Smart or Sissy?

Ted has developed a sore throat, and hinted Saturday about possibly taking Sunday off for our long run. I didn't encourage him either way, figuring he'd come to his own decision, but eyed my MP3 player collecting dust in the corner. Since he has started training for Broad Street with me, I have left my old tune friends at the door and opted to spend the quality time with my husband instead of those boys from Alabama.

And as much as I LOVE running with Ted and as good as it is for me, I had kind of been missing the quiet morning runs with my songs.

So when Ted told me to go ahead Sunday morning by myself, I didn't object. Sunday mornings were always my favorite time for my long runs. I love running in the morning, and find Sunday mornings particularly peaceful. This certain Sunday morning, however, was met with different obstacles.

I have run in snow. I have run in rain. I have run in hot, humid weather, and I have run in bitter cold weather. For reasons unknown to me, I have managed to avoid the ice. Not patches of ice here and there and there that you can see coming. I'm referring to the layer of glass that I was met with stepping off my front porch.

Because this was my first encounter with black ice, I shrugged it off, thinking I'll just be careful until I can run on the side of the road, then it will be fine. It wasn't fine. My long 10-miler I had been looking forward to takes me on a route through boroughs, then onto a township road with a fairly decent shoulder. This 10-miler turned into 4 and a half when, after running for about a quarter mile on the township road, the ice didn't diminish and I figured it wasn't worth it. I had already slipped many times, and almost completely landed on my back end if it hadn't been for the street sign. This particular long run wasn't crucial, and I figured I would rather cut it short than finish with an injury. (In my defense, I turned around with the intention of completing a 6-mile loop on sidewalks, but again, blamed the ice and went home instead).

If humans were equipped with tails, my tail would have been between my legs on that run home. Guilt burdened me, and I felt like I was giving up...should I have toughed it out? Was I being too easy? Regardless of the ice, the lack of human company I had grown accustomed to was apparent, and I asked myself if I had seen the ice as an easy way out of a run.

Which comes to the question du jour...was I being smart by bailing early? Should I have sucked it up? Reason tells me I did the right thing...it was dangerous to be running, and it would not have been a good run. The runner side of me tells me I should have pushed through...very little can be seen as on obstacle, and ice is just another good story to tell.

I have a new pair of work shoes

I have a new pair of work-outside shoes.

My old running shoes decided they were done. And as they should be. They were good, they worked hard, and they put up with a lot from me. Most recently, the abuse of trail running. They finally said they were done and requested their papers.

Unfortunately, due to their current state, they will bypass the typical retirement hierarchy, which goes from running shoe to everyday-wear-with-jeans shoe to working-outside shoe. They will just skip right over the wear-with-jeans level, and my red Adidas will retain that position for awhile longer.

My new running shoe is nothing else but...the same. I got the same shoe, same style, same everything. I loved them and they were great, so why change something that has worked? The contract of old versus new when I first got my new shoes home was amazing, and I just had to share.

However, I can't wait until this new pair gets a little more grunge to it--I hate feeling like all my white socks are dingier than they probably are...

The Official Start of Training

The countdown has begun.

Broad Street Training started last night--16 weeks to go!

I'm excited. This is a chance for me to beat last year's time and finish the race in much better spirits than I did in 2006. I intend to run this year's Broad Street Run focusing on the aspects I enjoyed about it and the amazing crowds along the route.

And I intend to run it and enjoy the company. Ted and Dave have pledged their support on the route with me. As in fellow runners.

I envision Dave taking off and meeting us at the finish line. That's fine with me. He's a 16-year-old boy in the best shape of his life, and he's just in a different racing bracket than Ted or I. But Ted plans on running with me. This excites me on a few different levels.

1) The Company. Normally my playlist of Big & Rich, U2, Montgomery Gentry, Hank Williams, and Joss Stone would carry me the distance. And while they are good friends and help take my mind off the time, listening to music while racing does take away from the experience. It drowns out the crowd noise, the bands, the cheering, and any music along the course. It will be great to have a live human being next to me to talk to and share the experience with.
2) The Speed. Ted isn't a natural speed demon. He's faster than me because he's leaner than I am and he's taller than I am, so his strides are naturally longer. But it isn't unrealistic for me to keep up with him. Our runs recently have been mainly side-by-side. The 2-mile and 3-mile runs have been faster--like 8 minute, 8:30 minute miles. This thrills me, because it keeps my pace increasing and I avoid slipping into the rut of comfort I have a tendency to do. I will forever attribute my weight gain during Broad Street to this fact. The half marathon training wasn't too bad because we were doing 5Ks every other weekend, and I was running short runs with Ted for those, which kept my speed up. So I'm pulling for a PR for Broad Street, and I'll have Ted to thank for that.
3) The Experience. Not for me. I've done this race, I know the emotions involved. I can't wait to see Ted run it. I can't wait for him to see the power of the crowds unlike any race he's ever run. I can't wait for him to experience the levels of emotions--the high at the beginning, the brief rut around City Hall, then the finish. I can't wait to see how he feels when he does finish--will he be thrilled with it? Will he be sorry he ever ran it? Will the chances of us running the Philly Marathon diminish? Or will this race confirm our participation together in November?

Time will tell. 16 weeks will tell, to be exact.

Cold in lungs or chest, take a rest

Let me just state for the record that I never get sick. Each winter, I pride myself on missing the flu season, avoid colds, and staying illness-free while my friends and co-workers miss day after day and slush around the office in a medicine-induced stupor.

I can now chalk three illnesses so far this winter on my "Done" list. The first was the head cold in November. Then was the stomach virus in December. Now I have been battling a chest cold for the past week.

I haven't run at all because of the chest cold. I read somewhere a rule of thumb was if you were sick above your neck, you would be okay to run. If it was below the neck, take time off and recuperate. I looked elsewhere to see if opinions were the same, and the general consensus was just that. So I hung up my shoes and took the week off, the fear of a chest cold escalating into pneumonia or another terror hanging over my head.

Memoirs

It's been a tough period for my family.

My mother called last Friday and informed me my grandfather had passed away. I'll spare the details, but it was an avoidable death and justice will come--some time and some place.

Saturday Ted packed me up and we headed to a local park with hundreds of miles of horse trails. We did some trail running, something I've always wanted to do, and something that helped clear my mind a bit. The scenery was beautiful, and the workout was a much needed release of energy.

While it was hard to attend the viewing and the funeral earlier this week, it was even harder seeing my family (and at the same time I couldn't imagine not). These are people I am so used to seeing happy and joyful, and now they are sad and broken. I wished I could take an ounce of the pain away...but the strength of the family will pull everyone through.

When a death occurs, I find myself thinking of memories I have of the person, what they may have thought of me, and what do I have in common with them that I can carry with me? It wasn't until after the funeral that the really strong, good memories came flooding back--before that, it was a blur of thoughts. There were memories, but nothing solid enough to share, nothing that seemed to truly honor his memory and what he meant to the family. After the cemetary, and before the luncheon, I took comfort in realizing my cousins must have felt the same--we stood in a circle and just began spitting out these memories...memories that could have filled boards and memories that couldn't come earlier that week. Memories that now truly showed what he was. I wonder if they felt the same as I did.

I am happy and take comfort in the fact that my grandfather was able to see milestones in my life. He saw me graduate high school. He wasn't physically at the college graduation, but he knew I did it. He saw me get married. He even made the 4 hour trek to see the house my husband and I have made for ourselves. Ted told me on the way home I am lucky to have been close to my grandfather and have memories of him--tractor rides, helping in the barn (or rather, playing with kittens while I was supposed to have been helping), hayrides, milking cows, boiling maple sugar. I didn't inherit his musical ability, but I like to think there are some parts of him that can be seen in me--at least I'd be honored to know that. I know he loved me--and I hope I made him proud.