Famous Among Dozens

Saturday, I got up and out the door to run 12 miles by 7:00 a.m. and I still felt like I'd been run over by a freight train by mile 8 or so.  One problem is that the temperature in Texas right now is something akin to the surface of the sun.  I've been tossing around phrases like "it's only going to be 95 today?!"  That my friends, is cray cray. 

Post run, I managed an ice bath with two bags of ice.  I don't understand how an ice bath is supposed to make you feel better.  I think the basic logic is that you'll forget that you were ever in pain from running as you sit shivering in pain in a bath of ice cubes.  I've never been so hot and then so cold in the span of an hour. 

Tonight is dinner (and wine) at Nonna --- oh, hello delicious Italian food that I might regret in the morning when I throw up in Tread class...

Just Say No

Saturday, I didn't leave for my 12 mile run until 9:15.  That means that it was 2 shades hotter than hell when I set out from my house.  I have gotten into some very bad running habits.  One of them is valuing sleep much more than my training.  I remember when I was acting, we would always say that "you do the play that you rehearse."  I think that probably translates - "you run the race the way that you train."  Why didn't I remember all the non-fun discipline that training involved?  I desperately need to kick myself in the butt or I'm going to be walking 18 of the 26.2 in November.  Prepare for turning of new leaf.

Podcasts are my life line on my long runs.  This American Life, Grantland, Slate ...  greatness.   I learned the term "scroll down disaster" this week on Slate's podcast.  That's a person wearing something acceptable from their head to their midsection and then having a terrible outfit below the waist/shoes.  I cannot wait to toss that phrase out at the perfect time.  Then, Grantland's reality TV podcast gave me the church giggles on the homestretch of my run --- either that or the heat was making me delirious. 

Also, as the picture indicates, I'm done with bad things.  I'm putting my foot down.  Hear that, bad things?  You better step off.  I'm only accepting good things from here on out.  Please and thank you.

I Love It

I explained to running that I would like to kick some butt this weekend, but running didn't listen.  I only had to run 9 miles on Saturday morning, but it might as well have been 19.  It was hotter by 9:00 a.m. in Dallas than some states get all summer long.  Is it possible not to look so sweaty and disgusting at the end of your run?  I bet Gwen Paltrow knows how (googling GOOP newsletters now).  By the by, Parker is licking the sweat off of my leg in the photo above.  Gross, I know.  She looks a bit demented there, but she's really very sweet (see pic below).

Anyway, the All Songs Considered (Best So Far of 2012) podcast + my weekly dose of Ira saved an otherwise boring, sun-raging 9 miles.  If you need a good running tune for the summer, I'm kind of loving the song "I Love It" by Icona Pop.  If you need a reason to train for a marathon in the Texas heat, I'm kind of at a loss right now...

Dear Heel, Please Heal

I want to tell you how I breezed through ten miles on Saturday.  I want to tell you how I'm going to *kill* it in NYC this year.  I want to, but I can't.  Saturday was brutal.

I didn't go to the lake (I know, I know) to run and that meant that I didn't get started until almost 8:00 a.m. when it was already approximately 11,000 degrees.  Honestly, I was a little cocky about running ten and boy, did I get a schooling.  I can usually tell how a run will go on the first mile - how my legs are feeling, the temperature, my speed etc...  Mile number one on Saturday could have been titled "uh oh".  I can think of a couple of other "titles" for the miles I ran that day, but they are not fit to print.  I haven't had a great long run this summer, but this was by far the worst.  To keep the fun coming, by Saturday night, my left achilles was in pain again.  UGH. 

I took Sunday and today as rest days and I emailed Maggie (my Lukes coach).  She says that I can still run, but I need to lay off the speed (um... that doesn't seem like it will be a problem).  She also said not to stretch my achilles right now because that just makes the problem worse.  The plan is to slow down a little and ice a lot after running.  According to Maggie, I can even go to the track work out on Thursday with the group as long as I "take it easy on the burpees."  Is she kidding?  I invented taking it easy on burpees.  Let's hope I can beat this thing before it becomes a monster.

P.S.  I heart you, Ira Glass.  For every single second you distracted me from the scorching heat and the pain of those miles with your delightful podcast, I thank you.

The Truth About Cows

I'm pretty sure this earring-wearing cow is laughing because there's crack in the cheese that he makes.  Only 35 calories in that wedge of goodness?  Cows are born liars.

Speaking of snacks, let me introduce you to the best apple of all time.  The one apple that gives it a run for its money is the apple that they give you at the finish line of the NYC Marathon, but you have to run 26.2 miles to get one  --- you can weigh the cost/benefit analysis on that.  If you don't have that kind of time, go pick up a Jazz Apple.  You will fall in love immediately.  You will want to give this apple a promise ring and run away to Vegas with it.  Don't say I didn't warn you...

Lost in My Mind

I'm pretty sure that I might have an overactive imagination, but my left ankle started to hurt after my "run" on Saturday.  I decided to take Sunday off.  Monday, I ran 6 miles, but had the odd pain again.  It wasn't really a pain so much as a tightness.  After all the injury troubles, I panicked and took another day off.  Better safe than sorry, right?  It takes discipline to run, but it takes even more to make stretching and rest your BFFs.  I've been trying to run smarter these days and to rest/recover when I need it (even if the schedule says that it is a running day).  I ran 6 miles this morning with no pain ... er... well, no foot pain at all.  So, I guess it worked.  Fingers crossed. 

My pace this morning was meh.  I was pretty excited that I ran the last three miles of my run faster than the first three.  That's what we call a negative split in the biz.  Props to me.  Then, I realized that the last three miles of my run are entirely downhill so I'm nearly guaranteed a faster pace every time I run that route.  Oh well, I'll take it.

I've been dying to do Hood to Coast for a couple of years.  I just recently saw that you can do Ragnar Relays all over the place.  Hmmmm....  how do I bribe 10 people to join in on this fun little adventure?
http://www.ragnarrelay.com/running_events

Smack Down

On Saturday, my workout worked me.  Please look at how bleary-eyed I am in this photo.  That's a delirious smile and check out the tangled janky hairdo (jealous much?).  This is what happens when 12 miles hands your butt to you on Saturday morning.  I wouldn't say I "ran" 12 miles as much as I "covered" 12 miles during my outing.  When I wanted to quit, I kept trying to focus on the fact that when you have an injury you would kill to just be out there giving 12 miles a try and that at some point in the summer, 12 miles is going to be a short run.  In any case, I did not die and that's a good start to any Saturday.

Craig has been struggling with achilles tendonitis.  I don't even know how to explain how hard it is to be injured.  There's the physical pain, of course, but much worse is the mental beating you take.  All you can think about is running ... and getting back to it ... and calculating how much the time off is costing you.  Craig is one of the most talented runners I know and seriously tough.  I'm sending him good wishes for a speedy recovery. 

Sunday was my dear friend Timmy's birthday.  He's been such an inspiration to me over the past couple of years.  He told me that he *might* train to run NYC again this year with us.  I'm hoping that by posting it here, it will make the whole idea ... more than a *might*.  I am his biggest cheerleader.  COME ON, TIMMY!