Let's forget the unblogged past...
658 down, 342 to go.
It's been a while, yes it has. Poor neglected blog.
For all the bravado I can legitimately claim in terms of running, the good (and not so good, but run anyway) races, hard runs in extreme heat, cool runs that feel like a kind of worship; I must also cop to the many miles that are methodical, run on a platform of obligation and peppered with a fair bit of swearing. Back about 200 miles ago I fell into an extended version of the bad stuff. Running was not fun and I didn't feel particularly excited writing about how annoyed I was.
Bad move. Writing needs to be as much the habit as running. I've kept up the miles though, and have run some spectacular ones at that. In the interest of letting go of the unblogged past, let's move ahead shall we?
I was talking to one of my dearest friends in the world, Wendell Thomas, recently. Wendell's house is something like a cross between an artist's studio and Willy Wonka's vacation cottage (ask my kids about the complicated math they are asked to do to figure out how many lollipops they are allowed to take home each visit, answer generally in the range of Far-More-Than-What-Mom-Would-Typically-Allow). I adore this man, his presence is pure love, I'm honored to be part of his life. When my daughter first met him a couple of years ago, she shyly asked for a hug rather than a handshake goodbye as we were getting ready to leave. Something inside me caught and thrilled, my girl HAD it, had the deep gut Good Person instinct.
He asked how the running was going and I told him that I was right on schedule, thinking no further than that. I gave him my numbers and he did a bit of math and said "yes, you ARE on schedule, not much of a cushion though..." Damn. It kind of stung. Not a judgement, I'd never get that from him, but an observation that as hard as I might feel like I'm working, I could probably edge the effort up a notch. The first six months, I knew I had a whole year to do this. I'd absorbed a couple of injuries and was able to take a couple of tiny breaks with not much worry about the time I'd need to make it up. I'm trying to build up the mileage now, so that I don't have oh...67 miles left to run on New Years Eve.
I hit the Prairie Path early and often these days. The 10 mile stretch that I run most often is fairly remote: no houses, there is a sod farm, a lovely, cool stretch of foresty trees and hills, some prairie. Yesterday, among the path goers there was a young guy in camo cargo shorts, a button down shirt - like he'd looked pretty sweet the night before. Not exactly remote bike rider wear, where was he from? Truthfully, it looked pretty ride-of-shamey. He was peddling through what looked to be a big time headache (ok settle down, sure I create stories - what do YOU do on your long runs?) Point is, he was out there and had to have ridden a pretty good distance in this less than ideal exercise state. Maybe he would have preferred a ride, but he was out there.
You do what ya gotta do to get the miles in.
Be well,
Jenny
It's been a while, yes it has. Poor neglected blog.
For all the bravado I can legitimately claim in terms of running, the good (and not so good, but run anyway) races, hard runs in extreme heat, cool runs that feel like a kind of worship; I must also cop to the many miles that are methodical, run on a platform of obligation and peppered with a fair bit of swearing. Back about 200 miles ago I fell into an extended version of the bad stuff. Running was not fun and I didn't feel particularly excited writing about how annoyed I was.
Bad move. Writing needs to be as much the habit as running. I've kept up the miles though, and have run some spectacular ones at that. In the interest of letting go of the unblogged past, let's move ahead shall we?
I was talking to one of my dearest friends in the world, Wendell Thomas, recently. Wendell's house is something like a cross between an artist's studio and Willy Wonka's vacation cottage (ask my kids about the complicated math they are asked to do to figure out how many lollipops they are allowed to take home each visit, answer generally in the range of Far-More-Than-What-Mom-Would-Typically-Allow). I adore this man, his presence is pure love, I'm honored to be part of his life. When my daughter first met him a couple of years ago, she shyly asked for a hug rather than a handshake goodbye as we were getting ready to leave. Something inside me caught and thrilled, my girl HAD it, had the deep gut Good Person instinct.
He asked how the running was going and I told him that I was right on schedule, thinking no further than that. I gave him my numbers and he did a bit of math and said "yes, you ARE on schedule, not much of a cushion though..." Damn. It kind of stung. Not a judgement, I'd never get that from him, but an observation that as hard as I might feel like I'm working, I could probably edge the effort up a notch. The first six months, I knew I had a whole year to do this. I'd absorbed a couple of injuries and was able to take a couple of tiny breaks with not much worry about the time I'd need to make it up. I'm trying to build up the mileage now, so that I don't have oh...67 miles left to run on New Years Eve.
I hit the Prairie Path early and often these days. The 10 mile stretch that I run most often is fairly remote: no houses, there is a sod farm, a lovely, cool stretch of foresty trees and hills, some prairie. Yesterday, among the path goers there was a young guy in camo cargo shorts, a button down shirt - like he'd looked pretty sweet the night before. Not exactly remote bike rider wear, where was he from? Truthfully, it looked pretty ride-of-shamey. He was peddling through what looked to be a big time headache (ok settle down, sure I create stories - what do YOU do on your long runs?) Point is, he was out there and had to have ridden a pretty good distance in this less than ideal exercise state. Maybe he would have preferred a ride, but he was out there.
You do what ya gotta do to get the miles in.
Be well,
Jenny
If you had too much cushion there'd be no suspense, and that wouldn't be any fun now, would it? If you still have 67 miles to go on New Year's Eve, just run to my parents place and I'll meet you there.
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