Yesterday, Mother Nature played a trick by sending temperatures soaring near eighty with a high and hard humidity. This on a late February Winter day! My scheduled five-mile run was cut short when my panting and sweating evoked a pained and attitudinal me. I like running in the heat about as much as I enjoy Bikram, which I’ve suffered through twice. I know that people love it, but I am bothered that it’s called yoga when it doesn’t stand for anything that my yoga means to me. Both times I went, I left convinced that it’s really a form of torture that should be saved as punishment for the very worst of the human race.
Having just returned from an absolutely frigid yet sunny and bright six miles, I am reminded of why I love Winter running. When the air is cold and you breathe it in it fills and expands the lungs better than anything else can. The sweat that is produced by the movement of the body doesn’t drip into your eyes or fog up your glasses. It evaporates more quickly and the salt works as a heating element, protecting places like a forehead or a neck from the cold. Extremities, mine which are always more hot than the rest of me, don’t mind the sting of the air. As long as a person is dressed properly, running in the cold is about as good as it gets.
As I rounded the final street corner before heading home I noticed three men in hooded sweatshirts walking up ahead of me. I had a choice, either cut across the grass to avoid them or shoot by and hope their eyes wouldn’t become fixed on my rear end as it raced by. I reminded myself that I’m a tough chick who doesn’t need to be intimidated by the hooded backs of strange men sauntering along the road. I pulled my long sleeve Swiftly down tight around my hips and cruised past them on the right.
Once back at the computer, with iCal pulled up, I counted the twenty-two squares until death or glory.
It’s time to figure some things out and attend to the calendar.
1. I must make an appointment for Katniss nails. I don’t know if I should schedule one for my toes to be worked on too, but it may be a good idea should I decide to have a massage after the race. I can only imagine the horror of pulling off my socks after 26.2 and asking some poor soul to rub my soles. Once upon a time I had pretty feet, but all of the running has made it necessary for my toe nails to be cut much too short to avoid any chance of them falling right off. Calluses and bits of toughness have replaced any softness; the price one pays for hours of stomping pavement, often without a good covering of Aquaphor first (sometimes I’m just too busy).
2. The hope that the CW-X pants would be my race go-to’s has been shattered. I don’t love them, I’ve decided. As sad as it makes me to give something a bad review, I’ve been spoiled by Luxtreme and have a nagging itch to head to Lululemon for new race day pants. This is ridiculous as I don’t need another pair of pants. My Dash tights have brought me this far and in a way I do feel a loyalty to them. A loyalty to my pants? Yes, an actual and real loyalty.
3. I’ve got to place an order for more GU. I must not forget!
4. An issue, of sorts, is where to carry my phone. At the beginning of training I was an iTouch arm band listener, but the twisting of the band to adjust my music became a time issue and I’d more often than not mess it up and have to slow down to fix the thing. Since Christmas, my iPhone has lived happily in the front pocket of the vest or jacket choice for the day. This leads to the question, what will race day weather be like and how will that affect the place I stash my phone? I can hope for weather like this morning, and in that case I’d wear my vest or even my LLL Essential Jacket (which I am loyal to like my pants). If the weather is warm I could still wear my vest with a short run swiftly and probably be alright. My Fuel Belt doesn’t have room for my phone, which is crazy I think. I may have to look into an extra waist belt, but I’d really love to stay away from any more gear purchases if it can be managed.
4. My hair is being colored on the twelfth. I’m not actually coloring my hair for the race, because that would be nuts. I’m pretty “light” already and have relegated hair coloring to only twice a year. Any more than that becomes too time consuming and I honestly don’t care all that much. I pretty much got talked into another coloring by the girl that I saw for my last cut. Once you get hair girls talking about color, their enthusiasm sucks me right in. I guess in a way I deserve a little pampering; a little gift to myself for all this hard work that’s been put toward the cause? I really want a big red streak, but I’ll probably go for what we talked about; a bunch of bleachy highlight like Grace with some strawberry thrown in for Soph.
The rest of the planning will have to wait until it’s closer, because it concerns the other people in my life.
My Peach has decided to spend the night so that I can leave early in the morning and she can bring the girls later to meet me at pit stops along the way. I told the littles that they will have to wave and shout with all their might, “Run, Mom, Run!” I’m unsure if they will be able to grasp what I’m doing, but hope that they’ll have a memory I can explain later (when they are bigger).
I had asked Brian to drive me the morning of, because I don’t really want to be alone, but he isn’t a morning person and might be happier going later with the rest of the family. This will be up in the air until the last minute, I am sure. I might need to focus before the race anyway and fussing with my sleepy husband about his speed on the road or parking ability might not be the way to go.
Next up are twenty miles on schedule for Monday.
I’m not great at math, but I like numbers and find certain combinations of them interesting, like the date 12/02/2012 or how there are exactly five twelve-minute miles in an hour.
It hasn’t gone unnoticed that I will run twenty miles with twenty days to go.
It feels like a good sign, but fingers are (as always) tightly crossed.