Re:runs

In case you missed it, I ran a half marathon this spring.

What? You say...I should have mentioned it?

Well, yes, yes, I know, I probably should have, but I hated to bore you with all that.

Anyway.

The big question now on everyone's lips (Okay, okay, Mom's lips and my best friend's lips and one faithful running pal's lips. Their lips, okay? Whatever.) is...when is the next big race?

Yeah.

Well.

About that...

It's November 16th. And, yes, I'm going to be there. I am. But once again, I am running too close for comfort on my training. This week is Week 1 of the official training schedule, and I have to hit my miles every week from here on out, or I won't be ready.

"What? What happened?" you say. "You ran 13 miles in one morning, and now the idea of ten miles in one week is making you whimper?"

Uh.

Yes.

I could really bore you now, with details about recovery and injury and post-race let-down blah blah blah. ("No! Wait! Come back!" I say.)

Instead, I will tell you about my powerhouse training regimen so far for this race.

1. The first session of my new Pilates class

Commercial break: Pilates is awesome. You have got to try it. You just roll around on the carpet listening to flute/rushing water/wind music feeling all relaxed and mellow, then the next morning you wake up and, WHAMMO your abs and biceps are screaming for mercy. I have no idea how. Some kinda mystic-guru-hocus-pocus for sure, there. I would recommend it to anyone.

(However, in a recent staff meeting, the Bureau Chief in charge of our Manly-Man Guy Stuff Bureau here at the blog pointed out that Pilates might not be for everybody. He didn't exactly say "sissy" right out loud. But now that I think about it, when he coughed it sounded suspiciously like the word "girly.")

2. Re-newing my subscription to Runner's World

3. Oh, yeah. A little running.

I don't know how far my last three runs were or how long they lasted. I just put on my shoes and left for a while and came back. I didn't count or time or concentrate on form or anything. I just ran. One was a hot Saturday morning when I was feeling fat and lazy and weak and anxious. I laced up my shoes and headed out the door anyway. Presto-change-o. Running worked its magic. I returned a conquering hero, victorious and strong.

Another Sunday evening, I was missing my brother. I walked a while and ran awhile and walked a while and ran awhile. Brad Paisley's rendition of "When We All Get To Heaven" came up in my playlist. I hit repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Again, running was magic. When I ended up at my front porch, I was exhausted and serene.

Then one weekday morning, I woke up with gritted teeth. The thought of yet one more day in prison and its attendant boredom was almost too much. But I had time for a quick run, in the cool morning; no music, just early birds, the sun coming up, some dogs barking, a train. Running didn't let me down. By the time I finished, I was eager to start the day.

I love running. I can't believe I forgot for a while.