Runner, with a capital R

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Beating the Mindf*ck Since 1993

So Nitmos' post the other day got me thinking (I know, NITMOS got me THINKING? Wha? How? Is that even possible?!) about Mindf*ck (MF). More specifically, about how often I do (or don't, depending) let this randy fool have his way with my running. Like a horny 17-year old boy that just won't take no for an answer, convincing you that if you really loved him you would just let him do it, Mindf*ck weasels his way into your pants--er, head and makes you succomb to his smooth caresses. And before you know it, you are wallowing in the guilt of:

a) not pushing yourself to achieve what you know could have, whether time or distance ("I'm just not that fast/I just can't run that far")
b) cutting a run short, just because you were "tired" ("I'm too tired to do 8 miles; I'll just do 5")
c) skipping a run entirely ("eh, I'll do it tomorrow...")
d) skipping a week (or God Forbid more) of runinng...and you aren't injured..or doing any other cross-training sport ("I think I need a week off from exercise")
e) quitting during a race ("I just can't run anymore...")
f) all of the above ("I'm just not a runner" or "I "don't like" running")

Last week, was kind of a toss-up for old Mindf*ck and me. On Tuesday, he got to second base with my morning run, inflicting a case of SRS and cutting it short. Oh, but Tuesday evening I claimed an "early curfew" and held him at bay to finish those 3 cheated miles. Take that MF! No love for you tonight, beyotch!

Then on Thursday (for spousal harmony reasons) hubs and I both ran again at the inside track. I planned to do about 20 or 30 minutes...and then, 6 minutes (that's 7 already-boring laps) into my run, the iPod ran out of juice. Whoa, running inside is barely tolerable at best (and that's giving it a LOT of credit), and that's with the assumption of constant iPod music being pumped into my frontal lobes in order to sedate me into staying on the track. But running inside (35 or more laps) sans music? Uh oh. No dice. However, I quickly realized that this is JUST what Mindf*ck wanted. He was buttering me up with cheap wine, hoping to get me drunk enough to agree to bump uglies with him later. Realizing this, I knew I could not give in so easily. If he expected to get this run to strip, he was going to have to work harder than that. A LOT harder (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

So when at 20 minutes I had to start dodging and weaving through the S-L-O-W mom-walkers going two-and three-abreast, I again considered nuzzling up with Mindf*ck. Hey, I did my 20 minutes, I am not a complete slug; maybe MF deserves a little kiss? But when I felt MF's fingers circling my waist, pulling me tight, tugging at my shorts...oh no, this fool ain't deflowering me! So I slapped that cad in the face and kept on running. For 40 minutes. 40:39 to be exact. And then I smiled over at old Mindf*ck and went home with my husband.

After this stunning Thursday victory over him, I couldn't believe when I saw MF skulking around the parking lot at the trail on Saturday morning. I was up for my first-ever 16 miler; he couldn't possibly think I would let him touch me again after the affront two days prior?! And on this important day in my training?! He started jogging slowly behind me, but I was just feeling to good to let him catch up and start sweet-talking me. I chugged along, enjoying the trail and waving at all my fellow runners.

By miles 10-11, which I managed to run at 8:35 pace, he was nowhere to be seen, so I guessed he had given up on me and gone home to get friendly with his hand instead. Imagine my surprise when I rounded the bend at mile 14 and there he stood, off to the side in the bushes, wearing only his Burberry raincoat....(he knows how to dress, I'll give him that)...but, wait, there aren't any rainclouds? Then *BAM!* he opened that raincoat and showed me his full glory. Shocked, I stopped to walk. I tried not to look but couldn't avert my eyes. He crept closer....then my favorite Blackeyed Peas running song came on the iPod and it broke the trance. I shook my head, got my wits about me, decided that I was not going to be MF's next Penthouse "It Happened To Me" story and picked up the pace again to finish out my run. As I ran away, I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing there alone, raincoat drooping, stunned look on his face. He looked so forlorn and lonely. I laughed, waved, and ran on home. Run tally: 16 miles in 2:49 (including water refill stop).


I've been running since I was a sophomore in high school in 1993: 16 years. There have been ups and downs; good years and bad years; high-mileage years and low-mileage years; fast years and slow years. I may have made out with MF here or there over the years, but I'm still here and still running....so on the days I feel weak and tempted by his smooth talking ways and hansome facade, I'll just remember that no matter how good it feels at the time, there is always the chance that Mindf*ck will pass on some incurable running STD that will sideline me for good. And I'll keep my shorts on, knees pumping, and feet moving.

A Light Case of SRS

Thanks to Morgan for introducing me to the ailment that clearly afflictd me yesterday: Sucky Run Syndrome. I got up for a 5:30 morning run, and since I had until 7:00, figured I would do about 8 miles. Well, it was so frickin windy that it blew all my motivation away (not to mention blowing my ponytail completely out, not once, but TWICE) by mile 2. I ended up cutting it short at 5 miles.

So, since it was Tuesday and my morning run sucked, I decided that I must make it a Twice on Tuesday again and do a two-a-day with an evening run at the indoor track. That run was slightly better and significantly faster, and I ended up doing 25 minutes which was probably in the neighborhood of 3 miles. So, I ended up with my 8-miler after all. (And I would like to thank my hubs for being a good sport and letting me draft him around the track, which probably accounts for the speediness.)

In other news, I did have a very successful solo 14-miler last Saturday, probably my best long run (without running company) to-date. It was, of course, on my favorite Highline Canal Trail. Also, there are some great contests going on this week: Cross Country Squared and Red Head Running are each giving away $100 to Dick's; Runner Dude is giving away $50 to Running Warehouse. And finally, I have been off my regular allergy medicine for about a week now, and I think that is the major source to blame for my SRS and the tiredness that I've had all week, despite going to bed early. I'm not sick, but the misery of my allergies has got me all itchy, stuffy, sneezy and generally grumpy as a result. BUT, I go in for skin testing Friday morning, which will hopefully result in qualifying me for allergy SHOTS instead of daily medication for the rest of my life, as I have been doing for about 10 years now. And you better believe I will be packin a Zyrtec-D for the second the testing is over!

Incredible Shrinking Sports Bra, Take 1 (and 2)

So has anyone else (and by "anyone" I mean the women-folk as I neither want to know or hear about any shrinking manziere experiences that may be lurking out there) experienced this? I have two sports bras--both sweat-wicking, tech fabric types--that shrink when I wear in them. Specifically, when I sweat in them. They are different styles of bras, and made of different fabrics (one is some tree-hugging bamboo fiber concoction, one is earth-polluting synthetic unpronouncable schmah-schmah fabric) but they are both made by Champion. I thought I was imagining the shrinkage, but this morning determined that it is, in fact real (don't ask my testing method, just blindly believe in the validity of the statistic). I would go so far as to say they are even a little loose when dry, pre-run. Post run, suctioned onto me like royal-blue and hot-pink sausage casings, respectively. Is it just me? And if so, why????

As for the body, seems to be holding up, the ART really did work. I ran did 35 minutes on Wednesday, post-ART and did my homework of yoga last night. The hip feels good and loose, but today my gluts are S.O.R.E from the yoga. But it's a good sore....I will definitely be going back to yoga regularly from here on out. Ran 4 miles this morning on my favorite Highline Canal trail with a couple of running buddies (thankfully not the Flying Frenchman, but some more moderatly-paced girls), have a follow up ART session this afternoon, and am feeling good for the race Sunday. Good luck to everybody racing this weekend, and a hearty God Speed; May You Not Die to those individuals attempting a brick in hostile territory. You know who you are.

I Got Schooled by a Flying Frenchman

I ran on Saturday with 3 guys. The plan was that three of us were doing a 13 mile loop on the trails, and the fourth guy was just doing an out-and-back 6 miles. After taking Thursday/Friday off for my back pain last week (hoping it would magically disappear), by Saturday it wasn't really better but wasn't really any worse, either...I was stretching a lot and I figured I would try the run; it would either make it better or worse. I wasn't sure which.

The four of us had agreed to run a 9:30 pace for the run. But though probably in his 60's, the Flying Frenchman (not to be confused with a Flying Dutchman , of any variety...) is a pretty fast runner (like a ridiculous 3-hour marathoner) and as soon as we started, after we chatted about what our goals for RMHM are next week, and what we ran on our 1-mile time trials, he determined that we should be running faster. I knew this was probably a bad idea for me but I succombed to peer pressure because I felt fine, back was ok, and I could keep up (plus I was NOT going to be the pu$$y-ass girl that couldn't hang with the guys).

That lasted for the first 9 miles. It was preetty warm by then and the remainder of the run was uphill...not impossible, but I started getting tired...my form went to crap...and the back started aching. I finally threw in the towel to walk with about a mile and half left, when the pain nearly forced tears. One guy ran ahead and since I knew my way back to the start, I figured the Flying Frenchman would go with him. Not so.

Instead, as we walked, I was treated to a leeeeennnnnggggtttthhhyyyyyyy discourse on All Things Running. Now, I am not new to running and most of it I already knew...but since he is a fairly nice man who probably meant well, and I don't know him that well (and quite frankly his sexay French accent was entrancing), I just let him blab and feel like he was educating me.

As for the back, I now fear it is actually piriformis strain....and I am still in serious pain. So I guess I am off to the doctor tomorrow to determine if I can be fit to run a half marathon by Sunday. Yay.

Strength = Holding Your Peep for 11 Miles

First off, let me say that I am sick. Like, I probably should be in bed not out communicating with the world...but thanks to Mucinex and Extra Strenght Tylenol, here I sit at my desk. The allergy/sinus/cold/flu/whatever that I've had going on for the past couple weeks is now genuinely illness, and not just allergy bother. Anyway, I feel like roadkill, so I'll keep it short today. Since my half marathon race is this Sunday(!), I will be doing everything in my power this week to be well by then...hmmm, perhaps I should be at home in bed afterall...well anyway.

Saturday - 12 miles in 1:52
Sunday - OFF due to sickness

Had a great 12-mile long run with 3 others from the running group Saturday morning. We were at my favorite place, the High Line Canal Trail, and I had gotten up with plenty of time for breakfast, hydration, a sinus rinse, and 15 minutes of the weekend Today Show (and wow, I am not missing anything by not watching it normally, that is one fluffy waste of the very-loosely-used-term "news anchor"). I even had time for the hydration to go through me, and got TWO pre-run potty breaks in (I am just talking #1 here, or as Shortie2 calls it, "peep"). So I figured with two preparatory peep breaks, I should be fine for the run, as there are no bathroom stops on the trail.

Unfortunately, just a mile in, I was again hit with the very strong urge to pee. And, as previously mentioned, I was with a group (2 of them men) so it was clear there would be no sneaking off into the bushes for a quick leak. And let me tell you, I have now decided that the true definition of strength is not staying up all night with a sick child, or giving birth without drugs, but is the ability to hold your peep on an 11-mile trail run (did I mention the entire trail runs next to a bubbling, gurgling, water-filled CANAL?), while making pleasant conversation all the while. At least I know my kegels are strong.