The Glowing Edge

Tag: running

  • Runner Redemption

    Runner Redemption

    Ready for my confession? I’ve made them before (see here and here), but it must be time for a fresh one. Forgive me, people, for I have sinned. Again.

    But this story is different, I promise.

    I went for a run this week and in the course of the first mile alone I found myself mentally eviscerating not one, not two, but three pace suckers. These nice, harmless runners were blocking my path and running an eighth of an inch below and above my pace, and I was slitting bellies and slinging guts like an avenging fishwife.

    I’m the most immature runner in the known universe. I ran on.

    Then I had some alone-on-the-path time and I began to think. I mean, nothing else to do, right? So I remembered the last run I had, where I was out with the Husband and we were chatting and running along and there were no less than four people who walked past us and actually greeted us nicely. Four! It was surreal and actually kind of lovely.

    So after my first mile of mentally reprehensible and gory behavior I decided I had hit rock bottom and it was time to change. The next oncoming runner I encountered, I decided, I would… greet. Nicely, dammit. I would either give them a chin salute, or my personal favorite, the hipside peace sign.

    I like the hipsider because you just fling out your peace sign — kind of sideways from the hip — without really making too much effort. And if the oncoming runner doesn’t actually see it, you don’t feel like a dork. Hip peace. I get these once in a while from the streamlined college guys on one of my favorite circuits, and it always makes me feel good, like they are acknowledging me as a credible runner, even though my strides are nothing close to their beautiful, long, graceful ground-eaters.

    I considered this carefully for another mile, then committed myself. I looked eagerly ahead.

    And here came my test victim running toward me, a man actually on my pace or just above it, nice form, about my age. He got closer and I waffled. It would be easier not to do anything. Oh, hell.

    I almost waited too late, but I sneaked in the hipside peace sign just in the nick of time. And he saw it! I know because a small smile bloomed on his face.

    Huh! I ran on, just a touch taller. Maybe I would get used to this whole “be nice” thing. That thought carried me for the entire rest of the next circuit.

    And I was just about finished turning my new feelings over and over in my head when I looked up and saw him approaching again. Crap, what do you do the second time? Same sign? New one? Do I need a whole toolbelt of these things?? Argh!

    But before I could solve the conundrum, we were passing each other. And guess what?

    He not only smiled at me, he flipped me the hipsider back!

    I was stunned. And pleased. I felt buoyant.

    Some kind of new thing was growing that hadn’t been in the world before. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I hadn’t solved world hunger, but still!

    I was running but mentally I was relaxing happily in a hot tub, sipping champagne.

    Eventually I looked ahead and saw a family-picnic party of nine, strung along the path for the next 20 yards, completely blocking everything with strollers and toddler bikes. They were chatting amiably and absolutely unaware of anyone who might need to pass. Inattentive path blockers! Not as bad as pace suckers, but still premium material for my beastly evil rants.

    But without even the slightest ill humor, I ran five or six steps sideways off the path, around the three kids kicking a soccer ball and all nine members of the family and sailed past in the grass. They all smelled like dryer sheets. Fresh laundry. How nice!

    Eventually I angled back onto the path and happily continued on my way. I damn near waved as I went by, but restrained myself just in time.

    And eventually realized that I had sailed through a fourth mile, without even noticing.

    I almost never run more than three miles. See what being nice can do for you?

    It’s possible I might be maturing as a runner. Don’t want to make any judgements too soon, but this is certainly a good sign, I believe.

    My inner formerly-evil genius is rubbing her hands together, wondering what would happen if I decided to actually speak a word of encouragement next time. You know, not weather subjects (“Hot out”), lengthy pronouncements (“You’re certainly getting a few good miles in”), or things easily misinterpreted (“Lookin’ goooood”), but maybe something like “Good run.” Without an exclamation mark or anything, just a calm appraisal of what we are all of us in the universe having together.

    Who knows what might happen then.

    Image by bitzi on Flickr.

  • Hair Metal Playlist for Running and Roping

    Hair Metal Playlist for Running and Roping

    Warning: rambling post filled with (clearly labeled!) tangents ahead. Feel free to skip to the bottom for the playlist.

    It was about 90 degrees outside but the sun was dropping when I headed out for a run. I’m not yet acclimatized to summer heat workouts, although I have no choice but to get there eventually.

    I was just about to drop onto a 2 mile circuit when a man ran past me, looking like he was on a ten-minute per mile pace, which is where I was feeling I would be running. He was there first, so I watched him cruise past. I’m a bit anal about pace suckers running right behind or in front of me, so I cranked up my Shuffle and stretched until I was pretty sure I’d given him at least a quarter-mile lead.

    Tangent #1: The pan-galactic rule is, if they are there before you are and they are running on your pace, give them room. Don’t be a leech. I don’t care what planet you’re from, there’s no excuse. (And I think I’m not the only one who feels this way.)

    Fortunately, I wasn’t in a hurry.

    I just needed a little baby 20 minute run and 20 teeny minutes on the jump rope, since it was my “off” day.

    Tangent #2, or why I call this an “off” day. Boxing-specific training is sometimes so hard on my body that I can’t always do it two or three days in a row. I’m at a new gym and working my way up to a Mon-Tue-Thur (plus Sundays training with Jay) boxing-specific schedule, which is ambitious simply because of that three-day marathon at the beginning of the week. So far I’ve had to skip the Tuesdays. On off days I run and jump rope and do other stuff. I do actually take at least one or two off-off days each week. Was that clear at all? Let’s just keep digging, shall we?

    Tangent #3: Sometimes I use the language of “non-boxing-specific” to designate “off” days. But that sounds a bit awkward, don’t you think? Maybe I’m just linguistically lazy. I do flip flop on it, because I also think it sounds painfully pretentious to be working out on an “off” day.

    Feh. Whatever.

    I was telling you about my off day, during which I run, rope, and sometimes do hurdles (I don’t do those 2 days in a row, either).

    (Here I’m powerfully resisting an entire fresh tangent on my hurdles. You’re welcome.)

    Once my path was cleared of people on my same pace, I dropped on and the first mile felt pretty fast, especially considering the heat. In fact, I was chagrined to catch up to the man on my pace, but fortunately he finished his run just as I passed him on the trail. I may have been doing 9.5 minute miles; I know they felt easy.

    It was the rope that was hard.

    I was already stripped down to a sports bra and shorts, and I was sweating so much the foam padding on the jump rope handles was soaked and kept slipping out of my hands. There was a perfect circle of sweat droplets around me on the picnic shelter’s cement floor. I was in the shade, thankfully, but I could feel myself riding the edge of overheating.

    I took 4 or 5 fifteen-second breaks to sip and spit water (if you swallow it, you end up jumping rope and sloshing, which is uncomfortable — woo, narrowly avoided a Tangent there.), but I was careful and never got that eerie, suddenly chilled feeling that indicates onset of real problems.

    And as I was reflecting on the reasons I ran so fast and worked so hard to make it through my simple, short “off” day workout, I decided it wasn’t the heat that was the determining factor.

    IT WAS ALL THE FAULT OF HAIR METAL.

    It’s crazy how much music controls my pace! I think this playlist was part of why I had such a fast run, and also why my rope session was way too fast and difficult — hair metal rocks! So I am putting a few more low-bpm power ballads in the mix next time. Every Rose Has It’s Thorn or something.

    Tangent #4: I just downloaded an app called beaTunes that will catalog my music collection and tell me the acutal beats per minute on all my songs. (Strangely, iTunes doesn’t do this automagically. But don’t even get me started on an iTunes Tangent, because I have a whole series of those and they’re better termed Rants.) The app hasn’t had time to work yet, so you don’t get the playlist ordered by bpm, so if you go for a run and rope in the heat on your off day, you’re on your own.

    Oh, and I gotta give credit — or possibly blame — to Jay, with whom I regularly exchange hair metal playlists. He’s the one responsible for a chunk of these songs.

    Actually I only want to say very nice things about Jay, on account of his vicious hooks.

    Anyway, hair metal is accustomed to taking the blame for all sorts of ills. One more won’t matter. I hereby dub this playlist:

    Overheated

    1. Welcome to the Jungle / GNR
    2. Ready to Strike / King Kobra
    3. Big Guns / Skid Row
    4. Hellion / W.A.S.P.
    5. Blind Faith / Scorpions
    6. Slide it In / Whitesnake
    7. Bang Go the Bells / Babylon A.D.
    8. Heartbreak Station / Cinderella
    9. Rocket Queen / GNR
    10. Hunger / King Kobra
    11. Wait / White Lion
    12. Cold Blood / Kix
    13. Electric Gypsy / L.A. Guns
    14. Heaven / Warrant
    15. Back for More / Ratt
    16. Unchained / Van Halen
    17. Knock ‘Em Dead, Kid / Motley Crue
    18. Hang Tough / Tesla
    19. Wild Child / W.A.S.P.

    Okay, final tangent, #5, not that you’re keeping track: I realize there are absolutely no Megadeth songs on here, and yet I’ve posted a picture of Dave Mustaine. It’s that incredible hair!!

    Long live hair metal, and the hair that goes with it. Tell me your fave Megadeth songs and I’ll cue ’em up for the next playlist!

    Image by ghoulmann on Flickr.

  • Get Off My Pace

    Get Off My Pace

    Athletes are wack in dozens of small, odd ways. I like to think of myself as a happy exception — I don’t have to wear my lucky shirt, or kiss the bat, or rub the Buddha’s belly, or do my stretches in a particular order every time.

    But I do have a… thing… about people running on my pace.

    About three times a week I go to a park near me to run 3 or 4 miles. I’m not a fast runner by any means. On a treadmill I can easily string together nine and ten minute miles, but out of doors I tend to run slower, especially if I’m on a rocky or rooted trail.

    I hate running in a crowd, and I hate getting buzzed by bicyclists on a running path. But more than any other thing, I hate for a stranger to run on my pace, right next to me.

    If it’s my husband or a friend I’m running with, that’s different because we’re together and we can chit-chat the whole way, which makes the miles disappear with supernatural ease. But don’t drop onto my trail and run on my pace because it makes me crazy.

    I’m a bit competitive.

    Last week I was running in a park, coming up a long straight-away that leads right up to the street across from yet another park. People often walk across the road from one park to the other.

    And just as I made it up to the top of that stretch, I saw a woman jogging across the street toward me. I realized we were going to intersect if she dropped onto my trail. I hoped she would simply run past me in the other direction, but of course she did not. She stepped lightly onto the path about 20 feet in front of me and settled into her run, her feet falling easily into the same pattern as mine.

    She is on my pace, I thought irritably, staring hard at her back.

    Well she better speed it up, I decided. I have absolutely no intention of running right behind her for the next two miles.

    Us “type A” people can be hard to live with, I freely admit. Even we find ourselves onerous sometimes.

    Her pace remained even. She looked light and fresh, her feet hardly touching the ground. She looked like the kind of mom who only buys healthy cereal for her kids, and always remembers the fabric softener when she’s doing her family’s laundry. I bet she drives a minivan and vacuums it out herself, I thought uncharitably.

    See how rude I can be when someone’s on my pace?

    I felt myself accelerating. I was running 3 feet behind her, close enough to step on her shadow, which I did, with relish. Slow down or speed up, I barked mentally.

    Nothing. She was happy to maintain.

    So of course I did it. With a haughty sniff I slipped off the path into the grass and went around her, picking my pace up enough to stay ahead. Our footfalls were out of sync briefly, then I heard them fall back in together. She had picked up enough speed to match me. Ugh.

    Drop back! I thought. Just stay on your stupid pace, which was my pace, I’m giving it to you. Let me move ahead.

    Nope. If I wanted to be rid of her, I was going to have to shift into a higher gear and burn some fuel. Well, I thought. If that’s how you want it, that’s how it’s gonna be. Prepare to be humiliated, Lady On My Pace.

    I cranked it, and pulled away with long, ground-eating strides. I knew I could sustain the push for at least half a mile or so, and I did. I got far enough ahead to not be able to hear her behind me, nor see her in my peripheral vision when the path turned.

    And then I went back to my pace. It was mine, after all.

    And things were all Partridge Family and sunshine until I heard her draw up behind me again. Looked like I was going to have a really fast running day.

    I increased my lead again, and decided to force myself to hold the faster speeed to the end of my run.

    After another half mile I reconsidered, and risked a glance back to see where she was. Still in sight. Damn. I walked for a moment to recover my breath, and could feel her gaining.

    I broke back into a run and had probably the fastest third mile I’ve ever run. I would have run a fourth, or even walked for a cool-down, but of course I would rather sleep every night on a pile of smelly running shoes than let her pass me.

    I know I am a lunatic. Tell me something I don’t know.

    Image by Andrew Mason on Flickr.

  • Interior Ass-Kicking

    Interior Ass-Kicking

    So I’m walking around at Lake Johnston, which has a lovely 5K circuit, getting ready to run.

    I like running Lake J because it has one mile flat, one mile hilly, and one mile I-may-die hilly. AND a fabulous 100-yard boardwalk across the lake finish. Nothing like hearing your footfalls echoing across that last football field’s worth of planking to finish your run.

    I notice two men, both about 20 years old, stretching out as if they are about to start the circuit. One is 6’2″ and scrawny, with what looks to me like a runner’s body. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he clearly has no body fat. The other is maybe 5’11”, trim, fit, and looks like a Marine. I decide to wait on both of them to begin so I can get them far enough ahead of me that I’m not bothered by their presence. I don’t like for other people to run on my personal private course, hah.

    The tall scrawny one drops in and heads up the course. I nod and wait until I can’t see him on the path any more, then glance sidewise at Marine Guy, who is actively moving around, but isn’t headed for the path. Dammit, I’m ready to run and he’s wasting my time.

    So I casually stride toward the start of the circuit, and begin a slow walk up the way, hoping he’ll jog over and head out in front of me.

    Once I pass round the first curve I still don’t hear him behind me, so I break into my warm-up pace, and start bouncing out my demons, one at a time.

    This is a process I go through nearly every time I run. I have to fight the part of me that offers up the same damn excuses for why I can’t or shouldn’t run today. Gotta pee, it’s too hot, there’s too much pollen in the air, I have a lot to get done, my knee aches, etc., etc., etc. It’s boring, repetitive, and I clearly have not matured enough to stop doing it, so instead I mentally go into my head and patiently kick the ass of every excuse in there until I have clear space in which to operate.

    About the time I finish this process, Marine Guy pounds noisily up from behind me. He’s breathing too loudly for still being inside the first mile, indiscriminately chomping up the yards like a hungry dog in a garbage can. A wicked grin creeps across my face and I feel my inner competitor take his measure. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m gonna take him down.

    I continue my steady pace and wait to see what unfolds.

    Sure enough, I cross the marker at the end of the initial mile, lean into the first steady incline, and as I come around the curve there he is, walking just ahead of me. I crank my pace just a touch and steadily reduce the distance between us. Marine Guy steps off the path as if he needs to stretch, and my inner genius gleefully rubs her hands together. She knows he Can. Not. Stand. To be Passed. Too bad!

    I decide to keep my slightly increased pace just to rub it in. I feel awesome. I am in the zone. There is no effort involved in my run.

    And to my complete delight, I drop over the top of a hill and see Scrawny up ahead, also walking!

    It’s clearly time for Stealth Ninja Mode. I’m still not even breathing through my mouth, and my footfalls are essentially silent. As I creep up on Scrawny intending to pass, he starts to run again. I don’t care because he’s still in my sights. With as much of a head start as I gave him, he should have been way ahead by now.

    I evaluate his form. He tosses his right foot out to the side when he runs. Needless waste and goofy-looking to boot. Long legs, though, of that there’s no doubt. He’s steadily cutting away the trail with giant, bent-scissor strides.

    Marine Boy pounds up behind me again, and blows by on his bid for Scrawny’s place. I feel a spurt of anger, but tamp it down and hold my pace. The third mile will kill him and I will wait. Scrawny is the real prize here.

    I pass Marine Boy again just before the end of the second mile; even these minor hills are too much for him. I do not grin or laugh, because I can see that Scrawny has increased his lead by a fair portion. I’m going to have to work for this one.

    When Scrawny and I are in a straight-away, he commits a shameless sin: he looks back at me.

    Hah! Let him see that a 45 year old harmless little mother of three is about to kick his ass! Oh, he should never have done that. Now his humiliation will be complete. I begin diverting a small stream of energy into a reserve tank; this battle is going to happen in the big hills of the third mile and I’m going to need some extra. I can hear Marine Boy galloping along behind me like a blown rhinoceros, but his sounds are fading. He’ll be lucky to take third, and he’ll only get that if a granny with a walker doesn’t pass him first.

    We cruise into it, Scrawny and I, and on the second killer hill of the third mile I am within 20 feet of him. 20 feet! He crumbles into a walk and I dig my toes in, taking tiny steps, trying to keep running, but I know that if I pass now I won’t be able to hold onto it. I seethe and drop to a walk because I can cover more ground that way. Scrawny looks back at me (again!) as he tops the hill and disappears instantly over the other side. I grind my teeth.

    When I come over the hill I can no longer see him. I increase my pace to see if he’s just around the bend, but I run the next quarter mile — including the worst hills of the third mile — without seeing or hearing him. I swear colorfully to myself and decide that he’s able to make his bid for the finish well before I can. He had more stamina than I thought. I comfort myself with knowing that I gave him a scare, anyway. With the head start he had, he should never have let me catch him at all.

    I am still planning to finish strong on the boardwalk, so as I come into the final quarter mile I am ready to tap into my reserve fuel. And what do I see? What do I see?

    There’s Scrawny, walking his sorry ass on the boardwalk!

    Oh, this is gonna be very bad for him, very bad indeed. He’s already 25 yards down the bridge, but he’s walking. I really, really want this for my early birthday present, I do. I open the fuel lines and lengthen my stride, dropping onto the boardwalk with an interior war cry.

    The instant he hears me driving toward him, he breaks into a run. He’s slower than before but he’s moving. He doesn’t waste energy looking back; he doesn’t need to. He can feel my approach. A startled fisherman looks up at me and I impatiently blow by a woman yakking mindlessly on her cell phone. This is my bridge.

    Scrawny feels everything I’m doing. I’m hoping he’s tapped out, but he keeps running. I am way above my regular pace but I can’t take it up any farther. I close the distance to 5 yards, but in the end he holds on. He finishes ahead of me, and cuts sharply away from the trail toward the boat dock.

    I’m furious and happy at the same time. He had to work hard for this run, and nearly had to confess on the stage of the world that twenty-five years and a solid headstart were not enough for him to run a three-mile circuit faster than a 45 year old woman. I curve around into a wide circle, wondering if I’ll see Marine Guy drop onto the boardwalk today. This week.

    When I glance back I see that Scrawny has continued to walk ahead to the start of the circuit again. You ought to, I think triumphantly. If I were your coach I’d tell you run it again, just to make up for nearly losing to me the first time.

    I stalk proudly toward my car. I am ruthless. I am relentless.

    The Lake Johnson ducks scatter from my path.

    Image by lululemon athletica on Flickr.

     

  • Trail Running and Effing Ankle Rolls

    Trail Running and Effing Ankle Rolls

    New training tactics, new hazards. Also new curse words. Well, maybe the same old curse words.

    All of it is worth the fabulous experience of running a trail, and with the advent of spring (and no more local gym membership) I’m totally off the treadmill (hallelujah!) and on the trail. I’ve done plenty of paved runs, but this is my first experience with dirt, rocks, roots, pine cones, sweet gum balls, and — believe it or not — sucking, muddy, marvelous wetlands. (Those last are gonna stink this summer, methinks.)

    So I found a nice little two mile out-and-back about a 10 minute drive from my house. It’s the Creekside trail at Yates Mill Pond, and it offers an amazing variety of environments, from deep, quiet loblolly pine woods (those needles are slick, y’all) to a fabulous run through a wetland area where the trail is partly laid with a double line of planks squelching in the mud beneath your shoes. Plenty of turtles dropping off logs with a plop as you pass, and frogs chirruping all around. A sign indicated beaver and fox habitats as well.

    It doesn’t appear to be well-known yet, as the trail is narrow and not so very worn in. This is probably because there’s a paved, stroller-friendly single-mile circuit around the millpond itself, culminating in a lovely view of the spillway and the old mill house. The sign in the cool shade under the millhouse in the muddy area by the dam says “snake sanctuary.” Watch your step there, ladies and gents.

    There’s also a one mile trail running along the ridge above the mill, with some nice elevation and a few twisty turns in the woods; I hiked that one after running the two mile wetland trail.

    And rolling my ankle, dammit.

    This whole “watch out for those tree roots” thing is new to me, and you really can’t get more than 5 steps — hell, 5 inches — on this trail without a gnarled old root under your foot, or a chunk of quartz the size of your fist half-buried in the sand. The gum balls were bad, too. Who knew trail runs could be such an obstacle course? I didn’t. Noob.

    So I’m working on a set of strengthening exercises (see below) and my new pre-run stretches include plenty of ankle circles and a solid reminder to Pay Close Attention At All Times. Trail running is not something you do while turtle watching, or planning your work day, grocery list, or next blog post. Unless that last one is going to be about ankle rolls. Ow.

    New exercise set to prevent ankle rolls:

    1. Balance touches: On a dyna-disk (small squishy rubber thingy, partly filled with air), stand on one foot and reach down and touch your knee or toe with alternating hands.

    2. Balanced weight pass: Still on the dyna-disk, pass a weight from hand to hand over your head.

    3. Four corners: mark the corners of a box (I use chalk or tape, or other markers) about six feet square. Stand in the center and slide out sideways to touch each corner, moving on the diagonal across the box for a 3 minute interval. Start slow and get up to a good, quick speed. Keep your knees bent.

    4. Edge rolls: In a squat position, roll your weight toward your toes, then slowly shift your weight to the outside of both feet, then the heels, then the inside of both feet. You’re rolling your weight around the edges of your feet, slowly, holding the position and getting a good stretch and strengthening those muscles all around your ankles.

    My ankle roll was painful and swear-worthy, but it didn’t keep me from finishing the run. I took some ibuprofen that day and was ready for an gentle 3-miler (paved, for recovery purposes) on the second day post-roll.

    I’ve already scoped out a new trail I want to run, too.

    Image by lulumon athletica on Flickr.

  • 7 Reasons Your Trainer Can Make all the Difference in Your Sport

    7 Reasons Your Trainer Can Make all the Difference in Your Sport

    1. She has chops.

    I have had many coaches over the years who didn’t actually compete, or hadn’t competed in the sport they were teaching me, but the very best ones did. My skating coach (woah, whole ‘nother set of stories) had made the Olympic team. My basketball coach was a top-notch player. And my boxing coach won a world title. Just because you’ve done something like this doesn’t mean you’re a good teacher, but sometimes that experience mixes beautifully with a teaching heart and you get a winner who trains other winners.

    2. She takes the sport seriously.

    I have absolutely nothing against the casual enjoyment of a particular sport. I was a casual runner for a while. Played a little bit of workplace and subdivision softball too, and it’s fun. But nothing sucks worse than coaches or trainers who are consistently late, distracted, or unprepared, and that goes for all leaders, across the board, for me.

    3. She cultivates the newcomers carefully.

    I’ve heard plenty of horror stories of boxing trainers with something to prove who gave each new kid a whuppin in the ring just because they could. There are times when a newbie needs a careful lesson on controlling power or paying attention, but for the most part, it’s not a great idea to prune a seedling. Instead you keep the weeds away and give it a little extra care. This is particularly important in boxing, and even more so for women new to the ring. The first time I got in the ring was with my trainer, and she didn’t throw a single punch. Instead she let me feel what it was like to move around the ring and encouraged me try my first awkward jabs. Later she put me in only with experienced boxers, guys who knew how to meet me at my level. She didn’t unload her wicked straight right the first time I wore headgear without a facebar; she pulled her punches until I started to understand both how to protect myself better and how to take a punch. She let me experience the joy of the sport before I took on the punishment.

    4. She makes the team work as a team.

    We all train on our own in addition to training with the team, but when we’re working as a team we train together, starting on time, working at the same pace, helping each other and offering encouragement and support when we can. There isn’t a lot of chitchat or social stuff going on in our training; it tends to be more serious. But that doesn’t mean a heartfelt call to finish well or a sympathetic groan of misery isn’t heard on a regular basis.

    5. She protects her people.

    Don’t let her catch you stretching before you’ve warmed up. And if you aren’t training hard, she’s not going to allow you in the ring. If you’re in the ring, she looks out for you and calls it off if you’re in danger or calls you out if you’re putting someone else in danger. Inattention to these things in boxing means serious injuries and people leaving the sport.

    6. She’s incredibly tough.

    She knows you are cursing her name the day after she kicked your ass really badly in training. She knows not everybody will agree with her decisions. She doesn’t expect to win popularity contests, she expects to train winners. And she doesn’t ask you to do what she won’t do (and she can usually do it with her eyes shut and hands tied).

    7. She goes the extra mile.

    You know these coaches — they’re the ones who drive long distances to take a group to a meet or event. They spend unpaid hours working to find matches for their fighers. They respond to emails and share information that might be helpful to you; they let you draw on the contacts and connections they’ve spent a lifetime building up. And they are happy to do it. When you find someone like this, you know it’s different. It’s wonderful.

    Did I say “7 Reasons”? Well I meant eight. Because this last one seals the deal.

    8. She’ll have a beer with you, too.

    Trainers are people, too. As an adult, the more serious you become about a particular sport, the more enjoyable it can be to share some off-the-clock time with your coach, either as a team or one-on-one. Even if it’s just taking a look at pictures of a recent concert together after team training is over, or enjoying a beer ringside at a fight, it builds trust because it builds the relationship.

    I want to give a special shout-out to the trainers who have been such a gift to me over the years: Coach Buddy, Coach Poppenheimer, Coach Yates, and Coach Bonnie Mann: you guys make all the difference. Thanks for everything.

    Who were the trainers who made a difference in your sport and in your life?

  • Runner Lisa vs. Bad Lisa

    Runner Lisa: It’s a gorgeous morning for a run!
    Bad Lisa: We haven’t run for over a week. This is gonna hurt.
    RL: We’ll get back in the swing.
    BL: I need to pee.
    RL: You just went!
    BL: It’s freezing.
    RL: That’s what this nice jacket is for.
    BL: What if a neighbor sees us? We will be ashamed of how ridiculously slow we look.
    RL: If a neighbor sees us THEY will be ashamed that we’re out here running and they aren’t.

    RL: Okay, we’ll start with walking up the hill. At the top, we’ll move into a nice slow jog.
    BL: That first downhill is terrible on the knees.
    RL: So we’ll shorten stride.
    BL: I might need a tissue.
    RL: You’re sounding pretty weak.
    BL: I feel pretty puny.
    RL: Maybe you should shut up and run.

    BL: OMG, the Husband is coming up behind us. He’s gonna PASS us. Or dog our heels. This is terrible.
    RL: Hm, let’s see if we can do some intervals, move further ahead, then we can turn off the straightaway and get on a different route.
    BL: I may perish in the attempt.
    RL: I’ll come back for you later.

    BL: It’s not working. I can hear him schlepping along behind us again. Listen to that! Why does he scrape his feet like that? It can’t be aerodynamic.
    RL: He appears to have a higher pace than we can do, even with the schlepping.
    BL: We’re silent but slow.
    RL: At least we’re moving.
    BL: THAT man is moving. He’s on like a 9 minute mile pace. We’re on, like, a 30 minute mile pace.
    RL: Sometimes it feels that way.

    RL: Look at us! We’re past thirty minutes. We met our goal. Next run will be better.
    BL: What’s my reward? A donut?
    RL: Nice try. How about a walk around the block?
    BL: More exercise is not considered a reward.
    RL: Yes, I’d love to have you join me on a walk. It will be a pleasure.

  • L’Eau Du Suburbia

    L’Eau Du Suburbia

    I had a quick 2 mile run tonight in my neighborhood around 6 pm; about every five houses I would catch wind of the same kind of scent, which I finally realized was the smell of dryer sheets. I have never in my life purchased dryer sheets. I guess while I’m out running the rest of America is getting their laundry done. And scented. Did I miss an important day in Home Economics?

    Image by scmtngirl

  • Runner Lisa vs. Bad Lisa

    Bad Lisa: Okay, this is freaky. Have we EVER run with Mom, Dad, and the First on the treadmills next to us?
    Runner Lisa: Uh, no, this is a first. Hit six, would you — a 10 minute mile pace should do us.
    Bad Lisa: We should walk, ’cause you know, MOM.
    Runner Lisa: Oh, she knows we can run.
    Bad Lisa: I KNOW she KNOWS, moron. I’m saying it would be RUDE to run when Mom and Dad are walking.
    Runner Lisa: It’s a treadmill, double-moron. It’s not like we’re gonna get too far ahead.

    three miles later:

    Runner Lisa: Wow, they’re still walking.
    Bad Lisa (in a snarky voice): “Hit six, would you? A 10 minute mile pace should do us.”
    Runner Lisa: Well this does present a problem. I’m not sure we’re allowed to quit.
    Bad Lisa (sighing heavily): Why don’t we set a good example of NOT OVERDOING IT at the gym?
    Runner Lisa: Of course! How wise you have grown.

  • runner Lisa vs. bad Lisa

    Bad Lisa: It’s obviously too crowded to run today.
    Runner Lisa: It’s obviously not, Mrs. Glass Half Empty. I’d say at least every other treadmill is open.
    BL: You know if we run next to someone your pesky competitive gene kicks in.
    RL: How about we run next to those two young women? They’re already sweaty, so they probably won’t be here much longer.
    BL: They are wearing expensive running shoes.
    RL: I think your pesky suspicion gene is kicking in. Look, they’re chit-chatting amiably; they’re hardly here training for a marathon. They have the exact same body shape as me. We’ll get on a slow pace and see what happens.

    at the two-mile point, after endless inanities:
    One young woman (all perky): Wow, these first five miles have been soooo difficult! I just hate the first five miles!
    The other young woman (knowingly): Yes, but our second five miles are so much easier, don’t you find?

    Runner Lisa: I think we should work out with weights now.
    Bad Lisa: Yeah. Otherwise I’ll have to smack somebody.