Lost dignity and icy substitutes

Maybe I should own one of these.

So if you've been in whining range of me in the past month or so, you probably know that I'm dealing with a strained muscle on the back of my thigh. And if you've ever visited me anytime, say, ever, you'll know that I'm also one of those people who is unable to keep ice cubes in my freezer.

This confluence of events is what led to me spend some quality time this month sitting on a bag of frozen shrimp fried rice, which I'd arranged so it was pressed oh-so-delicately onto the offending area.

If someone had told me a year ago that running would eventually lead me to spend time -- even briefly -- sitting in my underwear on a bag of frozen food while the dog stares in puzzled judgement, I would have politely declined to sign up for this silly adventure.

But now, it's just part of training. (Loss of dignity is, apparently, also included.)

Of course, while skivvy-sitting atop the improvised ice pack, I couldn't help but be entertained by the various frozen food items (bagged, I swear!) I've retrieved from the freezer in the past year to ice knees, ankles and shins. In fact, if you put together the frozen peas, corn, broccoli florets, shrimp, scallops, fried rice and raspberries it'd would probably make some kind of really good meal.

Maybe I'll eventually invest in an ice pack. Or, you know, remember to make ice.

Did you know...?

That it's PI DAY!? 3.14, baby. (Extra nerd points if you celebrate at 1:59:26.) (Yes. I typed that.)

Pi Day is all sorts of awesomesauce and I plan to celebrate with some some of pi(e) -- probably of the pizza variety.

But heads up BEWARE, people. Tomorrow's Part II of the Noodles Nerdathon. Why? Here's a hint.

My life.

Weird things happen when you live by yourself. I've lived solo since 2002, with the exception a several month period that basically reassured me that should I ever get married, my husband I will each need our own houses.



This was so spot on it, made me basically snort out a kidney. Not featured: having extended monologues with your pet.

Smiles.

'Nuff said.

A new season

I'm a month into a training program for my second half marathon. But before I kicked off the season, I decided to set a few goals for myself. (After all, I am nothing if not Type A.)

Goal No. 1: Get faster. Keep in mind, that faster is relative -- especially when you're a back-of-the-pack run/walker. I finished my first half with an average pace of about 15:45. I was shooting for 15:00, which was what my Nike Plus app was telling me I was doing. Turns out, it was wrong. Very, very wrong. (It also said I ran 14.7 miles, which, P.S. I did not.) Anyway, while I was running through Miami, I kept thinking about how well I must have trained because I wasn't every tired. Mystery = solved. At first I was bummed that I didn't hit my pace goal, but then I realized "OMFG, SELF. YOU JUST RAN A HALF MARATHON. YOUR FIRST! EVER! YOU! THE FORMER FATTY WHO ONCE BECAME A FIELD HOCKEY GOALIE IN HIGH SCHOOL SIMPLY TO AVOID HAVING TO RUN A MILE. AND YOU WERE NOT LAST. AND YOU DID NOT GET KICKED OF THE COURSE. ERGO, YOU ARE 18 KINDS OF BADASS."

This time around, I have the confidence of knowing that I CAN cross that finish line if I put in the training time. And now I want to see what what this (generally busty) body of mine can do. I'd be THRILLED if I could get down to that 15-minute mile pace, if not under it. Most of my long runs so far are in the 14-minute range. (The runs -- RUNS! HA! -- are generally about 12-12:30/mile while the walking portions bring me up to about 14:30.) And I'd be bowled-over happy if I could pull that off in a half marathon setting. That said, I know my next race will be a challenge because it's a hilly course, especially for a Chicago girl who trains on pancake-flat terrain. (For the curious is the County Music Half Marathon in Nashville later next month.)  So we'll see. I'm trying to tell myself that even if my race pace doesn't get much faster, at least my training pace IS.

Goal No. 2. Have fun. God knows I'll never place in a race. I have no expectations of winning my age group. Or even making it across the finish line in time to see the winners get their medals. I'd be shocked shitless if I ever see the day when I maintained a pace in the single-digits per mile. I am a back-of-the-pack Penguin through and through. And that's OK. I'm not doing this to win medals. I'm in this to have fun.

Sure, I know that not every workout will be awesome and every not every run will be invigorating. But at the end of the week, if I'm not having fun then I'm not sure why I'm out there. (Yes, there's health reason, the awesomeness of being outside, the friendships I've formed, and the ability to brag to anyone and everyone that I DID IN FACT DO A TIME TRIAL WHEN IT WAS -7, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.) I cringe at the competitive runner types who beat themselves up for missing a time or falling short of a goal. I want to cross every finish line with a smile on my face. Or at least as many as I can.

I have this great quote by John "The Penguin" Bingham on my desk and I look at it almost every time I'm lacing up my sneakers. If you've been sporty all your life, or are in those first few corrals at a race, or are someone who thinks people aren't real athletes unless they run a certain pace or a certain distance ... you won't get it. But if you're someone like me who's what Bingham calls an "accidental athlete," then maybe it'll make you hold your head a little higher when you're lining up way, way, way, way in the back of the pack at the starting line:

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." 

Amen to that and happy trails.