Okay, so you guys have some amazing running tips. And, I really appreciate your feedback regarding what you would want to learn in a running clinic. If you haven’t read all of the great comments on my last post, go HERE. Lots of goods stuff.
I am slowly putting together my agenda and worksheets for the clinic. I don’t want to take myself too seriously. Fact is, I’m a newer runner who has been able to do and learn quite a bit in the past two years, but I am far from a running expert. I do, however, have my masters in bodily functions and I can recite the Urban Dictionary by heart. Russian Toilette is pretty funny. We’ve all been there.
Today I walked again as part of my marathon training. 5 weeks and counting ‘til Boston. I will run 20 miles this week total, but am continuing to supplement with any cross training I can get my hands on. Hot yoga, swimming, cycling, walking.
I liked the walking a bit better, probably because I had a destination and didn’t walk freaking 8 miles this time. I was going to meet a friend for coffee, so I walked there (2.5 miles) with the intention of walking home, for a grand total of five miles. But, you know how it goes when you hang with a friend. You start shooting the shit and next thing you know it’s three and a half hours later and you’re starving and you don’t feel like walking home. And, your friend has her car right there and is offering a ride, and well…I took the damn ride.
The short excursion turned out to be a walk down memory lane. I headed to the Old Town part of Longmont. Per usual, I ran into Ken who was out for a five miler. Yes, he is always running and even though Longmont is not that small, we always run into each other. I can smell him a mile away:
I gazed up at the water tower, the source of the fluid that flushes down the dumpers. I remember coming to this place high on a hill once when Sam was a baby and really, really sick. It gave me some solace at the time. Not staring at the tower. Looking at the (unpictured) mountains.
I walked further into town and was drawn to go by our first house. We bought it when we were newly married and I was pregnant with Sam. 13 stinking years ago.
I loved that house. I painted the cabinets and all the bedrooms, Ken put in a tile countertop. I put up that little gold mailbox by the front door and we planted that big tree in the front. It was our cozy little spot as we started our family. But, when I got pregnant with Emma it was too small and we moved on.
I walked to the small market where Ken and I walked the day before I delivered Sam.
At nine months pregnant, I was huge and uncomfortable. There was a rare blizzard that had just left almost three feet of snow on the ground. We needed a few things, but couldn’t drive. The doc said walking or sex might induce labor. I chose walking. Is the doc high?
I got the coffee shop to find Joie with my belated birthday gift. When Sam was a baby I worked at this very coffee shop. I carried him around in a backpack while I made lattes. It was my sanity, my way of getting out of the house. Until he started pulling out the hair at the nape of neck and I started screaming and quit.
And then I fell asleep standing up.
It is bittersweet to remember these times. I hate the thought that I will never again be the mother of a itty bitty baby sucking on the teat, a toddler who cuddles in my lap, a preschooler who takes my handcuffs to school for show and tell, a first grader heading off brave and terrified for the first day of school. But, I love these days too.
Looking forward to running five miles tomorrow,