In the interest of full disclosure, I must mention that I have entered the sweepstakes for entry into the NYC 2016 marathon. Which is different from the lottery for entry into the same marathon, which I will likely enter if I don’t a) win the sweepstakes or b) come to my senses by the time the lottery opens in January. It’s up to you, universe. Be kind.
For now, it appears that this column’s name will remain “Dry Martini.” I find that quasi-ironic given how wet it’s been here lately. During my six miles last week, the skies opened at mile three and closed again about ten minutes after I squished my way home. My helpful husband pointed out that the whole drenching could have been avoided if I’d looked at the radar but he doesn’t understand my need to live on the edge. And, frankly, how little I care about getting soaked. As long as my phone stays dry, it’s all good.
I can’t say that any of my runs have been super exciting this week. I did some fartleks — I giggle every I hear, see, or type this word because I’m ten — last week. Coach told me to toss 6-8 30-second intervals of speedy-fast running into an easy 3 miles. Coach pointed out afterwards that I actually did ten of them, which meant I must have been feeling great. Because I’m all about relentless honesty, I confessed that, no, I’m not a badass. I just lost count after the first four.
Still, they were the zippiest fartleks I’ve ever farted so I’m thinking that the fitness I worked so hard to gain for Wineglass hasn’t abandoned me. Plus, now that my late-fall dread illness has passed, I can routinely bang out 12:30 miles without working too hard. Which for me is amazing.
I did feel like a badass after this morning’s run, which was five miles with the middle three at half marathon race pace. I’d been dreading it all week, for no explainable reason other than it seemed hard and it’s cold in the mornings. Once I got out the door, though, it went really well (if hard), which just goes to show you some life-affirming lesson about getting your inner wuss to be quiet. I’d explain what that lesson was if my brain weren’t so mushy after pushing through the last mile.
Perhaps the best run was the one I went on this past weekend. See, there’s a knitting retreat that I go to every year. And every year Lisa, another mother runner who turns up on this very blog from time to time, and I carve out some running time on Saturday afternoon. Rather than stick to our standard route — it’s lovely, mind, but who doesn’t love a new path to explore? — I found out that the Ontario Pathways rail trail started less than a mile from our hotel door. Off we went.
The day was as cold as you’d expect in November in Western New York. The trail was sheltered from the wind, at least, and neither of us stayed too chilly once we got moving. There’d been a big pack of Boy Scouts and their leaders in the parking lot when we’d started. We ran into them on the path on our home stretch and they formed a tunnel of high-fives and encouraging cheers. If all runs could end that way, I reckon there would be a lot more runners.
Two things are coming up on my race calendar: the local Turkey Trot, where it will probably snow because that’s how it usually goes, and the Austin half marathon in February 2016, where it probably won’t snow because it’s Texas. The Trot’s just for fun and to get out of the house for a little bit. I might try to PR, unless I don’t. I find it hard to really predict how I’ll feel on Thanksgiving morning, you know?
Austin, however, might lend itself to another stab at a 2:30 half. While my flatlander friend with whom I am running keep bemoaning the hills, they look significantly less daunting than what I face on a regular basis around here. As long as Voldesun doesn’t make an appearance, which is unlikely because, again, it’s Texas, I should be OK.
Worst that happens is that I walk the race and comfort myself with margaritas. And when that is the worst that can happen, well, it is a good day, indeed.
So how many of you are running a turkey trot? Does it have a cool name? And how many of your trots give away an actual bird?