Since my last post I have run twice. The first was indoors at the gym - 4 miles in 35 minutes flat, 6.5 starting speed, 8.1 ending - and the second was today, OUTSIDE, in the BALMY 32 degrees weather. My ears were very excited to be muff-less in the great outdoors for the first time in a month; my quads were less jazzed about the hills we encountered. It went okay, and I felt happy to be out again. I did 3.23 miles in 27:49, which is an average pace of 8:21, thus proving my theory that treadmill training will make you fast but it will also make you a big fat hill wuss. Since it's supposed to drop back into arctic temperatures next week, I am contemplating some treadmill hill workouts. I'm not sure how effective they are but it is probably better than nothing, so we'll see.
Because I don't listen to music when I run outside, I always gear up for my runs with a dance party in my bedroom. I do this with the door closed lest anyone wander past and see me, because I dance like a freak. Like this:
Except instead of joining in my cats just look at me with sadness and pity. Today's warm-up song was "Raise Your Glass" by Pink which morphed into "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry while I was running. I then spent a good chunk of my run contemplating how pop music all sounds the same to me now, which I believe officially makes me about 86 years old.
Kindred spirit.I was chatting with my blogging bff Melissa the other day (we go way back, like to the days of livejournal), and she pointed out that I had never explained my reasons for choosing to run the Little Rock Half. They are simple and boil down to this girl:
That is my bff, who I affectionately refer to as the Baby Giraffe due to her gangly awkwardness. She is living in Little Rock for the year with her husband, Cute Comm Boy (so named because I mildly stalked him in my sophomore year communications class), and suggested that we run the race together as a bonding thing. The giraffe weighs 10 pounds and could cut you with her hipbones and as such has never run a half marathon, which frightens me a little because I fear she may break in half right in front of me en route, and I can't sew or do CPR so I will be of no use if/when this happens. She has had the flu and has spent the past week or so vomming, and before that I think was right around my awesome running benchmark of 4 miles, so it remains to be seen how this whole half-marathoning-in-the-name-of-friendship will go. Because in case you have forgotten, allow me to remind you that the race is
Edited to add: I just reopened this post to let you know that I cannot watch that video without dissolving into laughter. I have yet to make it through one time. I am a dork.
That is my bff, who I affectionately refer to as the Baby Giraffe due to her gangly awkwardness. She is living in Little Rock for the year with her husband, Cute Comm Boy (so named because I mildly stalked him in my sophomore year communications class), and suggested that we run the race together as a bonding thing. The giraffe weighs 10 pounds and could cut you with her hipbones and as such has never run a half marathon, which frightens me a little because I fear she may break in half right in front of me en route, and I can't sew or do CPR so I will be of no use if/when this happens. She has had the flu and has spent the past week or so vomming, and before that I think was right around my awesome running benchmark of 4 miles, so it remains to be seen how this whole half-marathoning-in-the-name-of-friendship will go. Because in case you have forgotten, allow me to remind you that the race is36 days
FOOLPROOF!away. And yes that did fill my heart with fear and panic when I typed it.
Obviously I do not have any grand GOALS for this race, although I would like to beat the time from my last half, which was 2:13. My training for that one was very on point until I went to the doctor for what I thought might be a stress fracture and left being told it was a "shadowy mass," most likely a tumor. My tumor sucked. I named her Phyllis, she was a wench. She looked like this:
The fugly whore is technically still in my leg, hanging out, and since it never changed shape or grew the doctors didn't see a need to biopsy it, and declared it benign ("enchondroma" is Phyllis' full name, if you are into the Google). But while they were discussing all of this I was told to stop running, so by the time the half rolled around my long run consisted of a single 4.5-miler. I was running the race with my dad, who has been a runner longer than I've been alive and has done Boston twice, and he was very kind to me when I hit the wall at mile 9. But I didn't walk once and still managed some semblance of a sprint into the chute, and of course I didn't lose my sense of humor or powers of persuasion, as some time around mile 7 I managed to talk my dad into doing this for one of the course photographers:
Why yes, I am racing in a cotton T-shirt.
So really my goal here is to get in at least one long run of about 8 miles and finish faster than my tumor time of 2:13. I think it's doable, especially since the giraffe told me to feel free to ditch her after the first mile. I don't know how likely that is, on account of I like her, but I am glad to have the option. And since I won't be listening to music on the course, I already have my pump-up strategy all planned out. It basically involves playing this on a loop in my head:
Obviously I do not have any grand GOALS for this race, although I would like to beat the time from my last half, which was 2:13. My training for that one was very on point until I went to the doctor for what I thought might be a stress fracture and left being told it was a "shadowy mass," most likely a tumor. My tumor sucked. I named her Phyllis, she was a wench. She looked like this:
The fugly whore is technically still in my leg, hanging out, and since it never changed shape or grew the doctors didn't see a need to biopsy it, and declared it benign ("enchondroma" is Phyllis' full name, if you are into the Google). But while they were discussing all of this I was told to stop running, so by the time the half rolled around my long run consisted of a single 4.5-miler. I was running the race with my dad, who has been a runner longer than I've been alive and has done Boston twice, and he was very kind to me when I hit the wall at mile 9. But I didn't walk once and still managed some semblance of a sprint into the chute, and of course I didn't lose my sense of humor or powers of persuasion, as some time around mile 7 I managed to talk my dad into doing this for one of the course photographers:
Why yes, I am racing in a cotton T-shirt.Edited to add: I just reopened this post to let you know that I cannot watch that video without dissolving into laughter. I have yet to make it through one time. I am a dork.
