Martini Fridays: My inner beast is napping

This will be the last column I write until after the Wineglass Half Marathon (and Marathon, for those who are up for going the extra 13.1 miles) on October 4. I’ve decided to take the next two weeks off so that I may deeply focus on my training. Tomorrow I’ll decamp to my yurt out in the high desert where I’ll live off of the land and mediate for 22 hours each day. The other two hours will be spent running with my bestie Lauren Fleishman or, maybe, Shaylene or Kara. They are all arguing over who will get the honor. I keep telling them that there’s plenty of me to go around but you know how competitive they are….

Yeah. Kidding.

My sticker chart is almost full. The race must be close, right?

Really, the break is the result of some schedule juggling, which I’m sure you are all familiar with. I’ll be spending the two weeks before my Fall goal race in exactly the same manner that I’ve spent the bulk of my adult life: schlepping, talking, running, and writing, with the occasional break to think about whether or not I have any cookies in the house. As one does.

One week from today, I will be traveling, however, to lovely Cape Cod so that I can woman the AMR table with two other BAMRs at the ZOOMA race expo in Falmouth. At 5:30 p.m. on Friday, I’ll sneak away to talk about “Embracing your wicked fierce inner runner” to a roomful of badass women who will unleash their wicked fierce inner running beasts the next morning.

My inner beast, however, will stay firmly leashed the next morning during the 10K because Coach Christine said so. Which is good, because my inner beast hung up its “Gone Fishin’” sign after my last long run — 14 miles, during an early September super-warm spell, where the humidity neared 100 percent by the time I was done.

Once I made it home from that 3+ hour slog, I collapsed on my bedroom floor and told the kids I was stretching. Really, though, I was just laying in front of the fan while gathering enough energy to take a cold shower.

I’d expected to be pretty much wiped out for the rest of the weekend. Surprisingly, I really wasn’t. By the afternoon I was more or less functional, a state partially helped along by a 30-minute catnap after lunch. By Sunday morning, while my step had zero spring, I managed to complete all the errands that have ever existed and vacuum up several metric pounds of dog hair. This level of energy was a shock. Usually on the day after a long run, my biggest accomplishment is picking up the TV remote after a drop it. This training thing might actually work.

Post-recovery run smiles.

That Monday morning’s recovery run, while not a thing of beauty, was fine. Wednesday morning’s last (for the Wineglass training cycle) boundary pushing speed session — seven miles, with the middle five at race pace — was challenging, yes, but completely do-able as long as I didn’t give in to my inner voice that whined about walking. By focusing on only the mile I was in, I kept the Panic Troll at bay and got it done. It was a total confidence boost and one that left me smiling all day. My co-workers must have thought I was up to something unseemly.

Now, a couple of days into my taper, my confidence is back to manageable levels. My inner beast can’t even be rallied for an easy three mile run. Even though the weather has finally become more fall-like — and can I mention how much I just want to give fall a big, sloppy kiss on the mouth? — my morning runs have been pretty blah. Not bad, mind, just uninspiring.

I’m pretty sure my motivation (and pre-race jitters) will be back once I make it to Corning — and the AMR booth at the Expo, which will be woman-ed by me and some other mother runners you might know. Please drop by. If we’re not enough of a draw, the Corning Museum of Glass is a wonder everyone should experience at least once.

As for me, now seems to be the time when my body is more concerned with moving all of my metaphoric hay into my equally metaphoric barn than with generating enthusiasm about much of anything. Or, to be honest, staying awake past 9:30, forming complete sentences when I speak, or not eating entire bags of Stacy’s Cinnamon Sugar pita chips, which I’m pretty sure I should even be allowed to buy.

The first few days of this taper have been brought to you by the letters N and U and the word “caffeine.”

I’m optimistic about the race — I’ve hit 90 percent of my training goals and the weather should be less punishing in October in Central New York — but don’t want to jinx it by talking about it too much. Still if I can pull off the week that starts with a 14-miler and not collapse, I’m thinking that I should be able to pull off a PR this time around. Hope springs eternal.

Question of the week: I am helpless in the face of pita chips and brownie batter. You?