Dry Martini: Under the Tuscan Run

This would have been a great place for an early morning run.

I really had the best of intentions.

Really.

But let me back up.

When last we spoke, I was looking at a 17 mile long run, which went well, thanks. After my Rice Chex Incident, about which we will not again speak, I kept breakfast simple by just having a bagel with some strawberry jam. I made Rice Krispie treats the night before and managed to have enough left after my husband and son attacked them to pack a chunk for a mid-run nosh. The first 13 miles went by as easily as they could, then Kate, a local running buddy who I infrequently run with because she is an overnight nurse on a maternity ward, met me for the last few.

Since we don’t get to run together all that often, I’d forgotten how quickly miles can pass when you’re chatting. Rather than my usual end of a super long run irritation with pretty much everything, I felt almost peppy. Almost. Let’s not get crazy.

Later in the week I worked in my last run before our trip overseas and I was dreading it. Not because I was daunted by the five miles — it’s amazing how training for a marathon changes your perception of what “long” means — but because two of those miles had to be ten seconds faster than my usual half marathon race pace of 11:25. What with packing and planning and plotting, I struggled to get my behind out of bed to get it done before we had to leave for the airport.

Pretty much how I felt the entire trip, full of joy but really happy to sit for a few minutes.

And then I got started — and felt surprisingly good, so good that I churned out those two miles at 11:13 and 10:51 (!). It was hard, mind, but not too hard.

Yeah. I was shocked, too.

Then I got home, showered, finished packing (I’d already packed two sets of running clothes for the trip), and got in the car. Then a plane. Then another plane, which left five hours late. And after an amusing-only-in-hindsight incident involving luggage, we were in Italy.

I was also completely wiped out — and remained so for pretty much the entire trip.

Even though the jet lag was a kick in the head, it wasn’t the main force for me not lacing up and getting out. Instead, I was done in by all of the walking. We walked around Florence. We walked up and down mountains in Tuscany. My husband and I managed to ditch the kids with relatives and make a lightning-fast trip to Venice, where we walked some more. Every night, when my head would hit the most convenient pillow, I had zero energy left.

Near our villa in Volpaia and spotted on a ramble in the countryside

And, for the record, if we weren’t walking, we were eating. Miraculously, the walking managed to cancel out all of the eating and I didn’t gain any weight — but totally should have because, OMG. The. Food.

Also for the record, I’m a little bitter that I’m back home, jet lagged, and gelato-less. Please keep me in your thoughts during this trying time.

#thestruggleisreal

After a super-fantastic trip — no, really, it was pretty much amazing from start to finish, even with all of the travel irritations and kid moods and sore feet— we got back late, late, late on Saturday. On Sunday at 4 a.m., I was wide awake and unpacking, because when your body is convinced it’s mid-morning, you might as well be productive. My 100 percent un-sweaty running gear was right in the suitcase where I’d packed it ten days previous.

I did what any sensible BAMR would do. I went out for a run. “I’m going to shoot for six,” I told my husband as I was leaving. “Or five. Or maybe four? But definitely three.”

For not having run in longer than I’d like, the first 2.5 miles felt wonderful, like riding-a-unicorn-while-eating-gelato-on-the-verge-of-hallucinations great. Then the whole lack of sleep thing caught up with me and I spent the scamper home trying not to barf, pass out or both simultaneously. As one does.

Mile three, after the magic wore off.

This morning’s easy four was much better — and remarkably zippy for me. We’ll see if I still have that same zip on Sunday when I tackle 18. Coach is of the opinion that my training isn’t completely de-railed by my lack of running. I waffle between thinking it’s not that big a deal and convincing myself that I’m doomed. Anyone else care to weigh in?

Next weekend, I’ll be in lovely Corning, N.Y., woman-ing the Wineglass Expo and running the half. I’m not gunning for a PR this time and, instead, plan to just enjoy a long run with water stops and port-a-potties. Stop in if you’re in the area and say, “howdy.” Or, you know, whatever you’d like to say. I don’t want to limit your creativity.