Fitness

My 100 Mile March

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runnerThere’s a reason I didn’t raise my hand right away when our meeting leader asked if anyone had any fitness milestones they met that month. I didn’t want to be a jackass.

In fact, I ran a total of 100 miles last month. Mostly ran. Really slowly. A little of it was walking. But it was 100 MILES. There were hills involved and trails and rain and sleet and snow (you know … March). My dog tried to kill me. My son, whom I’m coaching for his first half marathon, probably entertained a thought or two along that same line. I got road rash on my face.

I wanted to share all this but I didn’t.

“I’ve walked every day this week,” said one woman in a corner.

“I finally found a Lidocaine patch that would work on my shingles so I could get out and walk again,” another woman said.

I had shingles last year for about four weeks. It made me cry like a damn baby.

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Nonsense

If I go missing one day, someone talk to the dog

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not_forgiven copyThe whole weekend was a blast except for the part where the dog tried to kill me.

The fact that she may have it in for me didn’t occur to me until much later. At the time, her little dodge seemed an ill-timed but otherwise routine attempt at a squirrel. This time, however, we were about a mile into a run. I was going at a pretty good clip and didn’t even see her dart in front of me.

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Fitness

Stay away from things with teeth, and other advice for trail runners

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Penny on the Boise front
Penny on the Boise front

Were I not working with Jack on his first half marathon, I’d currently be on a very different training schedule. The Race to Robie Creek is five weeks away, and my long runs should be in the ten-mile range right now.

Jack is up to six and a half miles, adding another half every weekend, and I can’t do a ten mile run one day and then run with Jack the next, even if we go super slow.

My husband-slash-running coach says two back-to-back medium length runs will mimic the impact of the weekly long run for training purposes. He also says Girl Scout cookies don’t have calories. He’s really smart, so I’m subscribing to both premises.

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Fitness, Parenting

Slow Sunday Six

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Penny doesn't get the whole selfie thing.
Penny’s more into the running than taking selfies.

Jack lay prone on the floor. Every drawer in his dresser was open.

“I can’t find any shorts,” he said.

I closed a few drawers and dug through the bottom one, finding his gym shorts from the seventh grade.

I had brought up a pair of my own running shorts as a suggestion. That didn’t go over well. We are going to have to take him shopping for more gear this week.

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Fitness, Parenting

Just call me ‘coach mom’

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jack_runningA week or so ago, Jack texted me during the day:

I want to run a half marathon.

Not today, honey, I texted back. Put your phone away in class.

But he was serious.

Jack’s been involved in a triathlon training club at our local Y for about a year, not because he necessarily wants to be in a triathlon, but because he’s tired of swim team. Tri-Club gives him variety, and it’s about the most laid back athletic team or club there is from a parental standpoint. No schlepping raffle tickets, or chocolate bars to raise money, no team parties or uniforms, no trophies, no need to sit through a six hour referee clinic, don goofy pads and a mask and steel myself to be yelled at by parents. No cajoling or bribing anyone to wear an athletic cup.

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Fitness, Nonsense

No you don’t actually resemble a Manatee

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Maybe you can outrun a manatee, but how about your preschooler?
Maybe you can outrun a manatee. Can you outrun your preschooler?

Today is the day people all over the region will vie for a spot in what’s billed as the toughest half marathon in the Northwest. Because I have weird issues about absurd challenges, this particular half marathon was also my very first. If I get in this year, it will have been my ninth consecutive Race to Robie Creek.

Since that first race, I’ve run eighteen events of half marathon length or more, but I only seriously got back into running about three years ago, when I realized it took far less effort to pop out the door for a quick 5K than it did to convince the kids that they should peel themselves away from the Xbox long enough to come with me to the Y for my spin class.

Because I know I’m not the only one who looks at entry into the Race to Robie Creek as a good motivation to amp up a lackluster running regimen, I have a few tips for people who don’t want to suck at running:

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Nonsense

We’re not all that tight with St. Val

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running_croppedMore often than not, Valentine’s Day passes without much fanfare around here. We’re not big ones for the holiday.

The cheap cards with “fun sized” candy will have gone off to school in someone’s backpack (after I spend too much time contemplating what could be “fun” about a packet of candy the size of a Barbie purse). When that same kid comes home, I’ll hit him up for his collection of little conversation hearts, because he’s good at sharing, and prefers chocolate anyway.

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Fitness, Nonsense

Thank you thighs

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Thunder thighs finishing up the 16 mile Aldape Challenge. Like a boss. A really, really slow boss.
Finishing up the 16 mile Aldape Challenge in 2013. An earlier me would have had a problem continuing after realizing my shorts were on backwards.

Thank you, thighs.

Sixteen year-old me would have never dreamed I’d one day appreciate you. I’ve always thought of you as a tad oversized. Thirty or so years ago, I was consistently pissed that you wouldn’t fit well into a reasonably sized pair of Levi’s 501s. Today, it was your muscle and sinew and bone that carried me across the finish line of my latest half marathon.

While we’re at it, I’d like to say thanks to you heart and lungs. I don’t know why you’ve stuck it out all these years, and done so well, but I appreciate it. I would like to apologize for my lack of attention to nutrition and fitness earlier in life and any effect it may have had on you.

There aren’t any words to explain the smoking thing, guys. I apologize profusely for that and promise to let a good long time pass before you ever have to deal with that nonsense ever again. I would say ‘you’ll never have to deal with it again,’ but I made a deal with frontal cortex: if we all last another four and a half decades, we give ourselves permission to pick the habit back up (between you and me, lungs, it’s likely that frontal cortex will be slowing down by then. She’ll probably forget our promise in favor of taking up puzzles with cats on them or something. I wouldn’t worry).

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Fitness, Nonsense

Running at a loss for words

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start_line
Chillin’ at the start line at Mount Hood

I’m never sure when I pass someone running in an event if I should say “good job,” or “keep it up” or something like other runners say to me when they pass – which is a far more likely scenario. I always credit their encouragement to the fact that I look like I’m about to fall over dead and they probably want to see if I’ll respond, just to make sure they don’t have to flag down someone with a defibulator.

I do pass other runners on occassion. The difference is that the person passing me could be anyone from a lithe, 20-something college track star to a senior citizen, but the person I’m likely to pass – my “road kill” in running vernacular – is someone who looks to be further along on the spectrum of risk for myocardial infarction than I. I worry about coming across as a condescending jerk; panting “keep going, you can make it,” as I pass slowly enough for there to be an awkward pause if the person doesn’t respond.

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Parenting

The worst fashion decision I ever made

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umpire_2I love the raised eyebrows I get when I tell people I’m a Little League umpire. I wonder how many times in my life I’ve been so motivated by such a reaction.

I’m certainly not compelled because I’m the mom who drops everything for her kid. I don’t have time to fill and I don’t actually like sports. I was the girl in high school PE who flinched when the ball came at her. I haven’t checked since to see if I’ve improved. Until recently, I’m not sure I’d ever worn a mitt.

I hope to save my kids from this fate by constantly exposing them to sports. At the slightest mention of interest, I sign them up. But kids sports require parental involvement, and I can’t afford a stunt double.

At the parent meeting for Colin’s first season in Little League, the coach passed around sign-up sheets. The snack form was full when it got to Mike and me. I signed up to sell raffle tickets. Then coach asked for two umpire volunteers.

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