It was because The Teenager’s godfather wanted to celebrate his 55th year by running the half marathon on May 5th, his birthday. So DH, being a good friend, agreed to be his running buddy, even though he would be running a second half marathon 2 weeks after the first. It was a good plan — until GF had to back out because he just could not get over his chest cold. And being a good spouse, I decided I just had to keep DH company, even if all I did was slow him down. DH, chugging along on the last mile (after I let him run ahead of me to the finish), is a sight to behold — rather like a large, sweaty teddy bear 🙂
Still, 13.1 is 3.1 too long for me. I don’t care if 10 miles (or 10K) is a neither-here-nor-there sort of a distance; it is perfect for those of us who want to enjoy a run without actual physical discomfort. Although finisher medals are kind of nice to have:1. It didn’t rain, or snow, or hail. Heck, it wasn’t even windy!
2. The travelling “cheerleaders”: four very enthusiastic girls who kept popping up every couple of miles to do miniature “waves.”
3. Porta potties can be wonderful things, even when ripe. Too bad we are now at the age when we need them on long runs 😦
4. I don’t care if Lance Armstrong is in disgrace — I like those Stinger wafers.
5. Very low-key security for our local marathon. The Kenyans don’t come to this one either.
6. The best race announcer, ever!!
The Teenager has been taller than me for about two years; granted, I am the shortest woman I know, but still . . . . She has been faster than me for much longer: her new PR in the 1 mile is now 5:47. I wonder what it feels like to be so fast, whether it feels like freedom. When she was 20 months old, we bought her a pair of shoes from a street vendor in China. She stumped around in those shoes for over a year — they were always a little loose because she went through a period when she did not grow at all. And now, look at her fly!
This morning I was whining about how I just didn’t feel like running — and then I got this back:
Lab Results, 2010
Pretty decent for a menopausal woman, I think.
I do this, I do that, I live without a sense of what “live” or “life” is about. These are things I should have gotten out of my system at 2 in the morning in the middle of winter at Frost Amphitheater, sharing a beer and a sleeping bag with a guy named Dave who wanted to see if he could feel what it was like to hang off the end of the Milky Way. It was OK then, the not knowing the answer; I want to feel that way again. It is not that life is not worth living — it is that I think life might be over-rated.
In the meantime, I take my meds, I do my bit to keep my body in reasonable shape, and I keep wondering, “Why bother?” What if it really is just so that I can keep eating dessert?
Thanksgiving Day 4 Mile Run
. . . . with four thousand other people, not to speak of the pooches 🙂
It was 38 degrees at the start, sunny, perfect running weather. Really. And we didn’t do too badly either — the Kid beat us by only 7 minutes!
“Don’t step in front of a bus,” DH said. He passed on this gem from The South Beach Heart Health Revolution, written by a cardiologist who believes people with high HDL should be more worried — assuming they want to worry at all — about dying from accidents rather than heart disease.
About 12 years ago, I had these numbers:
A decade or so later, after falling off the couch:
Running, dessert — a great combination.
The snow had melted, the sun shone, and there was no wind . . . . even the 36° at race start seemed perfect. The Kid, too embarrassed to be seen with us, sprinted away immediately. We didn’t see her again until 30 minutes later.
I thought about the basic “neuro” exam all doctors are supposed to do on all patients – the rudimentary maneuvers that a neurology attending once told me were perhaps next to useless, because really, only a neurologist knew what tests to perform and why. I whined about various aches and pains (real and imagined), complained about blisters and calluses and bunions, and wondered why so many people seemed so enamored of such an inefficient way of locomotion . . . . I stared enviously at a young man springing by; his heels never touched the ground, and he was soon out of sight. I pound along, with no spring, and definitely no style, but look! — I am upright, and I can run. My brain worked.
The Kid was waiting for us at the finish, and we crossed the line with silly delight, hand in hand.
“Did you notice we finished before the guy with the baby jogger and the kid on his back?”
“Now don’t you go exerting yourself,” my mother yelled as I headed out the door, “you’re not used to running!” Southern California: it’s warm, it’s flat, and . . . . it’s at sea level! My mother didn’t have a clue.
Four and a half years ago, we fell off the couch and landed here:
Hickman Health (aka Walter's gym)
How narcissistic to have a “personal trainer” – but it has been one of the best decisions we have ever made, because something else happened:
The Husband's Santa Fe Century
And now we get to do things like play with these:
It’s all about living with grace and ease . . . .