My super spoopy Halloween adventure!

Alright, so I lied. Today I went on a magical adventure, but it wasn’t related to Halloween. Nor was it spoopy, let alone super spoopy.

My adventure was, however, loosely running-related. So I’m gonna write it here. And you’re gonna read it here. Unless you don’t want to. Which is totally fine too. Because I guess I did start this post under false pretences, and a facade of completely disingenuous spoopiness. So I won’t mind if you stop reading.

Right? Okay.

So I’ve been using this fancy pedometer thingie called a Fitbit. You wear it in a belt clip during the day (which I attach to my bra, because pedometer boobs) and it measures how many steps you’ve taken and how many floors you’ve climbed. You can also wear it in a wristband overnight and it records the quality of your sleep supposedly. Then there’s all these calorie county things and water intake things and stuff on the iPhone app. Altogether awesome if you like micromanaging absolutely everything about your life.

One downside to the Fitbit is that it has this proprietary charger that it needs a blast from every week or so. Being that I wear it every day, I tend to forget about it and thus forget to charge it at night. So one day I took my charger to work. Of course then the charger disappeared and I had to buy another one online.

I’ll just stop here to say that most of the preceding two paragraphs weren’t entirely necessary to my story, I just wanted the opportunity to whinge about how much I had to pay for the stupid thing. $30 bucks! Frigging ridiculous. And yeah, I did find the other charger. About six hours after I ordered a new one. It was in a pile of shoes on my bed, in a shopping bag with a mouldy carrot.

They apparently ‘attempted delivery’ of my new charger yesterday. I put that in inverted commas because I was sick at home yesterday and they didn’t even bother to knock. Didn’t leave a card either, but that’s no big surprise.

I found out about the attempted delivery online today, got permission to leave work early so I could head by the Watson post office after work to grab it. The Watson post office closes at 5pm (5pm SHARP, according to the sign in the post office) so I gave myself a good hour to get there and do my business.

I’m not sure if the bus was late or didn’t show or I just let it breeze on past me as I waited, but I found myself sitting in the bus interchange five minutes after I should have been out on the road, kinda pissed off. On a spur of the moment impulse, I decided to get on one of the Gungahlin buses, as I knew there was a stop out on Northbourne Avenue 1.2km away from the shops. I’d have plenty of time for a leisurely stroll down Phillip Avenue towards the Watson shops, right?

Nope.

So rush hour traffic kinda sucks, and impatience doesn’t help, apparently. I got to the bus stop on Northbourne at 4:53pm. Hell, even if I was wearing proper running gear and shoes it would’ve been a hell of a workout to run all the way to the shops that fast. Now you know I’m an idiot, because I’ve mentioned it before. I could couch this all in super motivational awesome “Never give up!” terms, but I know that’s bullshit. I’m just stubborn. And an idiot. I got off the bus and ran for it.

Today I was wearing a black minidress. And pantyhose. And calf-high boots. I was carting a handbag, and a shopping bag full of plastic containers. I was wearing headphones which were constantly on the verge of falling out. I’m describing this so you can maybe envisage just how freaking ridiculous I must have looked as I sprinted, nay, stumbled in ungainly fashion but seemingly impressive speed across a green grassy field which was probably an overgrown oval. That scene was just crying out for a slow-mo panning shot. Just spectacular.

I made it to the Watson post office at (and I shit you not) precisely 4:59 and 45 seconds. Fifteen seconds left. I repeat. Spectacular. And here’s the kicker.

I got there just in time to pick up this box:



I don’t know how well that picture translates, but simply put it’s a freaking huge box, with a tiny plastic Fitbit charger all the way down the bottom. I mean... Seriously? All this shit I went through, for something they could’ve crammed in a standard size envelope and put in my mailbox?

Moral to this story is blah blah never give up, blah blah Halloween, and I hate this particular courier company. I need some wine.

These things suck: a breakdown

In future, I should definitely try to leave my grumpy pants at home when I go for a run.

In the almost two and a half hours of my long run this morning, I constructed a list of the ten most annoying things in the world at that particular point in time.

1. My shoes are crunchy.
   • I ran Tough Mudder a couple of weeks ago, and for some inexplicable reason decided to wear my good shoes. I washed them thoroughly afterward, but they’re still very stiff and uncomfortable because of the left-over mud.
2. My bra is pissing me off.
   • The straps fall off my shoulders because I didn’t adjust them properly. I had to stop at one point for an impromptu striptease so I could fix the bra. Didn’t really work.
3. I lost my handkerchief, somewhere.
   • Think it fell out of my stupid bra.
4. My nose is running like a broken tap.
   • Despite the hayfever tablets. Where the hell did all that snot come from?
5. The sunscreen is stinging my eyes.
   • I think I’m allergic to it. However...
6. I’m getting sunburnt anyway.
   • Sigh.
7. My feet hurt.
   • There’s this weird stretchy pain in my left foot, I can’t really describe.
8. Everyone keeps trying to run me over.
   • Yes, lady in the hotel carpark. I AM running past you. Why do you look so shocked? Perhaps you shouldn’t be staring at that cyclist the whole time.
9. Cyclists!
   • There is not enough room on a tiny concrete footpath for me and you on your recumbent bicycle. Also, yes, I am as far over on the left of the path as I can be. Stop yelling at me. While this would normally be the absolute worst thing in the world during most runs, there was one more event blew the worst cycle-clown hijinx out of the water.
10. A bunch of old people in a car are taking a Sunday morning drive down the footpath.
    • Seriously, this shit is TERRIFYING.

In the end, I managed to pull out a respectable 21 kilometres in a fairly respectable time of about 2:25. And I got over my grumpies, eventually.

Moral of this story is that old people are scary, and even though I can sometimes get a run in on a Sunday, I’m sure as hell not going to be happy about it.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled suckage

By the time I was conscious enough to be temporally aware, I already knew I wouldn’t be running this morning. Late nights and early mornings don’t mix, and nor does the intention to run 20 kilometres mix with the Saturday morning farmer’s market out at the showground or a particularly early driving lesson. Perhaps if I were disciplined enough to get my lazy ass out of bed at 5am (at the very latest, mind you) I wouldn’t feel like such a lump. Four hours of sleep, though? Forget about it.

As it turned out, I woke up too late even to hit the markets before I went out for my driving lesson.
So in a nutshell, Saturdays and running aren’t working out for me. At all. The problem with that is that getting myself to run on Sundays has always been even harder than my current Saturday issue. I stay up late on Saturdays, always. I drink, most of the time. Sleeping in on a Sunday is a basic human right, goddamnit.

I don’t know what to do about that. I can always manage a run or three during the week at lunchtimes, rain or shine. My long slow run which should be the highlight of my week is the major issue here. Hmm. This’ll take some thought.

I decided to go for a walk to wake myself up, as I’m such a perfect specimen of physical fitness I was taking a random nap on the couch at about 1pm this afternoon. I felt like heading up the mountain, but I had no cake to eat on the mountain. This is a great example of how lazy I am right now. I won’t hike because I don’t have cake. I don’t see how those things should really be related, but that’s the way I felt at the time. There is no bakery on the mountain, so I decided to go to the shops and buy cake and maybe then go up the mountain if I had time.

About halfway toward the mountain (which I lost track of at one point as they’d put all these houses in the way and there were no paths I could find), I stopped to wonder exactly why I was doing this. Did I feel like I needed to hike in order to deserve cake? I certainly wasn’t enjoying myself. As the sun tried it’s best to burn right through my layer of sunscreen and my poorly-chosen jeans chafed against my sweat-soaked asscrack, I felt very fat and bloaty and old. To avoid feeling guilty about sitting on the couch all day, I’d told myself “I need to walk”, but does an hour and a half up a mountain constitute appropriate penance? Especially as there was cake involved?

I did enjoy myself eventually, sitting in the shade and staring down at the airport as I demolished two almond fingers and an apple.

I like almond fingers.

I feel doubly guilty now, though. I gave some very incoherent directions to a bunch of hikers. So they’re probably still up there now, completely lost.

Drained

To be ‘thin’ and to be ‘fit’ are two different things, and they don’t necessarily go together. ‘Thin’ is all about meeting unrealistic societal expectations, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re healthy. Fitness is about striving for your body’s maximum potential. Become fit, and you become healthy. Yes, you aim to get thin and find fitness along the way. But isn’t it far more rewarding to aim to be fit, to build your muscles, your speed, and your endurance, and maybe lose some body fat without even thinking about it, simply because you don’t need it anymore?

That wasn’t really going anywhere. Just a random thought. I think it’s inspired by my lack of weight loss even though my fitness is heading forwards in leaps and bounds. Trying to get some optimism into the mix here.

I’m feeling exhausted right now. Mind and body. I went to Bikram yoga on Thursday, and although it was exhilarating at the time, I wasn’t in the best of shape on Friday morning. Saturday, I knew I was in trouble in the first kilometre of my long run. I kept at it, shuffling away in a dismal state of mind. Zombies kept me somewhat distracted, but it really hurt when I hit the turnaround point and faced down the last 10 km. Took two short walking breaks in the last 2 or 3 kms. But I made it home. Barely.

Today I went to Bikram again. Legs were still stiff from the run yesterday, and I have this deep down fatigue, right down to my bones. The class wasn’t easy, but I felt better when I got out. Previous experience tells me that I’m not going to be feeling so flash tomorrow morning.

A bit of news… I’ve gone and signed up for a half marathon the week after next. God knows what I was thinking. I probably wasn’t thinking. I guess I’d better start tapering. And, I’d probably better cool down with the hot yoga for a couple of days before the race.

I'm gonna hate myself in the morning

Okay, so when I start talking about DOMS in this context, I’m not talking about relationship dynamics. Although, I’ve been pushing myself so hard lately that surely I fit somewhere along the BDSM spectrum.

Anyway. I digress. DOMS. Delayed onset muscle soreness. That wonderful sore achy everything-hurts feeling that occasionally has me lying awake in bed of a morning, groaning and wishing I could just roll over and go back to sleep, except that would involve moving. I get it in my legs, my arms, my back, my shoulders. Pretty much everything at the moment, because I’ve been working out every day. Some days harder than others. Is it the twinge of muscles repairing? Is it lactic buildup? I’m not sure. I should look it up, but I’m not too keen to explore a google-cavern right now as it’s almost bedtime and my tea’s getting cold.

My left shoulder, currently, is a bit of a worry. It’s been hurting for a couple of days now. It twinges when I finish a set of pushups, and this became a lot more noticeable when I did 10 sets of 10 the other day. Yes, I do believe I’m a bit of a masochist, thanks for asking. I did a couple of trial sets of spiderman pushups afterward, and the twinge made me stop. It’s still there, so I’ve eased up a bit in response. I’m hoping this is actually just muscle soreness, and not something worse. That shoulder pops out all the time (not full dislocation, just a sort of semi-out-of-jointedness) and even the exercises that the physio gave me so long ago don’t really seem to strengthen it much. Maybe I’m going too hard.

I am building massive guns, though. Biceps may be glamour lifting, but there’s nothing like getting a little arm definition to boost the old self-esteem. I’ll take pictures. Eventually. Consider it a work in progress.

I will need a barbell, soon.

I’m hoping to get up and run in the morning but I’m not sure if that’s going to happen. It’s kind of freezing out there in the morning. Yesterday’s run was okay because it was a little later, no beanie required but gloves and a hoodie were standard uniform. Took the gloves off halfway through but I could feel my hands stiffening up so I put them back on again. The hoodie only went around the waist for my final sprint. I’m quite happy with my recovery. 15km in not too bad a time, about an hour and forty minutes. Not exactly Speedy Gonzales, but I’m getting there. Starting to think about maybe hitting a half next month, as I missed the one earlier this month and that makes me sadface. I could always do with another medal.

Well, this tea ain’t gonna drink itself, and this Doctor Who certainly ain’t gonna watch itself.

Grown-up things and suckage

I have this stupid mental block when it comes to doing anything that might be considered as responsible or grown-up. You know, just like pretty much everyone else on the planet. I procrastinate like crazy when I have things to do. Washing. Cleaning. Working out. My favourite pastimes and hobbies. Wait, what?

I’ll amend the following statement. I USED to have a stupid mental block when it comes to doing responsible or grown-up stuff. Now I just seem to have a natural aversion to doing anything. At all. I hope this is just a bout of seasonal laziness coming to the fore rather than a symptom of something more serious going on. Maybe I’m just in a funk, but given the choice between doing something (like guitar, reading, writing) and doing absolutely nothing, I’ll probably keep staring at that TV screen until I turn into an extension of the couch.

I’m probably over-reacting. I mean, the house is pretty spotless. Well, mostly. If you don’t look at the kitchen. I may not have washed my clothes in a little while, but I know there are still underpants in my room somewhere. I didn’t get up to run this morning when my alarm went off, but I woke up at 5am and it was raining. I took the choice to stay in a toasty warm bed. I shouldn’t be beating myself up for it or screaming “ENTROPY!” into the cruel and uncaring sky.

Seasonal laziness. That’d be it. I’m stressed about stuff, but I’m not going on some nihilistic bender.

I did run this afternoon. First thing after I got home. I changed, did some jumping jacks to get the blood pumping and headed out into the admittedly chilly evening to evade some zombies and gather supplies to rebuild my town. Nice 5km dash. Not too slow.

It is getting kinda dark at night, though. I gotta say that when I run in the morning I’m usually less jumpy than I am if I run at night. I mean, what kind of psycho would be lurking in the park at 6:00 in the morning? They’re all too tired, from lurking in the park until 2:00 in the morning. That’s when the park gets too boring, and even psychos gotta sleep sometime.

I had this whole concept that I was going to write about, and I swear I had some sort of point, but I think I’ve forgotten. And I’m too lazy to try to get back to the point, so I guess I’ll get off my fat ass and go to bed. After I wash the dishes, I guess.

Grr.

I hate being an adult.

From the ashes

It’s been several months, yes. What happened? I’d like to blame this on the bout of appendicitis I had in early March, which led to subsequent chopping out of said appendix and subsequent recovery from said chopping out. But I know that would be a pile of crap. My last entry was about a month prior to that. No, I’ve been neglecting my blog for a far less understandable reason.

Basically? I lost all my enthusiasm for running. I burned out. Sad, no? I told myself I didn’t have anything interesting to write about because I wasn’t doing anything interesting, while ignoring the fact that nothing I do is really interesting anyway, but it’s my job to turn this dull and meaningless chore that is running into a fun-filled adventure.

I would get up in the morning and run, but it was getting later and later because I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed when I needed to go. My runs would get shorter and shorter because I actually had things to do later on, which was why I tried to get up earlier. It was a cavalcade of fail, ladies and gentlemen and other. Maybe this bout of potentially life-threatening infected internal organ nonsense was actually the kick in the ass I needed. Wait, not the ass. A kick in the stomach? Yeah, felt like one.

I was told when I was in the hospital that I wouldn’t be able to work out for a month. This wasn’t an ideal situation, and even though you’d think I’d be relieved to take a little running holiday (and also miss the Canberra Half Marathon, incidentally) it was endlessly frustrating.

It was only about three weeks before I started to work out again, albeit carefully, and at the start of this month I jumped back into the running with newfound gusto and also a newfound lack of fitness. Wow, I deteriorated really, really quickly. Week before last, I could barely manage 5 kilometres. Last week, I managed 10 in a relatively decent time but couldn’t manage sprints. This morning I did 10 kilometres without a rest, and although I’m getting back in stride I still hated it on behalf of my lungs.

One fun part was that I decided to run the last kilometre as fast as I could. Managed half a km before a collapsed lung… Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. It just hurt, so I stop. In any case, I managed the 500m in 2 minutes flat. Not bad.

I have to go out shortly, so I’ll cut this short but I guess half the battle was actually sitting down in front of my computer to write anything. It’s hard to admit that you’ve been lazy when the admission takes effort.

Next time, I’ll get in some egotistical bullshite about how good looking I think I am. That’ll be something to look forward to.

Or maybe I’ll talk about pirate costumes.

At the very least, I intend to come back. I can work out every day, and have done so for the last 20 days (I may talk about that, actually) so I know I can form habits if I’m committed enough.

Butt Kickery

I’ve been so tired lately. I didn’t turn my alarm clock on for this morning, because I was up a bit late last night. ‘Late’ being after 10pm. Yes, I’m Ned Flanders. The secret is out.

Anyway, if I was so determined to wake up late, I probably should have also been determined not to run this morning. But I did run. Wow, 8am is a lot hotter than 5am, genius. What a great idea. Next time, try running at midday and see how you like that. Felt like dashing off and throwing myself in the pond. Note to Gungahlin: Where’s my aquatic centre, bitch? Seriously, you could have made a lot of money by now, solely from me.

I did make the effort to completely smother myself in sunscreen from head to foot, trying to ignore the searing pain I got when the sunscreen went on my eyelids. Yeah, think that might be an allergy. I totally did my part though. Slip, slop, slap, and all that crap. Even though I’m probably going to have a big swelled-up face all day. And what did the sunscreen do for me? Diddly, and shit. The few parts of my body that aren’t lobster red look like I’ve been caught in a tragic spray-tan factory explosion. All blotchy, and weird. I’m hoping that the skin tone will even out when I’ve cooled down a bit. Hopefully the red is just a reaction to the heat, and isn’t actually sunburn.

It was an enjoyable run, though. I got to try out my new toy, a Polar H7 Bluetooth heart rate monitor strap which so far has just been tested out on a couple of Insanity workouts. It integrates with Runkeeper, which is pretty sweet. I don’t need to wear a watch. I can just pair it with my phone and run. Anything which helps cut down on unnecessary gadget weight is great with me. And I just can’t seem to stand wearing a watch these days, for some reason.

Out on the run, my heart rate stayed at about 145 for the first couple of kilometres until I threw in a sprint. Not a hard and gruelling, lungs-screaming sort of sprint, just more of a full, hair-blowing-in-the-wind stride. I call it a hero stride. When your whole body is moving with perfect form, and you glide over the path like a track superstar. It’s ego-boosty, although it probably doesn’t look as good to anyone else as it feels.

At this point, my heart rate hopped up to about 165-170 and didn’t go any lower for the remainder of my run, rather stubbornly I might add. At least this proves my new heart rate strap isn’t broken. After three days of maximum effort in my Insanity workouts and a pitiful max HR of 160, I was starting to think that maybe it was defective. In my run today I got to about 189 while sprinting for a little variety. I love the way that the Runkeeper audio cue voice gave me a hard time when I was in the 90-100% max HR bracket. She sort of exclaimed it, indignantly. As in, slow down, you stupid person. Or you’ll die!

I’ve come to a realisation. Even though I was dehydrated and my knee hurt and it was a little too hot to run, I wanted to get out there because when I’m running, that’s the one day of the week where I can crank up terrible music and listen to it without shame. I can bounce down the road happily blasting Top 40 crap, horrible pop sludge. It’s blissful. This is my one opportunity to hold my head high and listen to Taylor Swift without fear of recrimination. I still don’t get this whole Nicki Minaj thing, and to be honest she scares me a little, but if my streaming radio station plays one of her songs, I won’t necessarily turn it off. I can listen to Gaga, if I want to. I don’t usually want to. But I can. And I won’t feel embarrassed if I do. I can also give Justin free rein to bring sexy back. That’s Timberlake, mind you. Not Beiber. I do have to uphold SOME basic moral code. Ooh, and One Direction. *shudder* No. Never.

But up to a certain point, I can play the most abysmal crap while I’m running, and enjoy it immensely.

When I got in the door after my 12km run (in about an hour and seventeen minutes, not bad but not brilliant) I only had enough energy left to down a quick glass of water, turn on my bedroom fan and stick a towel down on the bed before collapsing in a puddle of sweat. I still haven’t eaten, or had a shower. So I should probably do that now. Because I smell.

Oh, and before I forget to mention. I’ve got a race coming up! Canberra Half Marathon, which I think is in April. I don’t think I can do another full Mara any time soon.

So, yeah. Whee!

This is not the Finish Line

Well, it’s a week later (and I blame the delay in posting on glycogen depletion) and up to about Thursday I had minor difficulty standing up and sitting down. Which is awesome. Because the difficulty was only minor, and my legs still work.

Marathon over, bitches! Yippee!

When I got to Tasmania, I was mostly happy (and ashamedly disappointed) that the race would be going ahead as planned. The air quality was great, and I think the wind was blowing the bushfires back on themselves. I may have drunk a little more than I should have in the few days before the race, and I also may have eaten badly. I was super-stressed about the race itself, and the drinking was as an alternative to thinking about it. When forced to think about it, I didn’t think I’d be able to finish. I anticipated pain.

I put off thinking about it for long enough that the night before the race I hadn’t even finalised the basics, like breakfast for the next morning, or how I was going to get to the race.

The breakfast issue didn’t get sorted until about 9pm on the night before the race, when I stumbled back to the hotel, fairly drunk, with some muesli bars and yoghurt I’d bought from a supermarket up the road. Not my finest moment.

The transportation issue sorted itself eventually, but I really should have planned better. I set my alarm for 3:45 and upon waking and groaning and swearing, I forced a nasty muesli bar and three quarters of a tub of unappetising yoghurt down my gullet before hitting the road and walking to the race hotel in hopes of catching the 4:45 coach to the start line. If not, there was a bus at 5:15, and an absolute last chance bus on 5:30. It was a fifteen minute walk over to the race hotel, actually a pretty good warmup, and I managed to get a seat on the first bus.

The weather was pretty freezing before the race. It was windy, pretty much par for the course as far as Hobart is concerned, and it looked like it was going to rain. I was loathe to check my bag too early, as I didn’t want to surrender my jacket. Man, I’m so not hardcore. Shivering out in the pre-dawn and whinging about the cold, hoping my painkillers would kick in before any possible hangover hit me (a hangover which never actually arrived, so I must have been relatively good the night before).

Before the start, I saw Cathy Freeman out by the portaloos. It was quite a treat. I thought that’d be the only chance I’d get to see her on the day, being as she was all athlete celebrity and everything. Yeah. I was kinda wrong.

I started out not very well. A little too fast, and I could tell it was too fast for me, but my GPS told me I was right on pace. So I felt like that was a fail, straight off the bat. I didn’t expect that I’d make it the whole way. I settled down into 6 minute kilometres, and told myself that I’d reassess a couple of kilometres down the road. My knees started to hurt. My shins started to ache. And I hadn’t even done the first two laps of the Cadbury estate yet, let alone started down the long out-and-back loop.

That really sucked.

I got an early second wind at about 3 kilometres, when the race announcer suddenly called out “And it’s Frankenberger! Frankenberger?”

I smiled and nodded at the guy, because he seemed a little confused. I’d forgotten for a moment that I was wearing my moniker emblazoned on my bib, like an elite. It gave me a little shock to hear someone call it out.

“Frankenberger. Okay then. Way to go, Frankenberger.” He said, after my confirmation. I don’t know why he was so befuddled by my name. It is actually a real surname, after all.

I coasted high on the wave of my own awesomeness for a while after that, mostly because I was heading downhill. A couple of water stops passed me by, I poured some water on my head, and my legs eased up on the niggles.

Then, about 12km in, after walking through a water stop, I saw a lady I’d met before the race and decided to pick up the pace a little to catch up with her and have a chat. Ran alongside her for two kilometres or so before I noticed that an awful lot of people were giving cheers and encouragements. I didn’t really think they were calling out to me. When someone said “Go Cathy!” I turned my head and realised that we’d been running right in front of Cathy Freeman for some time. And I’d overtaken her after the water stop.

That’s something kinda cool. It sort of fell apart later as I had to take a bathroom break, but it was definitely an experience, and the first 20 kilometres were pretty dang fast because I wanted to stay ahead of the olympian. So sue me. I’m silly.

The race went downhill in the second half, figuratively speaking (as the course tended more toward the uphill). It wasn’t so much that my lungs weren’t keeping up, but everything just started to hurt and it seemed a whole lot harder. I got a blister maybe 20 kilometres into the race, on the sole of my right foot. The sock was dragging across it, and it hurt like a bitch. Super fun-times were over.

30 kilometres in, I was pretty much done. It was windy, and cold, and I was on the verge of bonking (if not already there). Between here and the end of the race, I don’t know if I ran more than a kilometre at a time before having to take a walk break.

I do have to say one thing for the Cadbury Marathon, and that’s that the people were super nice. I chatted with a couple of folks before the race, and during the race I chatted with some more. Everyone was supportive, and awesome (apart from the girl who swore her head off at me, seriously, wtf? But I’m not going to hold it against her. She was hurting).

I’m sincerely relieved that it’s over. I didn’t run this weekend, because the lady who took the chip off my shoe at the end of the race while I sat there and sobbed told me that I could have a week off. I may run tomorrow. As much as it hurt, I can’t quite bring myself to swear off running entirely.

I’m just a glutton for punishment, aren’t I?

If I do actually run tomorrow, it’s not going to be great. I’ve been doing the Insanity workout DVDs. Lots of plyometrics. My legs won’t be very fresh.

Here, have some photos:

This is me before the race. The very face of determination. And enormous sunglasses. And horrible iPhone camera.

This is me coming into the finish. Gosh, I look happy. Probably because I know my legs won’t need to be amputated.

And this is me with my best bud. Aww. I think my face was actually frozen like that. Some sort of grim rictus. Lovely.

Welcome to Suck-Town

Heading off to Tasmania on Thursday, so I guess I should be packing my bags right now. Instead, I’m eating popcorn and watching Total Recall.

Yup. Quality time wastery. What can I say? It’s my specialty. I’ve been determinedly virtuous all year so far (7 days, a good enough record). Eating well, exercising, TV and computer off by 9, in bed by 10… But I’ve got too many worries in my head to be Little Miss Perfect tonight. In fact, I think I may well go and pour myself a gin.

I know it’s counterproductive to worry about things that you can’t change. Funnily enough, knowing that won’t help me stop. Here’s a brief summary:

1. On Saturday, I did a bunch of squats and lunges and jump squats and jumping jacks and a whole lot more of the leg-punishing variety. My legs still hurt like a bitch, and they’re still stiff. I mean… Still? Are you frigging kidding me? I did some yoga yesterday and it was seriously uncomfortable. I don’t know why my legs are still messed up.
2. The Tasmania bushfires. I don’t know what the current state of affairs is over there, but at the very least it may be smoky on race day. I hate to admit it, but for a few short minutes I hoped that the race would be cancelled so I wouldn’t have to do it. The fact that it isn’t cancelled makes me sad, and it makes me sad that it makes me sad. And so on and so forth.
3. I don’t think I trained enough. Actually, scratch that. I KNOW I didn’t train enough.

I’m going to finish my gin, and I’m going to finish this movie, and then I’m going to go and lay out all my clothes on the floor and try to figure out what I’ll be wearing in Tasmania. Then I’m going to find my e-book reader charger. If I had a cigarette, then I’d probably smoke it. But I don’t have any cigarettes, and that wouldn’t be very good for my running ability in any case.

Maybe when I’m packing, I’ll start to get excited about the trip.

Maybe I’ll become so overcome by the minutiae of packing and unpacking and checking and repacking, and unpacking again and checking then finally repacking that I’ll stop panicking about the race and fall asleep from exhaustion.

Earlier, Jetstar tried to tell me that my flight on Thursday was cancelled, even though it actually wasn’t (as determined in a hysterical phone call to a lovely young fellow in the call centre). I’ve had enough of this stress for one evening. I think the movie is about done, so I’d better get my butt into gear.

Guh. Not sure why I do this to myself. Would someone please remind me?

Hippo Nao Yarr

So… Ah… I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately.

So that’s awesome.

Need to pee a lot, but I guess you get that when you drink a bunch of water. My new boss must think I’m a lazy bitch, as I spent a lot of today either eating (just fruit and stuff) or getting more water, or going to the bathroom.

I drank like three litres today. Maybe.

…

Where the fuck did December go, by the way? I was rocking my way through November, and then bam, just like that, it was happy new year time and drinking and smoking and eating and being all chubby and shit and I can swear someone stole the last month of my life.

I’m getting my act together, but being healthy is going to suck balls for a really long while until I get back in the zone. The sad part is that I don’t have enough time to get into the zone before the Cadbury Marathon in a week and a half. I need to be more positive about it, probably, but I’m fairly sure I’m gonna be in a world of hurt. Re-reading my entry about last year’s Cadbury Half, I’m only sure of one thing - the need to sunscreen the top of my head. I wish I were more verbose about my race summary posts, if only as a reminder of how sucky a particular event was. If that’s all I managed to take out of it, it wasn’t particularly useful.

That reminds me. I need to buy sunscreen.

You know what I really want right now? The freedom to run without being in training for something. I’d love to just wake up in the morning and be all “I’ma gonna run 20km!” rather than waking up and groaning and whinging about having to run 20km.

Ah well, I guess Tasmania is gonna be fun. I like Hobart. It’s a pretty town.

Getting festive all up in here

It’s been a great week. Ran at lunchtime on Monday, Thursday, and actually managed a long run yesterday.

When I woke up on Saturday morning (late, I might add, although that’s not entirely surprising) I was telling myself that I was only going out there for a ten kilometre stagger. I had a race coming up, so why should I murder myself with a long one? That idea didn’t even last me out the door. If I was really planning on only doing ten kilometres, then why did I take water and nutrition with me?

It was a warm morning, but not too warm heading out at 7:00am. My legs were feeling fine, and the jog out to Lake Ginninderra was fairly uneventful. If I’d have been ten minutes earlier to the lake I would have considered joining the Parkrun crowd, but I didn’t have my barcode with me so I wouldn’t have gotten a time. As it was, I kept pace with the pack up around the lake and when they turned back, I just kept on going. When I got to the skate park at the other end of the lake, I turned back. Fifteen kilometres down, and just another fifteen kilometres back home.

Out and back routes are great for motivation, especially if there aren’t any buses nearby, because you pretty much have to run the whole way back. You don’t realise how hard it’s going to be and chicken out, because you’re not actually going to get tired until at least the halfway point.

Well, things were really starting to fall apart at the halfway point, but I pushed through. It was getting steadily hotter as I went. I was really hating it, and my feet felt weird (probably due to the epic blisters, but I didn’t find those until later). I got my second wind, but it never got fun again. Took a quick bathroom break at the twenty kilometre mark, and caught up with an old work friend who was there to do some fishing. That little respite helped me get back on the road with a little more pep, but like I said, I wasn’t having a super duper time.

I made it home in 3:20:49 for the thirty kilometres. Not a world record or anything, but the fact I managed it at all was a big relief. I’m keenly aware of how close I am to the marathon in January, and how few long long runs I’ve done.

I did make a pretty good discovery, though. I brought these gel chewy energy things along, I think Powerbar makes them, and they’re quite a tasty alternative to gels. One pack lasted me the whole thirty kms. Only thing is that it’s hard to chew when I’m running, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a walk break or two.

Oh, and I even stretched. Just to make sure I could actually walk, let alone run, for the fun run this morning.

So… The Santa fun run. Freaking hilarious. I didn’t know how hard it was to try to crack 30 minutes on a 5 km race while wearing a synthetic material santa suit complete with furry beard. Now I do. It’s pretty hard. We managed it, according to my GPS which tells me the race was actually closer to 5.5 km. Me and my pal Dina ran together, and although I thought I was trying to motivate her to keep running I realise that she was mostly excellent at motivating me to keep running. If I’d have done this run alone, I don’t know if I could have kept the pace up so long. After yesterday’s run, and given the costume, and my screaming headache… Yeah. Definitely an experience, but probably an experience better suited to the northern hemisphere Christmas.

The total menu:

Custard flavoured slime for breakfast.

Kilometres for lunch.

Bruised kidneys for dinner.

Delicious.

I bought this custard-style yoghurt mix, and I had some this morning. Yep. Slime. Tasty. Anyways…

Today I decided I wanted to go for a run at lunchtime. I’ve never actually done that while I’ve been at this job. Gym, maybe. But outdoor running? Nope. I put on my gear and got out on the road, turned around at about 20 minutes and went back the other way. Ended up doing 7 kilometres, which is a pretty good deal for a lunch break. Only issue I had was that I started sweating as soon as I walked back in the building and thanks to my rank running hat (which seriously needs a wash if I ever remember to wash it) I absolutely reeked of sweat. Realised I’d forgotten my towel, so showering was out of the question. I ended up spraying myself with copious amounts of deodorant and went back to work, somewhat more frizzy and afro-fabulous than I had been prior to the break. But it’s all good. I didn’t have anyone to impress, and nowhere important to be.

After my good effort at lunch time, I went to get a massage after work. Made the mistake of telling the girl that I was after ‘pretty hard’ pressure. Ow. I swear, one of these days I’ll stop being such a masochist. It was good fun, but there were eyes-rolling-back, teeth-clenching moments of pure back agony mixed in with the therapeutic stuff. Sitting on my back, going apeshit with her entire arms all at once… We’re talking a direct assault on my kidneys with her bony-ass elbows. Dear god, maybe I should take up wrestling, if this is the kind of shit I do for fun.

She really loosened up my shoulders, so I guess it’s mission achieved.

I didn’t do a long run on the weekend, because I was still feeling shit. Thursday, Friday and to a certain extent Saturday morning. Bad cramps. I guess it happens occasionally. I don’t know how I’m going to swing a long run on Saturday given that I have the Santa fun run on Sunday, but I’ll find a way. Maybe just an easy 20km. That won’t knock me back too far.

Pity party

Wah. I feel like crap. Think I need to curl up in bed and sob. Bad stomach cramps. I get those sometimes. When I stop feeling sorry for myself, I can start feeling proud that I actually managed to get out there this evening and run about seven and a half kilometres (or thereabouts) whilst in horrible pain and feeling like I wanted to stab someone so they could feel my pain too.

I got my santa suit for the Variety Santa Fun Run on Tuesday. Took a bus ride out to Fyshwick to pick it up even though I know I could just get it on the day of the race. I wanted to try it on beforehand, though. Forewarned is forearmed. Forearmed? Like, with forearms. Or with four arms. That’d be useful. I could paint myself gold and run around pretending to be a vengeful god. Then I could stab people.

Uh, what was I saying? I’m really not a psychopath, usually. I’m just distracted.

Anyway, yeah. Santa suit. It’s hard to describe. It’s a thin sort of fabric, so it probably won’t get too hot. It is however immensely huge. The pants (or should I say shorts) have a drawstring so that’s not really a problem, but the jacket is enormous and even with the belt it looks ridiculous. I love it. It’s overwhelmingly tacky and magnificent. If I was in the mood (and I’m definitely not) I would dress up in the suit and dance around until my pants fell down. I did that once, as soon as I got the suit home. It’s a definite mood-lifter. Running in the suit is going to be a real experience. Not this Sunday, but the Sunday after it. I anticipate potent awesomeness.

Run this evening was good. It felt a little slow even though it definitely wasn’t. I’m starting to get a little concerned about my knees, as they’re not recovering from each run as well as they used to. This may be down to the greatly increased weekly mileage. Not sure. I’ll keep my eye on the situation. Maybe I should be considering new shoes after all.

Hi Ho

My week and a bit of holidays is up as of tomorrow morning. I guess it’s back to the rat race with me.

But I don’t want to race rats.

They smell, and they bite, and they carry the bubonic plague. Well, some of them did.

I’m going to be all petty and pouty about this. I know my holiday wasn’t nearly as full-on or hardcore as I intended it to be. I’m fairly sure I’m no more ripped than I was going in. I blame all the cheese. But I did do some cool things.

I ran more kilometres during my holidays than I had done in the entire last month. That’s gotta be worth something. At the very least, surely I’m on track for the marathon in January.

On Friday I did my long run, as I didn’t expect to be able to run on Saturday or Sunday. I was reminded once again that at this level of training, the battle is mostly mental. The physical aspect only kicks in at the end.

I got out of bed with great difficulty, as I was full into holiday mode. But I got up at around 6:15 or thereabouts, the sun shining insistently through my window. I did all the usual pre-run things like dressing (as running naked down the road doesn’t appeal to anyone, let alone myself) and bathroom stuff (my digestive system takes it personally when I wake up early to run, and it isn’t into peaceful protests). By the time I stepped out the door, the sky was grey and full of clouds, and rain was bucketing down. Ever so slightly let down and miserable at the prospect of running in the freezing cold rain - and it was freezing, I checked - in my tank top and stretchy shorts, I turned tail and went back up the stairs.

Part of me wanted to take this as a sign from the gods that I really should go running some other time. Part of me wanted to rip off my stretchy pants and fall back into bed. But I didn’t. I actually spoke to myself at this point. “Get your jacket, get your gloves and get back out there, you stupid bitch.”

And I did. I put on my hoodie and a pair of fingerless gloves (because I’m apparently Rocky Balboa), but no beanie (because I may be Rocky but it’s not the middle of winter). I went out the door and I started running.

About a kilometre later the rain stopped and the sun came out, and it proceeded to be quite warm and rather humid, which was a shame because I had to run for the next three hours or so with a hoodie tied around my waist. This just goes to show that I should have braved the weather to begin with and quit whinging about a little bit of rain.

I was going to aim for twelve and a half kilometres before turning around and going back the other way for a total of 25 kilometres. I got distracted at the halfway point by the prospect of water (as I didn’t bring any water or nutrition along for the run. Probably a bad idea, in hindsight) and I didn’t turn around until my GPS was reading 13 kilometres. Turns out that the GPS was buggy, because I only ended up with a run of 25.5 kilometres. Not that I’m complaining. That’s pretty awesome.

It got pretty hard in the last half because I hadn’t eaten and my muscles were starting to notice, but I kept getting little bursts of adrenaline which kept me going. All in all, I’m quite happy with that long run. It even had a few of those OMG THE WORLD IS AWESOME, I’M AWESOME AND I LOVE EVERYTHING moments, which are always welcome on a long run.

I did another run this morning. Just a simple 10 kilometres. Nothing too flash, but I’m glad I got out there. The real trial is going to be keeping my momentum now that I’m going to be back at work again. I just have to think about Tasmania, and January, and a great big purple floating block of chocolate.

What? That doesn’t even make sense.

Don’t care. PURPLE FLOATING BLOCK OF CHOCOLATE!

I think it’s probably time for bed now. I’m planning to do a little bit of hulking out in the morning before heading to work.

Operation Smoking Hot

I’m currently on a week and a half of leave, as I’ve just finished a major project at work and I’m soon going to start another job. You know what this means? Hooray! Let’s work out!

I don’t have any plans to travel, and I don’t want to waste my time being all lazy. This plan really appealed to me. I get to work out hard every day, and really push my limitations. I’m being full-on masochistic about this. Cardio until my heart rate crashes through the roof, resistance training to collapse. I got myself a copy of the Insanity workout DVDs, and boy are they a good workout. Plyometric stuff just kills me, but it’s gotta be doing me good. By next Tuesday I hope to have achieved some visible results, but I don’t expect anything dramatic. Especially since the original plan also involved a drastic diet, which I decided was a terrible idea. Then I bought cheese. I’m currently eating said cheese with crackers, and drinking a nice chilled Sauvignon Blanc. But my biceps look great, and my abs are pretty fantastic.

On the running front, I’m actually doing quite well at the moment. I had a bad couple of weeks, which got me down (and stopped me from writing sooner), but I did a nice 20km run on Saturday so I know I’m still in the game. The run was fast, easy and verging on fun. There’s a song I’ve been playing recently, guaranteed to deliver that endorphin rush I sorely need at the 18km mark.

Yesterday I ran a slightly slower but still fun 10km. It was a bit on the warm side because I couldn’t drag myself from sleep early enough. 8:00 or thereabouts, but the sweat started pouring almost as soon as I stepped out the door. Yep, definitely need to start waking up earlier. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get up at the crack of dawn and do 20km. Won't be fast and probably won't be easy but I feel the need.

In other news, I signed up for a charity Santa Fun Run at the end of November, the entry fee for which actually includes a santa suit to wear for the run. Awesomeness. I’m really looking forward to this one, if for the exciting new Facebook profile photo alone. I think it’s going to be a great day. Anyone who has a spare $25 and a hankering to do a dash as the jolly fat man should come along.

Stick with me, baby. I'm goin' places!

Ah, the commuter run. It’s been a while since I’ve run anywhere to actually GET somewhere, and I kinda sorta forgot how hard it could be. If you’re running a loop, and you start to feel like shit, you can turn around and run back the other way. When you’re running somewhere to get from A to B you generally just have to keep on running. Add to that the fact that it’s not generally a premium running time (case in point, 8:30 on a really warm spring morning) and because I’m an idiot who likes to push the envelope I usually have a full pack on my back as well.

I have to say that I love the bike paths here in Canberra. If you want to get from one town centre to another by foot (or bicycle, if you’re twisted that way), there’s no better way. You just have to learn to trust the path. If you trust the path, you won’t get lost. This refers to the direction, not the distance. The distance may be way off.

I went about half a kilometre in the wrong direction this morning because I knew that finding the bike path would pay off in the end. When I got on the path, I saw a sign which told me that I was eight kilometres out of Gungahlin. That sounded about right to me, but it turned out to be a little bit of a underestimation. Add three kilometres to that, and you’re a little closer to the truth.

I almost lost my faith in the path today. I’d never gone in this direction from the city to Gungahlin before, and at one point I seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. There seemed to be fields. No livestock, though. Or other farmy things. But as far as I knew, I could have been on the road to Yass or something. Or some other rural place about which I have no geographical knowledge. I faltered, but I didn’t turn around. Mostly, because I realised that the bike paths themselves don’t go outside of Canberra. If I wanted to run to Yass or Bungendore or… I dunno. Where else would I run? Captain’s Flat? Collector? Anyway, I’d have to do it on the roads and I’d probably get run over by a ute. Or a cyclist in stretchy pants.

Turns out I was going in the right direction after all, but the run wasn't a lot of fun, all things considered.

My nose started streaming like a tap as soon as I stepped outdoors, thanks to the fluffy shit in the air and all the hayfever-ness it causes. I didn’t have a handlerchief on me, or any antihistamines. So… Yay. That wasn’t fun. My pack wasn’t too heavy to begin with but soon started to feel stupid-heavy. The sunscreen stung my eyelids. It also didn’t seem to be working, at all.

The whole route seemed to be a hill. Never down, always up, mostly gradual. If I did it in the other direction I’d probably feel like a superhero because it’d be almost effortless and I wouldn’t know why. A couple of old guys on bicycles overtook me (fairly slowly, I’ll say) on one particularly brutal hill, and I caught up with them again at a traffic light up ahead. I said good morning, because despite the crappiness of the run I could still manage to be cheerful. They told me it’d been tough to overtake me on that hill, and I’d been going at a pretty good clip. Happy to hear that. I ran past them again in Gungahlin later, after I had just queued up to vote in the local election.

I was intending to round my run out to a proper 20 kilometre long run, but I hadn’t gone too far along the way before I started longing for a nice cool shower and some bacon. Rather than continuing along to the lake after arriving in Gungahlin, I voted and went straight home. 11.5 kms, all up. Not too shabby. I definitely earned brunch.

Bacon and banana pancakes always taste better when I’ve earned them.

Next time, I might leave my gear and just bring my usual bumbag along for the run. And maybe I’ll start out a little earlier.

The Runner's Trots

I’ve had a great week, running-wise. I slipped up on the weekend because I didn’t feel like waking up early to run on Saturday. I should know by now that it’s a recipe for disaster. If I don’t run on Saturday, chances are that I ain’t gonna run. Feeling somewhat worse for wear as a result of missing my big weekend effort, I went out after work on Monday for what was intended to be a nice short 5km stagger and turned out to be an almost six and a half kilometre victory lap of awesomeness. I did sprints, I ran my favourite Zombies, Run! mission. I listened to some great music. It was a really good one.

After Monday’s success I did some weights at home on Tuesday. Then, rather than break the chain I ran before work on Wednesday, just a quick four kilometres, because I knew I wouldn’t have a chance at night. I always go out on Wednesdays.

There was this moment on Wednesday morning. My alarm went off, half past four or something stupid like that. Rather than snooze it, I turned it off completely. Good girl! Then, I lay there in a groggy puddle of my own sleepiness for a couple of minutes, before coming to the ill-advised conclusion that the best thing to do was just go back to sleep and forget this business ever happened. Bad girl. No ice-cream for you.

I blurrily commanded my phone “Siri! Wake me up at 5:30!” and tried to return to the comforting warmth of my dream. And it didn’t work. I stayed awake. I got even more awake. After about 30 seconds of this horrifying return to clarity I had a visit from my old friend Willpower. “Siri!” I said. “Turn off my alarm! And bring me a sandwich!”

Siri did not bring me a sandwich. But she did turn off my alarm. And I went out and ran. And it was good. And I totally deserved the maxibon I ate later that night.

Surprise of all surprises, willpower seems to be hanging around. I actually fell asleep on the bus this evening. Not just an eyes-closed public transport meditation, an honest to goodness nap. After that, I wouldn’t expect to be very enthusiastic about getting back out for a supply mission in the zombie wasteland. However, as soon as I’d gotten in the door, made a quick stop to the bathroom and changed my clothes, I was outside pounding the pavement.

Tonight’s run has taught me a valuable lesson that I already should have known.

Always make sure you have the bathroom thing under control before you go out for a run of more than about three kilometres. Super important. I thought I was fine, and I was actually going quite well, until about three and a half kilometres into my five kilometre route. Then I was struck simultaneously with severe stomach cramps and the realisation that there were no public toilets anywhere near me. I had to endure the agony for what seemed like a lifetime.

This was also the moment when the other douchebags on the path decided to turn on their super-douchebag abilities just to piss me off. I had dogs nipping at my heels (in a very literal sense) and also trying to play chicken with me (they lost). I had women with prams walking side by side with other women with prams. I just love that. I also had people who would stay most politely on their side of the path until the very moment I changed lanes to run around them, when they would decide that the place they really wanted to be at this point in time was standing right in front of me. Then they would duck back and forth and laugh at me. Look, people. Just do your shit. Walk where you were walking before. I don’t care. I will run around you. I will make the extra effort. Don’t pretend it’s cute or funny that I can’t get around you when you do that stupid indecisive little dance. I will get pissed off and divert onto the grass, and for some stupid fucking reason you will consider this to be rude, as if I’m intending to cause offence by giving you and your smug antics a wide berth. Newsflash. I am. I am too good for your stupid footpath. And you are a douchebag.

Anyway, my verbal abilities were kind of limited because I was starting to get that horrible cold sweat that doesn’t come from exercise because it only comes from the overwhelming need to find a bathroom tout suite. So I mumbled a few things at the douchebags. May have been expletives. I don’t quite remember. And finally, after a horrendous ordeal, I made it home.

Please, self, if you take nothing more from this experience, please remember this. Always get the bathroom stuff sorted before you run. Always. You may think it’s over when you stumble in the door, but it’s never over. Ah, cruel nature.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have an early-ish night because that’s the only way I can distract myself from the fact that I’ve still got an incredibly upset stomach. My run has left a legacy, alright. Hope it’s gone by tomorrow.

Chocolate!

I’m so hungry right now. I’ve been really good, food-wise, over the last two days, and I’m feeling all empowered and healthy and shit. And dizzy. Kinda dizzy. Not badly. But yeah, it’s there. I don’t want to stop now, but I may have a cheat meal tomorrow night.

I submitted my registration for the Cadbury Marathon this evening. Such a cheap race, especially with an extra discount on top. The trip itself is a bit pricier, but I got some cheap airfares. Feeling pretty psyched about January. Really looking forward to the trip. Mum’s coming along, and we’re going to hire a car. So we can do touristy stuff. Now that I’ve actually got the Marathon booked, and the flights booked, I definitely have to get serious about the training. Four and a half hours. That’s what I’m going for, here. Eyes on the prize.

I’m in the mood to do something stupid tomorrow. Maybe a 4:30 wake-up. Jump out of bed and straight into my running gear. Knock out a quick 5km before showering and heading in to work at the usual time. Eh. Not sure. It’ll be cold. And probably dark.

I’m starting to remember how much I like that smug feeling you get from being fitter and cooler and more awesome than everyone else. That may be just the motivator I need.

That, and January seems so close, and 42 kilometres is a long, long way.

Legs like a table. Arms like a chair.

Okay, NOW I’m getting my groove back. Today was a fake-ass public holiday for no reason, so I wanted to take the opportunity to kick off the marathon training. Unfortunately, my plan to wake up at 5:00am to go jogging and be all virtuous and shit was foiled by sheer laziness. I’d like to blame it on daylight savings, if I can. Can I? Okay.

So the morning run was off the cards thanks to daylight savings. So I spent the morning cleaning instead because I’ve got a house inspection on Wednesday. As soon as boredom set in (about 2:30 in the afternoon) I slathered myself with about a litre of sunscreen and went out for a nice slow stagger.

I turned off the sprints on Zombies, Run! because I was going for distance over time. The weather was nice. Not too hot, a cool breeze but not a great deal of wind. An awesome spring day. My throat didn’t bother me too much, so I think I’m finally almost recovered from the tonsil stuff.

I spent most of the run in thoughtful introspection, as one may tend to do while being chased by the mangled re-animated corpse of a helicopter pilot. Not bad thinking, just thinking thinking. Funnily enough, I don’t do a lot of that when I’m running these days. I constantly distract myself with music and podcasts and zombies. Sometimes, I need to distract myself from the pain or the exhaustion. Sometimes I just need to not be thinking, or it might go into a black and horrible place where I don’t want to be, especially whilst running. Just a penalty for being me, I guess. Today, though, I was happy to be thinking. Life is pretty good, right now.

I got beeped at by, like, three cars while I was running. That’s a few more than usual. It’s not as if I were naked. Or screaming obscenities. Or particularly attractive, for that matter, shiny with sunscreen and sweat, spotted with dead bugs and bright red in the face (not from sunburn, thanks to the sunscreen). I was wearing a skirt. But I was wearing three-quarter length stretchy pants under my skirt. The stretchy pants were to avoid between-leg chafe which would generally be caused by the skirt. The skirt was to avoid butt-related self-consciousness, which would generally be caused by the stretchy pants. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

I should have brought some water with me, but I didn’t think about it until it was too late. Altogether, today I ran 15.26 kilometres in 1:40:50. Not particularly fast, but not incredibly slow either, at a pace of 6:37 per kilometre. A nice steady, easy long run.

I’m going to try to get two more runs in this week. Evening runs, after work. Could this possibly be caused by the fact that my favourite Zombies, Run! mission is coming up after the next one, and it’s a mission that is best run at night, in the dark? Probably. But I take my motivation where I can get it. There seems to be a limited supply of motivation to go around, these days.