Slo Jo: What the Pluck

Distance: 12 miles

Pace: Ugh

Attitude: Poor

Wine: None (possible explanation for baditude)

I meet Coach at 5:30 a.m. It is cold out—like 60. I know that isn’t actually cold, but after my Santa Monica running day when it was 64 and I boiled to death in my long sleeves, I decide to wear a tank top and shorts. Turns out, when the sun is not up, it makes a difference. I burrow into my car seat for warmth. The car seat is warm, and cozy, and clean, like a lovely soft bed. So comfortable…so warm…

Coach gives me a wrinkled jacket that looks like it has been wadded into an extremely tiny ball and wedged under the car seat. He tells me it is time to go. So much for my pleasant slide into sleep in the car. 

Beneath the jacket I am wearing new shorts. They are the kind that sort of come up on the sides, kind of retro 80s. 

I’ve been afraid of wearing such things because I fear they are too short (at least for me—on skinny people they look great), but I was having a body-confident morning and on they went. These new shorts are okay for about seven miles. Then they decide they want to ride up and live in my crotch.

So it goes like this:

Step step step step adjust shorts

Step step step step remove shorts from crotch

Step step step step adjust

Step step step pluck 

Coach finally asks me what I am doing since I have my hands in my crotch all the time. I explain I’m having a ride-up problem which is ALSO causing chafing.

I tell you what. I don’t talk about thigh chafing with just anyone (other than you, Gentle Reader). But after you run 12 miles with someone, you suddenly feel completely comfortable discussing the state of your nipples. Do they chafe? What chafing product are you using? You can discuss flatulence or excessive mucus production, and you can plot your bathroom needs together. Running is a catalyst to getting to know everything you never wanted to know about the other person.

So I explain my crotch problem, and Coach gives me some udder cream and I apply it. To my inner thighs. In front of a man. This is the sort of thing that wouldn’t have happened a year ago. I would have suffered through it or faked an aneurysm or something to get out of completing the run. You’d think this experience would inspire me to lose the 10 pounds or whatever that would get rid of the chub rub problem, but no. Instead I’m proud for being so mature and accepting of myself.

(You try having a self-esteem moment while applying udder cream in public.)

Meanwhile, putting aside my crotch/thigh issues, I am in a bit of a mood. I just don't ever quite get into the run. I advocate walking as a perfectly good exercise. My shirt is riding up. My left knee hurts. Then my right knee hurts. I keep Coach informed of every one of these issues. Then my toe hurts. Then I note we are going too fast.

“You can just do six, you know,” he says. He is either using reverse psychology or trying to get rid of me.

“Six is a totally reasonable amount of miles,” I say.

“It is. I’m gonna do 12. But you can just stop at the cars after six.”

“Well, I just WILL,” I say. “This is horrible. I hate running. My headphones hurt.” Then I drink some water and resolve to stop complaining, and run the second six. I survive it, perhaps complaining a tiny bit. Coach turns up his music to drown me out.

***

I learned later, from Facebook, that one of my friends, K, had seen me on the run! She posted on my wall that there had been a Slo Jo sighting. That was awesome! I hope she didn’t see me while I was busy pulling my shorts out of my crotch or slathering udder cream on myself. K had a baby and already is back to looking like a model. She probably is not doing the step step step pluck. But great to see friends out running! If you have a Slo Jo sighting, please say hi. It will give me an excuse to stop. And adjust my shorts.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Dry Heaving In The Corner

Distance:  0.0

Pushups completed:  5,932 (I was not counting, so it may have been less, but I doubt it)

Wine:  0.0  (is it Friday yet?)

This is not a running post.  Why?  Because I haven’t run since Monday.  Hey, I’m not in training yet.  Don’t judge.  Here’s what I did instead:  a 60 minute kickboxing class.  My regular class starts at 6:30 in the morning.  Now that it is actually turning into autumn, this means the sun is just rising when it starts and the temperature is downright refreshing (low 70s).  Also, some of my favorite gals go to this class, so it is a workout/social hour.  It’s hard to imagine skipping this class to go for a run. 

(What?  Socializing totally burns at least 10 calories per minute.)

One of my friends, I’ll call her Jackrabbit because she’s a fast runner (though this is probably an insult because I’m pretty sure she can outrun a jackrabbit), is such a gifted athlete she borders on superhuman.  She recently hurt our trainer’s feelings by calling his class easy.  Some background on our trainer.  I’ll call him Pirate because he’s currently hobbling around on one good leg.  He broke the foot on the other leg by kicking somebody in the elbow.  True story.  I hang out with some badass m f’ers.  In any event, Pirate’s classes are usually very challenging and he takes a rather sadistic pride in making us hurt, so Jackrabbit’s comments wounded him greatly.  This led to a very entertaining exchange on Facebook where he promised that today’s class would be so hard Pirate would have Jackrabbit dry heaving in the corner.  If Jackrabbit is dry heaving from a workout, that probably means I’m lying on the floor in full cardiac arrest – one heck of a workout!  Needless to say, I was looking forward to today’s class.

(Believe it or not, Jackrabbit is actually even more adorable than this jackrabbit and can probably jump higher, too.)

So here’s what we did.  Warm-up:  25 burpees, 25 squat jumps, 25 pushups, 25 v-ups, run a lap around the building (.11 miles – thanks, MapMyRun).  Repeat 3 times.  Warm yet?  I was.  Let class begin.  100 straight punches (jab, cross, jab, cross), 100 alternating right/left hooks, 20 right kicks, 20 left kicks.  Then we did several rounds of combinations involving punches, kicks, sprawls, and elbows.  Then we did a partner drill where we had to shuffle from bag to bag and throw combinations on Pirate’s direction.  I paired up with Jackrabbit and pushed myself harder trying to keep up with her.  Then we did more squats.  Then we held a squat with a 90 degree bend in our knees. Then we did “baby squats” from that position, never fully straightening our legs.  Then we did 5 squats, walk your hands out, 5 pushups, walk your hands back, repeat.  Then he gave us 60 seconds to do 100 pushups.  I made it to 51.  Then back on the bag for more punching and kicking. 

Definitely warm now.  Next we went out back (into the lovely weather) and did tire flip suicide sprints.  This entails sprinting approximately 10 feet to a tire, jumping up on the tire, jumping down, sprawling into pushup position, jumping back onto your feet, then flipping the tire end over end.  Then you sprint back to the starting point and do it again.  When you’ve flipped your tire approximately 10 times, you get low and drag it backward across the parking lot to the original starting point.  After that, we went inside and bear crawled with dumbbells (mine were 10 lbs) approximately 30 feet, did 10 pushups, 30 bicep curls, 30 overhead presses, and bear crawl backward back.  Repeat.  We did each of those drills (tire flip suicide sprints and bear crawl) two times.  Then we held a plank for what felt like 30 minutes, but was probably only 1 minute. 

(T-Rex also hates planks.  I identify with poor T-Rex, not just because I loathe pushups and planks, but also because my arms feel ridiculously short for my body when I'm trying to throw long punches.)

Class ended without myocardial infarction and with no dry heaving by Jackrabbit (in the corner or otherwise).  Nonetheless it was a killer workout.  I know this because when I was getting dressed and trying to put my earrings in, I almost couldn’t do it because my hands were shaking so bad.  So, no, I did not run today.  But I did get my a$# kicked and, besides, according to Runners World, cross-training is good for you.  (Sure, they talk about cross training in terms of swimming or biking, but I’m sure Pirate’s boxing class is right up there.)  Also, my boxing gym is having a margarita boot camp on Saturday.  Can you beat that?  I don't think you can. 

(This is an a picture of my margarita following my gym's last margarita boot camp.)

Slo Jo: My Mizunos Run the Santa Monica Stairs

Distance: 6 miles
Stairs: MANY
Wine: Two gl. tempranillo at Bottle Rock in Culver City (necessary after 45-minute attempt to park), then one glass at dinner with friends

Toe-Shoes Tina and I, along with two other friends, have an upcoming race called the Bisbee 1000 Great Stair Climb. This is a 5K that features 1000 stairs. I have been training on exactly zero stairs, unless you count the two flights I usually take in the parking garage when I park at the office. And sometimes? I take the elevator for those two flights. Look, I wear some killer heels.

So today I decided to try out the Santa Monica Stairs. I just realized when I was looking up something to link to that there are two pairs, a wooden one and a concrete one. Never did see the wooden ones. Anyway, there are 189 steps in the concrete ones, which is plenty.

I ran from my friend E's house. She advised me to take 11th Street, which was easy. She also said she heard the Stairs are quite a meat market, so I was looking forward to the people watching. After all, at the Culver City Farmer's Market yesterday, I saw a young man with very very defined arm muscles carefully select a bunch of carrots. So cute. Maybe there would be more eye candy on the stairs.

Alas, no. I would describe the scene as (a) men who look like they are screenwriters and live in Laurel Canyon (e.g., lots of moppy hair, old rock T-shirts); (b) old people who are irritatingly good at the stairs (c) insanely fit young women with no asses whatsoever. There was one young man who would do pull ups at the bottom of the flights. And then there was this lady, who seemed nice but turned into a mad photobomber:

Every time I would stop to take a shot, she would appear out of nowhere and get in the frame. She wasn't even cute about it, like this guy:

Anyway, I went down the stairs, basically clutching the handrail. After my fall on Saturday, I was feeling nervous. I thought negative thoughts to myself about how if I did fall, I would probably break bones and there would be no way to stop my rapid descent down the whole flight. I'm pretty sure this is what they call the power of negative thinking. I learned it from watching OWN.

I only made it back up the stairs three times. Honest to God, it sucked. You go up a long flight, and then there is a landing, and then there's another flight, and it never ends. My heart rate soared to 175, and I would have to stop at the landings and catch my breath. The super-fit ass-less women were having no problems. Maybe stairs are easier without an ass. The moppy-haired record producers were struggling, which was good; they'd probably smoked on the way over to the stairs. The old people trudged up like they were going to school in the snow, uphill both ways, resigned to their fate. They were awesome.

(I took this one for TST, as she has a series of pics of her toe-shoes in scenic environments. Mine are not toe shoes, obviously.)

After three attempts, I was ready to never see a stair again and begin the three-mile run back. Thank goodness I don't live around here or I would think I should go more often and work up to being able to do these better. I have a really good excuse, living in Phoenix, for never returning. That said, I'm worried about the Bisbee Stair Climb. Maybe--just maybe--I'll stop taking the parking garage elevator as a first step. 

Slo Jo: When You Fall Get Up, Oh Oh

Distance: 14 miles (Saturday), 8 miles (Monday)

Beers: Lost track (Sunday, at baseball game. Beers are patriotic.)

Bruises and cuts: Two really bruised knees, scrapes on hands and elbow, giant abrasion on left knee

Waka waka lyrics: One, in title

I’m lying on my back in the middle of the sidewalk on Central. A minute ago, I was jogging along, thinking how after 11.5 miles, we were getting to the end. Now I’m looking at the sky in some shock. I sit up cautiously and look at my knees, which are scraped and bleeding. I try to brush some of the gray concrete dust off my legs.

Coach trots up, concerned. “What happened?” We both look at the offending sidewalk, where an uneven crack has left a small ledge for a unaware jogger to catch a toe.

I had fallen—spectacularly fallen. I caught my foot on the small ledge and saw the sidewalk rushing up to meet me. I remember a fleeting thought about needing to save the iPhone I had in my hand as my knees and hands hit the pavement, and then I hit my left shoulder and flipped over onto my back. It hurt. I seem to remember falling all the time as a kid, but I don’t recall having the distinct feeling I might not get up again. I will blame it on being taller now and not on being way older.

“Tired legs,” explains Coach. He hoists me up by my elbows, and we walk a little while as I examine my wounds and feel more than a little embarrassed. But eventually I am ready to go again. It hurts, but I’m fine. I want to finish the run.

(Oww. Oww. Oww. Oww. Owwwww.)

I learn later that day that a friend running an ultramarathon fell that day, too—only his fall was much worse. Only five miles in to his 100-mile trail run, he fell so badly that it took him three hours to limp to the aid station six miles away. I hope it is just bad bruises and nothing more serious. I was at least able to get moving again, and felt lucky that nothing had been broken.

After the run, I went home, picked gravel out of my skin, and jumped in the car to drive to LA. I’m going to say running 14 miles plus a bad fall plus sitting in a car for six hours did absolutely nothing for sore muscles or swollen knees, and when I arrived, my poor friend E had to listen to me groan every time I moved. She had booked us massages that evening as a birthday present (my birthday just keeps on going! Yay!), and the masseuse was appalled at my knee, which had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. 

After icing my knees, I felt better on Sunday. We took the train to San Diego and went to watch the Padres play the stupid Dodgers. Dodgers fan in San Diego bar:

D:  Yeah, we already won! And we pissed in the Diamondbacks’ pool!

Me: That was uncool. I’m from Phoenix. Not sportsmanlike.

D: I hope they SHIT in it, too!

Stay classy, Dodgers’ fans. Stay classy.

In any event, I think all the Bud Lights at the game helped my run today. I spent a little time on the couch feeling sorry for myself because my legs ached from the 14-miler and my knees still hurt, but then I reminded myself I was half a mile from the ocean and I liked running by the ocean. It was 64 degrees, so I wore a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. No one else in California appeared to think it was the middle of winter, and they were right. It was quite warm in the sun. I felt like I was part of some religious sect that required me to cover all parts of my body.

(Santa Monica pier. Of course I was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Who wouldn't in this weather?)

I ran on the Strand past the Santa Monica pier and up to Will Rogers State Beach, which was about four miles. My legs started off tired, and my knees hurt enough that I was wondering if I still had swelling and whether running was a good idea. But then something really good happened—much better than falling with alarming speed on my face. After I turned around, I started running…faster. I felt like I could just go! I would look at my Nike sports watch (suck it, Garmin) and it told me I was running around 10 minute miles. For me, this is JUST remarkable, and especially after having run four already. I kept it up, thinking I could always walk if it got too hard. It didn’t. I just flew those last four miles. I didn’t feel any pain in my knees. I just felt like a runner. An overdressed runner, but a runner. And that felt good.

Toe-Shoes Tina: Running For The Hills

Distance:  6.01 miles
Pace:  8:46
Heart rate:  155 average; 199 max
Elevation (at highest point):  7103 feet
Total climbs:  636 feet
Wine:  2 glasses of Cardinal Zin

I recently satisfied a years-long goal of getting myself a little mountain retreat.  This is my first weekend up here and it is blissfully cool:  63 degrees at the start of my run.  The awesome weather is countered by the elevation, approximately a mile higher than Phoenix.  I planned to run 6 miles to build up my red blood cells. There is a big park with a mountain lake within a mile of my place that is evidently popular for hikers and joggers.  But this is bear country and I won't venture that way until I have bear spray (yes, that is a real thing and yes, I will get it and yes, I will run with it).  I have a lifelong and slightly irrational fear of bears.  Even in populated wooded areas, I run with my eyes glued to the tree line, searching for hulking shadows that might want to eat me.  On a trip to Simsbury, CT, I learned that adrenaline pushes me to an uncomfortably fast pace when running alone through heavy forest.  Today was not the day for an adrenaline run.

(See?  Bear spray works!)

I decided to do an out and back on the main road because (1) there are more likely to be good sidewalks and (2) I wouldn't get lost that way.  There are two options on the main road:  up or down.  I am familiar with downhill.  I know that it is well-traveled, dotted with shops/restaurants, and has sidewalks for several miles.  I am less familiar with uphill.  I do not know how far the sidewalk goes or what condition it is.  I do not know the person-to-bear ratio.  And I do not know if it is sufficiently populated for me to seek refuge should there be a one-to-one Tina-to-bear ratio.   An out and back that starts with 3 miles down hill will end with 3 miles up hill and that is just demoralizing, especially at 7,000 feet.  I compromised, and decided to go 2 miles down, then 3 miles up (which meant passing my house and going another mile into uncharted territory), then 1 mile down to finish.   The first two miles down were fine, easy peasey and beautiful scenery.  When I turned around, the climb was steady, but okay.  I still managed to keep my pace under 9:15.  I passed my starting point and thought "I'm feeling so good, maybe I'll go 2 more miles up if the sidewalk is okay."  (On a related note, it is dangerous to plan a run that circles back by my starting point mid-way through.  A person with less will power might by tempted to just stop at 4 miles.)

(Aaaaah . . . my toe shoes enjoy mountain living)

Then I came around the bend and saw a beastly hill.  Even at sea level, this hill would be a monster.  It was steeper than the steady incline I'd been huffing and puffing up already and did not appear to have an end.  People walking down the hill shook their heads sympathetically at me as I passed them.  Whatever wind I had left was gone quickly.  I still couldn't see the top, but I'll be damned if I was going to take  walk break.  Hoping for encouragement, I checked my distance, thinking I must be approaching my 5 mile mark turnaround.  4.54 miles.  Frick!  "I will not walk"  "I will not walk"  "I will not walk"  This is probably much more like the mantra Runners World had in mind.  I was seeing spots and actually began cursing out loud in between my gasps for oxygen, but I didn't care.  It was only me and the bears at this point and I didn't care if I offended them with my foul language.  The beast finally leveled out a little at 4.92 miles.  I sprinted (which was a very relative word at that point) up the remaining .08 and then went a little farther, just to prove to the beast that I won, I slayed it with a 9:29 pace.  Then I turned around and managed an 8:05 pace for my final (and downhill!) mile.  The beast had morphed into an adorable puppy who just wanted to cuddle and lick me in the face.  Aaaaaw.

(before and after)

Unlike my recent runs, I already feel this in my legs.  The lack of oxygen up here definitely makes a difference.

Slo-Jo: Don't Bring Me Down

Distance: 0 miles

Extra sleep: 3 hours

Gl. wine: 3

Pieces of cheesecake: 2 (seriously. have cheesecake addiction.)

I did not run today, despite my best intentions. In fact, I had to drive my dogs to Tucson today so that my parents can dog-sit while I’m on a trip next week, and I arranged the drop-off time such that I could get a run in beforehand. I left Big Daddy’s birthday happy hour (as described in Toe-Shoes Tina’s post) early so that I could turn in at a reasonable time. And what happened?

Okay, so I slept in. Since I cannot actually describe running, I will describe some conversations I’ve been having about running. The typical one goes like this:

SJ: Yeah, I’ve been running a lot. A friend and I are running a marathon in February.

Well-Meaning Friend: Seriously? A whole marathon?

SJ: Yeah! Training has been going well so far.

WMF: Gosh. (pause) I’m surprised your joints are holding up. Running is so bad for your knees.

WMF #2: I knew someone who ran a marathon and had to have a hip replacement afterward.

[Note how much longer afterward is not disclosed. Was the marathon 30 years ago? Is your friend 90?]

WMF #3: I heard that your heart only has a certain number of beats in it in your lifetime and by running, you are basically speeding toward your death.

[This reminds me of an uplifting article I read once called, "The Road to Cancer." The theory was we all get it if the road is long enough; some of us just exit early. I read this with some fascination when I was 25 and never forgot it. I'm a lot of fun at parties.]

WMF #4 mentioned how the first marathon ended with the death of the guy who ran it. He explained that Pheidippides, a Greek messenger, ran from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce that the Persians had been defeated in the Battle of Marathon. Wikipedia says, “It is said that he ran the entire distance without stopping and burst into the assembly, exclaiming ‘νενικηκαμεν’, (‘We wοn’), before collapsing and dying.”

WMF #4 left out the Greek but definitely hit the collapsing and dying talking points.

Nobody ever tells me, gee, that second piece of cheesecake is clogging your arteries and making you fat and obesity is a really serious health risk. No, no, it is by running that I am apparently ruining my joints, will require surgery, and am shortening my life.

What’s with the naysayers? I have some theories. And this blog, except for the Wikipedia quote above, is devoid of web research. This is all The World According to Slo-Jo.

1. My friends like to tease me so they think it is funny to point out the parade of horribles that accompanies exercise, rather than cheering me on. Okay, that’s fine. Point out away.

2. People are justifying their own level of activity. We normalize our own behaviors and otherize the folks who put in the time and effort to succeed at these events. I like hearing people say, sure, Michael Phelps is a terrific swimmer, but he spends a LOT of time in the pool; you can’t expect him to be interesting to talk to. The subtext is, "I do not spend all that time working out and swim like Michael Phelps, but I am a genius at the art of conversation." Well, so are lots of people. Let’s see your gold medal in wittiness.

3. People are suspicious of extreme athletic endeavors, and the measure of extreme varies from person to person. Some people might pooh-pooh a 5K as too hard, while my friends the ultra-marathoner or Ironman-in-training are just getting warmed up at a marathon. It seems incomprehensible that people accomplish these things. Like the person who did 366 marathons in 365 days. Doesn’t that seem a little cray-cray? It does. I think there’s a tension between wanting to celebrate others’ athletic accomplishment and thinking some people might want to take it down a notch.

(Someone who would probably be a little less crazy if he did some training runs. Just a theory.)

Anyway, I’m pretty sure my friends all fell into Category One—they were teasing me. I don’t need everyone to tell me I’m awesome all the time, although if you must, I won’t tell you to stop. Teasing is fine, because my joints are well oiled machines. My heart? Way better than Pheidippides’s heart—he probably had a poor diet. And as Ellen Degeneres said, “I let my haters be my motivators.” (My WMFs are not haters, but I do love me some Ellen, so let's finish with that quote.) Cheers and happy running!

Toe-Shoes Tina: Running Is Getting Enjoyable, But It Is Still NotKickboxing

Distance:  5 miles
Pace:  8:11 (holy s%#&!)
Heart Rate:  159 (though my summary shows my heart rate at 227 for a few minutes at the beginning of my run, so I question this “average”)
Wine Consumption:  3 glasses of Malbec

I do not normally run on Thursdays.  Thursday is kickboxing with a trainer who seems to take pleasure in inflicting pain.  I love those classes.  And today he promised me that we would do the noodle drill.  The noodle drill is where your partner holds a pool noodle horizontally about 1.5 feet off the floor.  You stand to one side of the noodle, jump sideways over it and roll back under it.  Then repeat over and over for a minute.  It is both terrible and awesome.  I love the noodle drill.  Then Wednesday morning, I realized I had an early meeting on Thursday that prevented me from attending kickboxing.  FRICK!  Running it is.

You may have noticed from my intro that I drank three glass of wine . . . on a weekday!  Though I have been abstaining during the week, I make exceptions for special events.  On Wednesday I had two special events.  So there.  First, I went to an early going away dinner for my friend D who is about to leave on an extended international voyage.  I ate a salad . . . and pizza . . . and fries . . . and two glasses of delicious malbec.  Health food, y’all!  Then I stopped by a happy hour for my good friend, who I will reluctantly call Big Daddy because that’s what he calls himself even though I find it a little creepy (see, that’s how good of friends we are, I would not do that for a mere acquaintance).  Slo Jo was there because she is also good friends with BD, in fact, she is the one who introduced me to him.  As I was at the bar ordering my third (and final) malbec of the night, Slo Jo sidled up and ordered water.  She informed me that she needed to switch to water so she was fresh and hydrated to run hills the next morning.  I followed her lead and limited myself to a glass.  We both left by 8:30, which is sort of incredible.  What has happened to us, Slo Jo?

 

(Slo Jo and I must be home by 9:00 before our carriage turns into a pumpkin!)

I set my alarm for 5:00 am so I could get a run in early enough to get to my meeting.  I woke up at 4:45, no alarm necessary.  I drank a small latte and part of my fruit and veggie smoothie (my breakfast every day).  After drinking about half my smoothie, my stomach felt uncomfortably full.  Surprisingly, pizza and fries do not digest as quickly as my normal healthy dinners. I decided not to fill my stomach any more before running.

(One advantage to running before the sun comes up is this is my view as I finish my run.  Purty.)  

I figured I’d run  5 miles at an 8:30-9:00 pace.  I tried this exact thing two months ago and failed miserably.  I only made it 4.5 and struggled mightily to keep my pace below 9:00.  Today was 20 degrees cooler, which made a huge difference! 

Mile 1:  I feel like I’m at a good pace.  I’m breathing a little hard, but not gasping for air.  Then, MapMyRun tells me “Distance:  1 Mile, Pace 8 minutes, 17 seconds.”  So much for starting out easy.  I tell myself to slow down before I burn out.  Also, I was making a concerted effort to keep the smoothie in my stomach.  Note:  do not eat pizza and fries the night before a training run.

Mile 2:  “Slow down,  Tina”  “Slow down, Tina”  “Slow down, Tina.”  I’m pretty sure this is not what Runners World had in mind when it told me to repeat an inspiring mantra during my runs.  Nonetheless, I’m feeling good.  Breathing is still under control.  Heart feels good.  Legs feel good.  Then “Distance:  2 miles, Split Pace 8 minutes, 24 seconds.”  Dammit!  Still too fast.

Mile 3:  I try to keep slow it down for a half mile.  Then I reach my 2.5 mile turnaround point and am like “eff it, I’m halfway done, might as well go.”  Pace:  8:11. 

Mile 4:  I find myself doing math in my head, trying to figure out what my 5K time would be on this run (25:45).  Hey, this is a really good way to zone out.  Math.  Who knew?  I gotta find more numbers to crunch.    Then, I realize that “Hey Ya” is playing and I am involuntarily bobbing my head to the music.  Hmmm . . . am I having fun?  While running?  Is this a runner’s high?  Doesn’t hold a candle to a wine buzz, but I’ll take it.  Pace:  8:07.

Mile 5:  No matter how far I run, the last mile is always the hardest.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it is because I am so close to being done.  Maybe I am dreading the final push to finish strong.  Maybe my runners high wore off.  This mile sucked.  But I ran it fast to get it over with.  Pace:  7:48.

(Negative splits!  Also, I burned 677 calories of pizza and fries.)

Toe-Shoes Tina: Let's talk boobies!

Distance:  8 miles
Pace:  9:15
Average Heart Rate:  144
Wine consumption:  4 glasses of various reds between 2:00 (lunch) and 11:00 (after brother's wedding)

We took a very quick trip to Las Vegas for my brother's wedding on Friday.  We were literally in town for 20 hours.  This required 10 hours of driving.  I'm at the point in life where I can run for an hour with less pain than sitting for an hour.  I'm not sure if this is depressing or encouraging.  Because I would be missing my beloved 90-minutes-of-pure-torture boot camp, I planned to run 8 miles on Saturday morning.  I am growing more concerned with the fact that my 16 week training plan starts with a 10 mile run.  I thought 8 miles would be a good barometer as to whether I'm ready to run 10.  It also gave me a chance to put some distance in my new Vibrams, which were a little tight in the toes.

For 8 miles, I made sure to pack my heavy duty running bra.  I'm no Pam Anderson, but I am bustier than your stereotypical runner.  I cannot wear the cute spaghetti strap sports bras they sell at Target.  In the past, I've opted for simple compression bras (aka, the "uniboob") made by the usual suspects (Nike, Adidas, etc.).  They work fine for hockey, soccer, boxing, boot camp because you change up your movements a lot.  Distance running is different.  An optimal running stride will give you 180 foot strikes per minute. (Yes, the website I cited is sort of anti-barefoot running, but not really.  And it is pro-vegetarian, so it all balances out).  That means the girls bounce in the exact same way 180 times per minute for over an hour.  Without the right equipment, this is bad news for the girls.

(This is not me running.  I hope she is not running far in that swimsuit.  It does not look supportive.)

When I trained for my first half, I signed up for a running group.  My first real long run was 6 miles.  I returned home proud of myself for completing 6 miles without walking.  Despite it being a cold morning, I was sweaty and desperate for a shower.  I got in to the shower, ready to relax in the steamy water.  The first stream of water hit me and I nearly screamed.   It turns out I had taken about an inch of skin off the underside of each breast.  This was my first experience with chafing.  I've since learned that Body Glide is a must for long runs and does a great job with preventing skin loss, in general.  For really long runs, though, the sports bra area is always problematic.

(My non-running friends always look at me funny when I tell them I use Body Glide.  It is an anti-chafing stick, not some other type of lubricant.  Get your mind out of the gutter, people!)

Recently, I saw a Runners World article (of course) that talked about finding the right running bra.  It turns out, there is some cool technology out there these days.  You don't have to settle for just compression.  Now they have bras designed for encapsulation to provide support from every angle.  Less movement = less rubbing = less chafing.  After conducting extensive research (okay, reading the article and finding out which recommended bras were eligible for Amazon Prime shipping), I settled on the Moving Comfort Fiona bra.  It compresses and encapsulates.  It also has adjustable straps so you can get the perfect fit.  At $50, it was the most expensive sports bra I've ever owned.  But $50 is a small price to pay to keep my skin on my boobs.  The bra is awesome.  The band is really snug on my rib cage and it is sort of tough to get on, but the girls stay in place.  The first time I wore it, I jumped rope for several minutes to see if I could get them to move.  Nope, they stayed in place.  I am happy to report that the bra held up for 8 sweaty miles on Saturday morning.  I forgot to pack my Body Glide, so I chafed in other places (around my arm strap, on my leg, under my heart rate monitor), but not in the bra region.

The run was surprisingly great.  I took it slow and started out uphill.  We stayed in a hilly area just west of Vegas, so I was hoping to get high enough to get a nice panoramic shot of the strip.  Unfortunately, it is so built up with houses and buildings, I never got my clear shot.  My first 4 miles were slower, a 9:30 to 9:45 pace.  Complicating matters, I'd had no coffee or breakfast that morning and did not even open my water bottle until the 4 mile mark.  I see a blog post about proper hydration and fuel in my near future. When I finally got to run downhill, I sped up to a sub-9:00 pace and managed to finish with an overall average of 9:15.  Negative splits, indeed, and with a heart rate under 150 to boot.  The best part, though, is that I did not hurt.  My feet didn't hurt, my calves didn't hurt, my joints didn't hurt.  Even the next day, no soreness at all.  Could I have run another 2 miles?  Definitely.  Did I want to?  Hell no.  So my body appears ready for my first 10 miler.  It's my brain I have to work on.

(I had to settle for a shot of my toe shoes in front of the off-strip casino, Red Rock Station)

Slo-Jo: Long slow 12, with doggy breaks

Distance: 12 miles

Pace: 12:07, not counting pit stop at 7-11 to refill water bottles

Wine consumption: Just ONE glass at dinner w F (Lan Crianza Tempranillo) because Coach said I should not “get sh%tty” the night before a 12-mile run. As if.

My hot water heater appears to be broken. I’m not much of a plumbing expert, but it seem like there should not be a large puddle of water around the water heater. I called my dad, who is handy with such matters, and he walked me through how to at least shut off the water to the tank so that more and more water was not on the floor.

I probably should have thought the no-hot-water situation through before going for my 12-mile run, but nothing was going to stop me from going. (Well, lots of things could, but I did want to go.) We decided to start not at our usual heart-of-darkness time of 5:30 a.m., but a far more reasonable 5:48 a.m. Not sure why 5:45 was not selected, but 5:48 works fine for me. This is why Coach reminded me the night before that I should not get my drink on—I guess he thought I’d see that extra 18 minutes of sleep as an opportunity to pound enjoy some wine. I need different friends.

We ran up Central on the bridle path, which is a terrific place to run as it is full of cute dogs, and petting a dog is a totally acceptable excuse to stop running. There’s the lady in black with two German shepherds, Ranger the American Bulldog who wears a red backpack, a pair of Westies, a boxer named Meg (“What’s her name? Maggot?” said Coach. “Um, no,” said the owner), and a giant schnauzer, whose owner encouraged us to get dogs because it would change our lives. I didn’t feel like explaining that I already have sort of a surplus of dogs as then he’d want to know why they were not out running, and then I’d have to explain that they are all fat and anyway none of them can run 12 miles.

(Clifford is more of a sprinter than a distance runner. Especially if there is a B-A-L-L involved.)

After three miles up Central, we turned around. Then it was three miles back to the cars to switch out water bottles, change into dry shirts, etc. Then it was time to go up and back again for the second six-mile loop. A quarter of a mile into the second loop, Coach said, “I think my car is unlocked.”

Me: “You want to go back?”

Coach: “No. What could they get? (pause) Oh. My phone. That would be bad.”

Me: “You want to go back?

Coach: “No.”

We keep running. I’m listening to Shakira. Coach is listening to Neil Diamond.

Coach: “Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

There is something psychologically debilitating about turning around on a long run and going back to the car—we probably would have just gotten in our cars and gone home. Instead, we bet five dollars that he had locked his car, with me betting he did. And we ran on.

The run at this point became about water. I had carried 17-ounces in my super sexy hydration belt (it is the worst thing ever for fashion, except for the even more horrible fanny pack, but what can you do) on the first six miles and that was the perfect amount. But on the second lap, I went through the water in two miles. So we had to stop at the convenience store at the 9-mile mark and fill up. There was a sign saying, “Water 50 cents,” and all I had was a debit card. So, I offered to pay, but the guy said, “Water is free.” Okay. Guess he didn’t make the sign.

At this point, my hair was soaked through with sweat and my fresh shirt had that not-so-fresh feeling. I was getting tired. Coach kept telling me to stop holding my hands by my face like a boxer when I’m running, which is my go-to move when I’m starting to struggle. Whatever. If someone tries to punch me, I can block it like that!

(Like this nice young lady, I bring a chili pepper on my runs, because running is not hard enough without a really freaking hot pepper to chew on.)

At mile 10, we reached a landmark—it was the longest I have run before except for the half marathon! Hal Higdon’s half marathon plan, which I used for my first half, has ten as the longest training run, and I actually had to break that training run up into six and four for some reason that is lost to me now. In any event, here I was running longer than ten. It felt…trudgy. But good.

The last two miles needed some inspiration. Fortunately, now that it was no longer the middle of the night, the bridle path was filled with characters. There were some ladies out training for the three-day walk for the cure, some women briskly walking the path with walking sticks (they highly recommended them), an older gentleman with a pocket protector and socks firmly pulled up to his calves, bicyclists of varying degrees of skills (who really should not be yelling out, "On your right!" because it scares runners and shouldn't they be passing on the left? This made me nearly knock Coach into the gutter), and of course the increasingly uncomfortable owner of Maggot, whom we passed at least three times. 

Got back to the cars and BOOM! Coach’s car was locked, and he owes me MONEY. We got some delicious Gatorades, and I headed home. I realized I was a sweaty sweat ball of sweat with soaking wet clothes and hair and had no hot water, which was a bit troubling. Should I go to a friend’s? Take a cold shower? In the end, I decided to just turn the valve back on and deal with any leaks. Problem solved. 

Slo-Jo: Running With My Cat

Distance: 2.0 miles

Pace: 12:00 min/mile

Wine last night: None

Heartrate: Unknown as stupid Garmin is not working

It started, as these things often do, with a negative conversation with a doctor. Dr. H took Jasper’s temperature, palpated his belly, and checked his mouth and ears. “He’s in decent shape,” he said, “but he’s fat.”

“Fat?” I protested. “He’s a Persian. That’s all hair.”

Dr. H chuckled. “Oh, he’s fat all right. And you know what they say…fat cat, fat owner.” Okay, he didn’t really say that last part out loud, but I knew what he was thinking.

 (See? All puffy white hair. It's the equivalent of wearing horizontal stripes.)

What to do? We all know diets don't work, and Weight Watchers has not yet developed a tool for tracking Fancy Feast. (I checked.) Obviously, it was time to put lazy bones on a training program, and what better way to get him to lose weight than to get him running? 

According to Cat Fancy, the best way to get your fat cat going is to do a cat-bed-to-5K program, which basically involves doing run/walks. 

 (Jasper in his favorite couch position: draped over the arm rest.)

You do a short run, then walk, then a short run. We began by getting him to chase the laser pointer. After he could run ten feet, it was time to head outside. I bought him a special harness on Amazon so as not to have to face actual people at Petsmart while buying a cat harness.

At first, Jasper struggled to get the hang of breathing through his mouth (he has a squashy Persian nose) and didn’t like wearing his heartrate monitor. But then I got him shaved, and he was like a new cat. 

(Jasper, resting post-workout.)

Suddenly in the mornings he was batting me awake with a puffy white paw, ready to hit the road. He made it up to a quarter mile before needing a break to stalk a bird or stare into space or whatever it is that cats look at. He was trimming down and feeling spry.

It was time to up the ante. We decided to enter a Feline Fun Run. Oddly, they don’t have those in Phoenix; we had to find one in California. Jasper was a little nervous heading into the race, but I told him it was better to be a little undertrained than overtrained, and plus the objective was to have fun. We decided to have tequila shots every quarter mile (his were tuna fish water) to liven up the race. Jasper was, of course, the best looking kitty there, but man, those tabby cats can really run. They are like the Kenyans of the kitty-running world.

Jasper killed it in the race—he really pushed himself to his personal best. But then he decided to retire for a while from running; he said he had earned a little couch time. I agree. It’s time to train up Petey instead.

(What Petey thinks of the running program.)

Toe-Shoes Tina: Four Legged Friend

Distance:  2.45 miles (this was a bonus run, I boxed for an hour this morning)
Pace:  10:30
Heart rate:  136
Wine consumption last night:  None.

Yay!  My new toe shoes came in the mail today!!!  I arrived home at 7:15 (following a parent teacher organization meeting -- yep, envy my coolness) to find husband #1 walking around in flashy new toe shoes.  Since I ordered mine the same day, I rushed to the entry way, tore open the box and aaaaaaah (cue heavenly choir of angels) new orange Vibrams!

(Can you tell I like to stand out in a crowd?)

All of a sudden, a night run was appealing.  I live in the suburbs.  I'm more likely to be recruited to serve Jesus than I am to be the victim of violent crime.  That being said, I don't like to run alone in the dark. I have two two year old Belgian Shepard (mix, I think) dogs with tons of puppy energy to burn. They are rescue dogs.  One of them had a traumatic experience with the dog catcher and considers leashes her mortal enemies.  As a result, it takes 15 minutes to get her on the leash.  This is why I put the other one on the leash and headed out for my night run.  

It was mid 80s, but with a nice breeze.  And it was long-since dark, so the pavement was cool for the dog.  I know from prior jaunts that she runs a 10 minute mile. I guess tonight she was tired.  By the end of our first mile, she was lagging behind me like I was the one being walked.  I made the unfortunate choice to do the 2.6 mile loop instead of the 2 (or 1.5).  At 2.45 miles, she just stopped.  She looked at me like if she could talk, profanity would have been involved.  We had averaged at 10:30 pace.  I couldn't tell if she was being a wimp or about to keel over, so I turned off my MapMyRun and we slowly meandered the remaining .15 home. She collapsed on the floor and stared at me until I brought over a bowl of water. So much for a four legged running buddy.  

(Taken during a daylight walk.  We were on better terms.)

So what's up?  My dog is an excellent runner when she bolts out the doggy door with one of my expensive shoes.  Now all of a sudden she's a couch potato?  Slo Jo's dogs run well.  How can I get mine up to speed?  As you can imagine, there's a Runners World article on this.  Evidently dogs need a 5 minute warm up and you should start them out with 15 minute runs (in fairness to me, 15 minutes is 2.6 miles to some runners).  Then you can add 5 minutes a week.  I guess when the weather cools, I'll start bringing her on shorter runs where I don't have aspirations of speed.  The good news is that my average heart rate was only 136.  Maybe running with the dog will help me find my marathon pace.  

Slo-Jo: Suck it, scale.

Saturday’s Run: Four miles

Sunday’s Run: Ten miles (BOOM!)

Today’s Run: Easy slow five miles, with dogs and potty breaks

Weight: &%^$%#@!!

My weight is up. Up three pounds, in fact. Now, I know what you are thinking. It’s nothing I haven’t thought myself, only probably in a meaner tone. (No one can out-mean me when it comes to my own weight loss.) My internal voice says, contemplating the scale, "Maybe the bottles of cabernet are not on any nutritionist’s diet plan ever?" Or, “Time to rethink the Egg McMuffins.” And, “Didn’t you just admit to eating about a million char-grilled oysters before digging into the crawfish etouffee for three days in a row? Where do you think those calories went?”

And I say to you, little mean voice, suck it. It’s not the food. (Okay, it is partially the food.) It’s not the wine. (Totally not.) It’s all the running!

I know, right? Isn’t THAT awesome. Running does not help on the scale. For reasons why, I consult handy, un-cited web resources.

First, we turn to Ron Burgundy.

And in fact, it may be science. I did a ten-mile run on Sunday. I tried to blog about it, but it was the most boring piece of writing I have written in a long time, and let me tell you, in my job, I create some snoozers. It was basically a long complaint about running in mud and dealing with intense sunshine and getting sunscreen in my eye. So I deleted it in hopes of not driving off all of Running on Wine’s audience. But anyway, when you do long runs, your body will store more water to repair damaged muscle fibers and apparently requires additional water to store and deliver glycogen to the muscles. Plus, I suspect I got really dehydrated on Sunday (the run started off in a light rain and ending with me crawling across the desert), so my body may be hanging on to water.

(This is exactly what I looked like, had I gone running with loafers and facial hair.)

Second, some web sites suggest that runners eat too much to compensate. It’s the old, “I ran five miles so I can eat this pizza” mentality. I feel like I don’t have this problem, but yet, I admit I can eat me some pizza sometimes. Maybe I need a food log.

Third, some runners drink too many Gatorades or energy drinks with calories. This is definitely not my issue. I am not really a Gatorade person. I’d rather have a cup of coffee or a beer to ensure I am totally without any water in my body whatsoever (not really, but I’m still not a Gatorade fan). I did start drinking it after I started doing runs that took longer than an hour because one day my hands started shaking and I felt dizzy, and Dr. Google confirmed I needed electrolytes.

(Electrolytes. Good for long-distances. Bad for short runs and plants.)

In conclusion, I will do what Toe-Shoes Tina told me to do once, "Step away from the scale!" It's probably just water. And more importantly, today's run felt great. Easy five. The weather is finally nice for a change. I took one fat dog for a two-mile loop and a leaner dog for three. Everyone was happy to be outside and running. And if running finally feels good, that is progress--who needs a scale?

[ROW has had some questions about how to add us to an RSS feed. ROW does not have all the answers. ROW will say, however, that the way ROW did it is to go to Outlook, click the File tab, click Account Settings, click Add or Remove Accounts, click the little tab at the top called RSS Feeds, click New, and a box will come up saying:

In that box, you should enter the following URL: http://feeds.feedburner.com/RunningOnWine

That should do it! Then you will automatically be notified in your RSS Feeds (in the left hand column of Outlook under your Inbox, Outbook, etc.) when we have a new post. Love, SJ and TST]

Toe-Shoes Tina: The Art Of Running In The Rain

Distance:  2 miles (after a 90 minute boot camp)

Pace:  Don’t know

Heart Rate:  Don’t know

Wine consumed:  A few glasses with dinner and the Great Gatsby

Every weekend I’m in town, I do a 90 minute boxing/kickboxing boot camp on Saturday and then again on Sunday (one of which I will soon have to give up for long runs).  The boot camps are usually brutal, but they make me feel like I can go eat a whole cake, guilt-free.  This past Saturday, I arrived at the gym and opened my gym bag to discover I was missing a toe shoe.  Ruh roh.  How was I supposed to run?  I did not want to tear holes running in my expensive Injinji socks, so I first tried a few laps in flip flops.  I was terrified I would trip and fall and they made an annoying THWACK with every stride.  So the next lap, I ran barefoot.  Several abrasions later, I determined true barefoot running is for people tougher than I.  Unable to reach a full lung-burning sprint in flip flops or bare feet, I felt a little cheated (by myself, not the instructor) after class.  

This little gal is still missing her sole-mate.  Have you seen him?  There will be an awesome reward, and by awesome, I mean wine.  

On Sunday, I showed up with my backup pair of toe shoes, but then nobody showed up to teach class.  I stepped up to the plate and led the group through what I hope was a really good series of circuits (thanks to my friends KO Kennedy and M for pitching in as well).  But I did not have them run because it was pouring outside and I did not want to cause a mutiny my first time teaching.  I did the workout along with the class and was underwhelmed by my cardio.  The amount of sweat on my clothing said it was a good workout, but I never reached that "heart thumping out my chest" feeling that I associate with killer cardio. 

I drove home in the steady rain, regretting that we didn't run.  73 degrees and rainy is actually the best running weather Phoenix has seen in awhile.   So when I got home, I thought “why not squeeze in some extra cardio?” and set out for a run in the rain.  The rain made me fear for the safety of my electronic devices, so I left my phone at home (separation anxiety, anyone?).  This meant I had no MapMyRun and, worse, no music!  I’ve read articles and posts by running purists who insist that to truly run, you need to focus on your running, breathing, form, etc. rather than distract yourself with music.  I am decidedly not a running purist.  I need music pounding my eardrums into deafness to distract myself from the pain.    

"What do you mean I can't have music on this run?"

It turned out to be not as bad as I expected.  I did an easy two mile loop.  My neighborhood has a lake (man-made, but beggars can’t be choosers) that is normally bustling with dog walkers, kids, joggers, bikes, etc.  There was no bustle today.  I passed two kids paddling an inflatable raft up the lake, but otherwise I had the place to myself.  The rain dampened the neighborhood sounds; all I heard were (1)  the tiny splashes as raindrops hit the lake, (2) the pitter-patter as I ran under big, leafy trees, (3) my own quiet, but slightly squishy footsteps (because I run on my mid-foot, I actually make dainty, light footsteps rather than clomping), and (4) my own rhythmic breathing.  I went fast enough to make my breathing hard, but not enough to hurt.  The rain made everything look so green – rare in the desert. The two miles flew by.  It was as close to Zen as I have ever gotten during a run.  It was just nice.  Too bad it rains approximately 5 days a year in Phoenix, so I may have to wait awhile before I can do this again.  Maybe I’d be a better runner if I lived in, say, Seattle.  

That is some beautiful desert running weather rolling in.  

Toe-Shoes Tina: Ice, Ice, Baby (No, Really, Somebody Please Get Me Some Ice – It’s Hot!)‎

Distance:  2.86 miles
Pace:  Uh . . .
Heart Rate:  Average 137, Max 184

Wine Consumption:  2 cups of herbal tea (sad face)

Honestly, at some point, I really need to pick up the running.  My 16 week training program does not start until October, so in my head I’m like “I’ve got plenty of time.”  Except that it starts with a 10 mile run.  10 miles is a lot.  I could do it now, but I would probably hurt afterward.  I’d like to get to a point where my first “long” run doesn’t injure me.  That means I need to start running regularly.  Here’s what’s stopping me – it is September 5 and the high is 109.  I loathe the heat.  Extraordinarily so, which makes Phoenix a terrible place for me to live and run.  Heat is my Achilles heel.  So this summer, I decided to work on my mental toughness by forcing myself to run in the heat.  I ran a 2 mile loop near my house at 95 degrees, then again at 104 degrees.  I tried it at 111 degrees, but burned my feet after a mile and had to quit early.  These are obviously extreme temperatures, but even running in the morning here is brutal.  It is at least 80 degrees and the humidity has been pretty bad for a desert.  Truth be told, my pride holds me back because my pace is demoralizing.  I should be able to run 10K at an 8:30 pace, but have been struggling to keep shorter runs at or below 9 minutes.  It is bad for the ego.

Slo Jo and I have a friend who ran Badwater this year.  For those of you unacquainted with lunatic runners, Badwater is 135 miles through Death Valley at the end of July.  Oh, and it finishes at the top of a very steep climb up Mount Whitney.  The pavement temperature on the first day of the race was 170 degrees.  No, that is not a typo.  1-7-0 degrees.  Our friend did amazing and you should read his blog because you’ll probably never experience this run for yourself. 

(Not a race for Vibrams.  That is our friend in the background.)

So what about the rest of us?  Why can’t I run in the heat?  Is it just my bad attitude or is there a physiological reason for my slowed pace.  It’s the latter, thank goodness!  There are, of course, Runners World articles addressing the subject, but I’m branching out in to new sources.  I looked at a number of online articles and, to summarize, heat and humidity ruin your pace.  The articles disagreed about the temperature at which your running was affected, giving a range of 50 to 65 degrees.  Yeah, the low today is 87, so no matter whose scale I use, my running is affected.  One article explained:

“As you run your body generates heat. The ability of heat to escape from your body is reduced in higher temperatures and severely curtailed in humid conditions  . . . your brain will make changes to your running as a defense mechanism long before you actually reach a point of dangerous fatigue or succumb to heat exhaustion.  . . .  Your muscles are actually nowhere near their true point of fatigue, but you are given the sensation as if they are to slow your pace.”

(This table made me giggle because it says to “use extreme caution” in Phoenix winter conditions)

Sweet!  I have a good excuse not to run well.  Rather than attempt a miserable training run, I wore my iPhone at the gym and used MapMy Run to log my boxing workout.   We ran a few laps around the building (.11 miles each), but mostly boxed and did burpees, lunges, pushups, squat jumps, v-ups, and short sprints.  It counted every step, which added up to 2.86 miles.  My workout route, however, looks like this:

(that giant red squiggle is my route)

Also, because it took an hour, MapMyRun thinks my pace is 21:03/mile.  This might be my pace in Death Valley, right up until I burned my toes off.