Brief post tonight because I'm wiped. I had two of my best friends, Kathy and Dan, in town this weekend from NYC. They were both my roommates at separate times, and I have running histories with both of them (Dan and I used to run in Riverside Park, until he became too fast: He just blitzed a 1:30 half-marathon on very little training; while Kathy and I ran the 1997 NYC Marathon together.)
Wait: I said this was going to be brief.
So Dan and Kathy both still live in Manhattan, and have a much more nocturnal lifestyle--not to mention much higher tolerance--than I do. We had two memorable dinners with plenty of great stories (both of the rehashed and catch-up kind) and drinks. But two post-midnight bedtimes for this sedate, schedule-loving 'rado girl was too much.
Needless to say, I got thrown off my schedule.
1. Strike one: I was supposed to do short, easy runs on Saturday and Sunday morning. Neither happened. Food was too rich, nights were too late. I could've run with Dan, but he's a bit of a masochist and went out at 5 p.m. on Saturday, when it was about 95 degrees. I can't hang with him in perfect running temps, let alone scorching ones.
2. Strike two: After taking Kathy to the airport on Sunday afternoon, I thought I might squeak in one workout at the gym. I got to the parking lot, and decided I just needed to close my eyes for few minutes, then I'd have the energy to go in. So I kept the A/C blasting (sorry, environment!) and tipped my seat back and closed my eyes. I dozed for 20 minutes, got myself together, stepped outside the car, and stepped right back in. All I wanted was more sleep, so I headed home and, despite knowing that a nap at 5:00 isn't the best idea, climbed under the sheets.
3. Strike three: I thought, after an almost full night's sleep (the late nap did come back and bite me), I would be raring to go this morning. Not so much. Despite laying out my clothes and promising myself I'd get up, I didn't. Instead, I listened to NPR and fell in and out of sleep from about 5:30-7:00.
I was in one of those cranky, only-sweat-will-snap-this moods this morning as I microwaved pancakes, and I was mentally running through my options. The best one? Run right after I drop the kids off at camp at 9 a.m.
I did. It wasn't pretty. I struggled. I was still sweating out wheat beers, I'm pretty sure, and goat cheese souffle and carrot gnocchi and cinnamon gelato and curried chicken, among other things, were weighing down my legs.
But 50 minutes later, my tank top was soaked and my head was no longer throbbing. Most importantly, I was grateful, in the way that only running can make me, for lifelong friends who travel across the country for the weekend. And for reminding me that laughing, connecting, and feeling loved are much more important, in the long run, than getting in my daily run.