution to organizations that fight childhood obesity. Currently it’s the Eric Thomas Foundation.
It’s a pretty easy sell — one in three kids are affected, a rate that’s growing all the time. If adults don’t encourage kids to move, and don’t set a good example, it’s only going to get worse.
Hey, if you’re logging miles anyway, why not play along? The only thing I can’t figure out, is since it’s GPS-based, how you can get credit for treadmill miles.
You can download it here — and it has pretty cool pace, distance and route functions, too. (And you can form teams! Maybe Mom’s school Walking Club can donate their miles too.)
I’m in. Anyone want to be on my team?
