10 miles long

Saturday brought a 10-mile run in my training schedule.  It also brought snow, treacherous roads, and cold temps.  Normally, my long run day is Friday.  However, this past Friday had temperatures below zero.  While I have mustered it up to do my runs below zero before, I knew that if I waited one day, the temperatures would rise to a more comfortable (read:  safer) level for the long distance.

Not wanting to sacrifice weekend family time to run for over an hour and a half, I got up at 5:00 a.m., ate a fuel-laden breakfast, and waited for light.  It was a longer wait than expected.  Luckily (?), Aidan had decided at around 5:40 a.m. that sleeping in on Saturdays is for suckers, so I had some company.  I sat with him and knitted while he played Leggos until it was time for me to go.

I left the house at 6:40 as the sky lightened before sunrise, scraped all the snow off the car, and carefully made my way along the unplowed roads.  It was slow going, and I almost ended up in the ditch.  I actually laughed out loud a few times about the insanity of going to run, outdoors (around the lake next to my warm gym) in weather that was basically undrivable.  Once parked, I momentarily considered running the indoor track indoors instead.  Too bad for me, though, I had only brought extra warm running-wear.  At that moment, a fellow insane runner passed in front of me on his trek around the lake.  I was in.  I may be crazy, but at least I wouldn't be alone.  Onward.

Still getting light outside and following the tracks of the other lone runner

The snow was fluffy and a few inches deep.  Deep enough that I couldn't tell if it was slippery beneath it or not.  That tentative type of running changes my gait and makes my hips get sore.  Wind around one-third of the lake bit at my left ear and covered my tracks with snow so that they were faint or invisible on each, consecutive passing.  My hands were cold and fingers painful at first, but my Kool Foo Mittens (on their maiden run!) warmed them up within the first two miles.

After the first two times around the lake, my phantom running partner's tracks disappeared.  The only time I had actually laid eyes on him was that first time from my car.  The only other person I encountered was a snowshoer.  The plow drivers were out by my third round, and I made sure to wave at them so that they might remember me if I went missing.  (Well, it didn't hurt to consider this scenario.)  The snow had begun to fall heavier, and the wind had picked up.  It was fully light outside by now, though, so I was encouraged about my chances of finishing.

The day before, I had finally broken down and gotten a runner's water bottle.  (I have noticed that staying hydrated really does have it's perks.)  By my third lap o' the lake, the spout on my bottle had frozen.  By the fourth, the cap was frozen on also.  It's weird how thirsty one can get surrounded by snow and too cold to really get a good sweat going.  At any rate (and this time, the rate we are talking was very slow), I finished my ten miles and headed home.  The streets were plowed and the snow had stopped.  All told, it was a good morning.

Frozen Water One Hour Post Run

I'm feeling pretty good recovery-wise this Monday morning.  Not too sore and ready to run again.  Unfortunately, I have a cold now.  I would have maybe admitted this cruddy feeling was from the cold long run.  However, Aidan is home sick too.....so HA to the winter running haters!  it's a virus.  I am free to continue the outdoor winter running without fear that it will bring on certain pneumonia-induced death.  Too bad I'm home with a sicky kid, because it is a lovely morning for a run:  snowy and not too cold.  That's ok.  Cuddle time with a drippy nosed 6-year old doesn't happen very often and is fleeting fast.  I'm content to wait until tomorrow to continue my winter running.

Too much?

My Foo Fighters obsession might be pushing the limits of "healthy" for a 44 year-old mom.  However, these will keep my fingers toasty for my 10 miler this morning!  There is nothing wrong with bringing a little whimsy to the serious business of life, now is there?!

(Thank you to Judy for the yarn, Kool-Aid for the ability to dye it, EZ for the ingenious Joggers Thumbless Mittens pattern and to Tricksy Knitter for sharing a chart!)

Don't Wait

As I was reading one of my favorite blogs, I was thunderstruck with a sense of loss.  The Yarn Harlot was blogging about a trip she is taking with her mom.  It struck me that my mom and I had always planned to travel together.  We planned it in that vague, off in the distant future sort of way that one does.  I know that it will never happen.  We waited too long, even though we had no idea that we were putting it off at all.  My mom's early onset dementia prevents everything that is supposed to happen for her......and for me.  There.  I said it.  For me.  

There is only one way to right this wrong.  It doesn't even right the wrong, but it is the only thing that can even come close.  I will plan a trip with MY daughter.  Soon.  She's only 9, but waiting seems wrong.  I hate feeling that time is short and that the end is right around the corner.  Some day, when my mom has found her peace, and life begins to be normal (normal?), I might think it silly to feel this sense of urgency to do and to see and to think and to dance and to feel everything that can be wonderful.  Maybe.  I hope that feeling never goes away completely but just enough to make life not feel like a hurry up event.

We will begin to plan, my Delaney Jane and I, and I can add one more thing to the list of gifts my mom has given me:  the gift of learning to seize the day.

Today, I decided to try and wring out the bumpiness that has been plaguing me since yesterday.  After running (around the track for three miles....not my favorite exercise venue), I went to do some work on the weight machines.  It helped.  While working my arms, I had a thought.  Let me explain.  The biceps machine is so much more difficult than the one that helps me work my triceps.  I can push more than twice the amount of weight on the triceps machine than I can pull into an arm curl for my biceps.  

My thought is this:  in life, pulling something (-one) toward us is much harder than pushing something (-one) away from us.  Think about it physically.  Pulling a sled is tougher than getting behind it to push (for me it is, anyway.....even if in both instances the sled is carrying two kids and a dog).  Another physical example:  Pulling a child along by the hand through a crowded place takes more effort than getting behind said child and guiding him that way with your hands on his shoulders.

Figuratively, it's the same.  Pulling someone toward us gives me the visual impression of making him or her come to us against his or her will.  The reluctant boyfriend, the wary stray cat, the stubborn child are some examples that come to mind.  I'm not talking about the physical pull, either.  I'm talking the kind that attempts to lure or welcome through emotion, deeds, kindness, etc.

Pushing someone away is easy.  It requires omission of thought, the end of emotion, giving up, moving on.  It is sometimes a positive step that takes a long time to get to, but once it starts, momentum helps.  Sometimes, it's not positive, but it happens anyway.  Sometimes, it is something that happens a little by little in the beginning, like giving a heavy sled little, nudging pushes against deep snow to get it started.  Once the motion begins, however, the gliding away begins.  It's scary how easily it can happen in some cases.  It's hard to know how to stop that runaway sled or other instances of pushing away once the momentum gets started, too

So, that's my exercise metaphor for life today.  Just random thoughts in the gym.  And the bumpiness?  When I got home, I knocked the salt shaker off the counter, and it rolled behind the fridge.  Now I have the bad luck of spilt salt (yes, yes, I threw some over my left shoulder immediately).  I also still have a salt shaker behind the fridge, because the pushing and pulling on the weight machines for firm arms left me too weak to move that fridge.  

Bumpy Day

This weather is completely throwing me.  It is too warm.  60 degrees F is not normal for January here.  At all.  I couldn't wait to start my 5 mile run today, because I was hoping it would shake off whatever is going on with me.  I am blaming the weather on that.  I am clumsy today.  Dropping things, bumping into things, having clothing that sits uncomfortably.  You name it; it ails me.

So, I ran.  Weirdly, this was a harder run than the 5 miler I ran exactly one week ago when the temperature was 70 degrees colder than it was today.  (and no, that wasn't an error, and I did run outside both days.  -10 was the temp a week ago)  By week's end, it's back to the single digits in temperature, and I will feel a lot better about things, I believe.  Winter is supposed to be cold.  Spring is supposed to feel like today.

And also?  I'm still bumping along today.  The run was fine, but I am still afflicted.  Here's hoping the cold front brings me relief.

Purpose

I started this blog quite awhile ago in hopes that it would help me find a voice.  I want to really write, and I figured this was a good place to get more practice.  Then I couldn't think of what to write.  Not exactly that, I guess.  It was more like I couldn't think of anything to write about daily (or weekly) on one topic or anything of interest to me.  That stymied me.  So I tripped along very irregularly.  I also realized that no one reads this, so I could really write about anything in any way without fear of ridicule, judgment, or embarrassment.  Even that realization didn't propel me onward.

Recently (29 days ago), I began training for my first full marathon.  These days, that is not that remarkable of an endeavor, but it is still something that not very many people decide to do.  I am not reaching around to pat myself on the back here.  On the day I was running my loooonnnnnggg for last week (9 miles), I thought about the fact that training for something difficult (something that you aren't even sure you will be able to complete) is a metaphor for life.  There is some material here.

So it begins.  Again.

Bad Bad Bad

I am knitting and drinking coffee a half hour before the kids get home from school. A basket of folded laundry is staring accusingly at me.  I can also hear the half-cleaned upstairs bathroom muttering under its breath.  I might have a piece of cake while boldly carrying on with my Friday afternoon guilty pleasure.  Don't tell anyone.